#and ended up with a portrait that looks (!) like the person (!!) it's supposed to--well! portray! (!!!)

[leatherbookmark]

fascinated and enamoured by the discovery that art generally looks better if it's produced by confident, longer strokes rather than careful ones that make sure not to over(- or under)do anything. who knew

[totallynotreadingatwork]

Out of the Attic, by V.C. Andrews

...except it's actually ghost-written by Andrew Neiderman because the real Virginia Andrews has been dead since 1986 and this book came out in 2020. It is also just... not very good.

Spoilers ahead.

TW: rape, abusive relationship, controlling behaviour

Out of the Attic is a tie in to the popular Dollanganger series by Virginia Andrews, the first book of which was Flowers in the Attic, which was published in 1979. Andrews wrote 5 books for the series before she passed away, and then in 2014 the series was revived for another 6 books by ghost writers hired by the family. Out of the Attic is the 10th book written for the series, but chronologically takes place before Flowers in the Attic and focuses on Corrine Foxworth, Malcolm Foxworth's mother, as she marries into the family and has her son.

I think Neiderman was aiming to make Corrine a more likeable and relatable character by having her be married into the family against her will and feel isolated and alone as she is whisked away from the family and friends she's known all her life and taken to live in the grand and unwelcoming Foxworth hall. She is plied with alcohol and raped by Garland Foxworth, which results in a pregnancy that means she has to marry Garland or face ruin.

She obviously marries him, and things are going well at first but soon end up with her all alone in this huge house, sections of which she is too scared to go into, and with an infant son that she feels no maternal connection to. Corrine spends five years rattling around doing pretty much nothing but shopping, keeping up with the latest fashions, and making herself look beautiful every day whilst a nanny raises her son, whom she by now actively dislikes, until one day she meets a woman whilst out shopping who says she should join their ladies club.

Corrine then finds out Garland is cheating on her, goes to a Halloween party dressed as a nun, takes her son and the nanny to the beach, hires an artist she met at the Halloween party to paint her portrait, has an affair with said artist (his name is Beau and he seems very nice), gets raped by Garland again, then flees to France with Beau where she discovers that she's pregnant with Garland's child. The end, thank god.

Now, on reading that brief summary you may be thinking 'yeah, that doesn't sound like a very fun life, I feel like I could sympathise with this character', but the way that Corrine is written and portrayed really just makes you dislike her. You sympathise with her in some aspects, where in others you're just sort of left thinking she's actually a horrible person.

Take her relationship with her son, for instance; Corrine believes that Malcolm is evil and conniving and and manipulative. He misbehaves, he tries to wriggle his way out of punishments, and he asks questions and keeps pestering her for things.

Malcolm is also 4 years old.

Now, I'm not particularly fond of young children myself, so I understand her not wanting to be around him 24/7 or finding him a bit overwhelming at times. However, I don't think calling this behaviour 'evil' is quite correct. All 4-year-olds ask a ton of questions, all 4-year-olds will try to escape punishment for things they've done, all 4-year-olds will pester you to go places and do things, especially if you've promised them such things earlier in the week (Corrine is on several occasions annoyed by Malcolm asking to go to the seaside... after she herself suggested they go to the seaside but didn't tell him when that would happen).

I know that Malcolm Foxworth grows up to be the grandfather of the Dollanganger children who are then locked in the attic (and Neiderman even tries to foreshadow that by having him very briefly lock Corrine in the attic in this book) so Neiderman is obviously trying to plant the seeds of a very disturbed person, but it's like the man has never met a toddler before. We're supposed to be on Corrine's side, to look at Malcolm and say 'ah, so he's always been evil and bad', but Malcolm just isn't ; he's just a child who's a little bit spoilt. The most 'evil' things he does are destroy a wedding photograph album belonging to his mother (which certainly isn't good behaviour but children have definitely done worse), and lock her in the attic... when she's chasing him round the house threatening to beat him with a belt for destroying the album. This woman is not likeable.

Obviously it goes without saying that a book character doesn't have to be morally good in order to be a compelling and interesting point of view character, but the framing of the book so often seems like it's trying to portray her in a positive light that it just... I don't know. It doesn't feel very good to read. We don't linger on Corrine's trauma or her feelings of loneliness or isolation long enough to develop as much sympathy for her as I think the author would like. There's quite a bit of telling and not much showing.

Also, Neiderman is very 'men writing women' in places. There's a lot of hot flushes rushing to breasts of course, but also there's... this???

Image description: Quote from the book that reads as follows;

"What are they?"

"Open and see."

Children and women are so distracted, so mesmerised, by surprise presents that they'd ignore being in a burning building, I thought. I was disappointed at how excited I was and how quickly my pride and indignation had weakened, my fury and determination along with them. I had stepped in here ready to demand answers to questions I knew would stir his rage. I was more than willing to do that than ever I had bee, but right now all I could think was What's in those boxes?

Image description end.

So yeah, apparently women will disregard their own safety for shiny presents. This, by the way, is when she's going to confront him about cheating on her.

Overall, a thoroughly mediocre reading experience that I do not recommend to anyone. If you liked Flowers in the Attic then this will just annoy you and taint your memories of it, and if you've never read the Dollanganger books then there's no point in picking it up because nothing substantial happens in it!

[pearlfacts]

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman. 

[marshmallowgoop]

[Image description: A screenshot from Case Closed Episode One: The Great Detective Turned Small. Remaking a scene from Episode 49 in the anime series, Shinichi tells a surprised Heiji, “Because, there is always only one truth.” End image description.]

Shinichi: Because, there is always only one truth.

Sometimes I think it’s kinda weird that I like Detective Conan/Case Closed so much. I mean, everyone in the show is, uh, well, human?

My favorite fiction niche is supposed to be “monsters,” gosh darn it.

But one of the things that attracts me to “monster” stories is the idea that appearances aren’t everything. What’s underneath the surface says more about a person than any outside crust that they happened to be born into.

Which is why I’m putting “monster” in quotes here. It’s not actual monsters that I adore. The characters I have such an affinity for are those who may be wrongly perceived as monstrous or unimportant because of what they look like.

And thinking of it that way... I can get why the goofy murder anime appeals to me. After all, the boiled-down plot synopsis is that there’s a detective people don’t take seriously because of what he looks like.

But, yeah. Characters by themselves aren’t what motivate me to fall in love with stories. Portraits are nice, but I can tell you that at least my eyes are gonna find themselves far more drawn to paintings with more people. It’s relationships between characters that get me more invested in a work of fiction than anything else, and I don’t just mean the shippy, romantic, lovey-dovey stuff (though that’s fun, too). My real start into vomiting out novel-length blog posts wasn’t purely because I liked a “monster”—it was because I liked (and will always like!) that “monster’s” partnership and camaraderie with someone else.

So, long story short? Detective Conan may not have “monsters,” but you could say that I still like it so much anyway because, at the end of the day, I greatly enjoy many of the relationships portrayed in its hundreds of episodes. And particularly, with this overly long preamble in mind, I love the relationship between Shinichi/Conan and Heiji. Because while Conan may not be a fish creature or space alien, he is so often not seen for who he really is. 

But Heiji... well. He kind of struggles to see Conan for anything but who he really is.

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Episode 77 of Detective Conan. In the first image, Heiji stands next to his father and waves, saying, “Heya, Kudo! How ya been?!” In the second image, Kogoro, Ran, and Conan appear shocked. Kogoro shouts, “Hattori Heiji?!” Ran asks, “Kudo?” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: Heya, Kudo! How ya been?!

Kogoro: Hattori Heiji?!

Ran: Kudo?

Which, yes. That Heiji sucks so much at this can be detrimental and troublesome and dangerous. I’m not at all trying to advocate that the guy should go around loudly calling Conan “Kudo.”

But when he’s not doing that, I find his relationship with Shinichi/Conan endlessly endearing. Conan’s so used to lying and pretending to be someone he’s not, but he doesn’t have to with Heiji. He can be himself. They can solve mysteries together as if Shinichi had never crossed paths with the Black Organization at all.

Of course, Conan doesn’t have to pitch up his voice and act silly with other characters in the show, either. And I also like those relationships a lot! And I’ll probably/maybe/someday write more about them in the future, too. But while I’m focusing on Heiji, one thing that gets me is just how quick he is at looking beyond appearances. Even before Heiji realizes Conan’s true identity, even when he’d only really met Shinichi once but finds himself absolutely enamored of him regardless (see the top of this post), Heiji still doesn’t take much time at all to recognize Shinichi’s intellect in Conan, and he treats Conan much like he’d treat the guy he desperately wants to see: 

[Image descriptions: Screenshots from Episode 58 of Detective Conan. In the first image, Heiji, with a troubled expression on his face, says, “Yeah, but something’s not quite right.” In the second image, Conan is shown beside Heiji. Heiji adds, “Right, boy?” Conan agrees, saying, “Yeah.” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: Yeah, but something’s not quite right. Right, boy?

Conan: Yeah.

And, I mean. This is before Heiji even explicitly and consciously suspects that Conan and Shinichi are one and the same. He just knows the kid’s smart and figures that “Kogoro’s” deductions are actually coming from someone dozens of centimeters smaller.

Which... I really like. It’s undoubtedly sweet that Heiji then immediately makes the connection to Shinichi after Conan explains his thoughts... 

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 58 of Detective Conan. Ran scolds Conan for getting involved in the current case while Heiji, offscreen, thinks to himself, “His voice and body are different, but he’s almost just like Kudo!” End image description.]

Heiji (thinking): His voice and body are different, but he’s almost just like Kudo!

But I love that even prior to the Shinichi link, Heiji doesn’t discourage Conan. I love that no matter how young Conan seems, Heiji understands that he has good things to say and should be listened to. 

I mean. That is kinda part of why I like my “monster” niche so much.

(I’m also fond of an anime-only filler episode (36) that explores this topic in more depth, but that’s an essay for another day. Still, maybe another reason I’m so fond of Detective Conan is because I can relate to being babied... but admittedly, that’s at least as much to do with my personality as it is my looks.)

Anyway. This post’s gotten much longer than I intended. But I do wanna talk about one more thing that really cements this “looking beyond the surface” aspect of Shinichi/Conan’s relationship with Heiji, and that’s Heiji’s bad dream described in Episode 118:

[Image descriptions: Screenshots from Episode 118 of Detective Conan. The first image is a close-up shot of Heiji. He says, “I had a bad dream...” The next two images zoom out, showing Heiji’s back and Conan beside him. In the second image, Conan asks, “Dream?” Heiji replies, “Yeah. It happens when we catch a bad guy.” In the third image, Heiji finishes, “But he winds up stabbing and killing you instead!” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: I had a bad dream...

Conan: Dream?

Heiji: Yeah. It happens when we catch a bad guy. But he winds up stabbing and killing you instead!

In Funimation’s English dub, Heiji even tries to further play off how much the dream bothered him, joking, “Like you could ever catch a suspect!”

But it becomes clear later in the episode that Heiji never dreamed of Conan getting stabbed and killed, even if that’s what almost happens near the end. Heiji’s nightmare involved only Shinichi getting hurt:

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 118 of Detective Conan. Conan has his hand on his face in thought, while in the background, Heiji imagines Shinichi in pain, clutching a bloody wound on his chest. End image description.]

Because, in the end? That’s how Heiji always sees the guy. As himself.

And I absolutely adore it.

[slasherhaven]

Hi, sweetheart! I just found your blog and i think your writings are wonderful. I think you are very talented about writing. Can i request a headcanon for Michael, Brahms and Billy's reaction to an artist reader who bought their house and use it as a studio and living space. They almost don't go outside. They fiiled a room with canvases and paint tubes but their art is... Let's say it may cause a trauma if someone sees them. Like full of blood and massacre images. And they started to like her.💖

These got pretty long so they’re under the cut 😂

Michael, Brahms, and Billy. His future s/o buys his house, using it as a living space and a studio for their very macabre art:

Michael Myers

The house had been up for sale for a long time but had no buyers. Nobody wanted to buy the house where the infamous Michael Myers grew up and committed his first murder. So, it remained empty.

Which was great for Michael because it meant that it was somewhere he could hideout. After all, even he needed to eat and sleep from time to time.

But then, by some miracle, somebody bought it. It had been the cause of some surprise and gossip among the rest of the town.

You were new to the town but had been informed of the history of the house, they had to disclose that information after all. They expected you to withdraw your interested but you took it with little hesitation. Maybe it had been your interest in the macabre.

Michael wasn’t happy about this.

No only would somebody being living in his home but he now wouldn’t be able to use the space.

But he was curious, even if his plan was to just kill you and take back his home.

So he watched you.

He actually watched you for some time.

You seemed to be doing a lot of decorating, storing old furniture and bringing in your own. But at least you weren’t throwing it away...

He got as close as he could without alerting you to his presence and ever watching gaze.

He wanted to explore the house some more, see how you had changed it, but you barely ever left.

Finally, you had to leave to do some grocery shopping.

And Michael took the opportunity to explore. 

Most of the house had actually been left alone, the old furniture that was still usable was where it belonged, just cleaner. But you had added your own belongings.

It seemed that you had turned the living room, the largest and brightest of the rooms, into an art studio. Your easels, canvas, sketchbooks, pencils, paints, anything else you liked to used, scattered around the room in an organised chaos.

As Michael moved around the house he would find more of your works he would find.

Normally Michael didn’t care about the hobbies of his victims, or of anyone for that matter, but this was interesting.

All of your paintings were...morbid, for the lack of a better word.

All your works seemed to portray blood and gore, massacres and death, violence and chaos. All the things that normally made people uncomfortable, you used it in your art.

Now Michael was genuinely curious about you.

He even found himself picking up one of your sketchbooks and flipping through it, curious about the rest of your work. It all had similar themes.

Placing the book down, Michael slipped back out of the house only moments before you returned.

He started to watch you more, wondering about you.

Why did these things interest you? Did you find some sort of positive emotion from them or are you interested in how uncomfortable they make people? Is there a sick part of you that is just fascinated by it? How much real life experience do you have with the macabre? 

How would you react to real gore? If you were to be presented with one of the scenes you painted but in the flesh? Would you run or would you be just as interested?

Perhaps what he was starting to ask himself was...how would you react to him?

You must have known who he was and what he’s done, since the information had been disclosed when you bought the house. Was he part of the reason you purchased the house in the first place?

He just couldn’t help but wonder about you.

There was still so much to learn, so he would just watch you for a little longer.

Slowly getting closer to you, getting more confident with his ‘visits’. He’d be in the living room while you slept upstairs, looking at your latest works.

You had started to notices that various painting and sketches where getting moved around. At first you thought you were just misplacing things, maybe you needed to take a break, but now you were starting to think that something else was going on.

You were living in the Myers house, the house where the Shadow of Haddonfield once lived. You couldn’t help but let it effect your work, some pieces being inspired by Michael Myers himself. You just couldn’t help it.

You knew it was insensitive considering the tragedy he had brought to the town but nobody had to see them, these pieces were just for you.

Those pieces also happened to be Michael’s favourites, one might have even gone ‘missing’.

These were even more interesting to Michael, that you had taken inspiration from him for your art.

You’re just so...interesting.

Yes, Michael is starting to like you. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that you bought and moved into his house. 

Perhaps he’d have to let you meet the inspiration for these newest pieces sometimes. 

Hopefully you won’t react so bad that he’ll have to kill you, that would be a real shame.

Brahms Heelshire

The thought of somebody actually buying his house infuriated Brahms but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Maybe he could just dispose of you and make it look like a home invasion?

This was his home after all.

Yes, it might have been getting boring up in the house all alone but it was better than having strangers live there. People he didn’t know or trust.

But it was only one person, only you, so it wasn’t the end of the world even if it was starting to feel like it.

When you arrived, you moved your stuff in but didn’t move anything out. Which Brahms silently appreciated.

You actually seemed fond of the furniture that was already in the house, just cleaning it up properly instead of getting rid of it.

The first week consisted of you getting settled and Brahms just watching.

You moved your belongings in, claiming the largest bedroom as your own and personalising it some more.

Alright...he could live with that.

You had stepped into the child’s room and frowned to yourself. You knew the past of the house, it had been disclosed when you bought it (it had also been the reason you got such a good deal), and it just felt wrong to disturb the room.

For now you would leave it, and Brahms was happy about that. Maybe you wouldn’t be so bad, you would at least keep the house clean...so...you’re alright for now.

But then you started moving around the furniture in the living room. It was the largest, brightest, and most open space, and you thought it would be perfect for your studio.

Brahms didn’t like the changes you were making.

You still weren’t getting rid of anything, just moving it out of the way to give you more space and to make sure you didn’t stain any of it.

Then you set up your art supplies, even having some time that evening to continue with a painting you had started just before moving in.

That night, after you went to sleep, Brahms crept out of the walls to investigate some more.

He moved around the lounge quietly, examining the new stuff you had brought in.

It was all art stuff. You were an artist...well, at least that is interesting.

But as Brahms examined the piece he had seen you working on that evening, he realised that maybe it wasn’t quite the type of painting he had expected.

It was all just so...morbid...

Gore and blood, death and destruction. It made him cringe a little.

But you were very talented...he had to admit that.

He spent all night going through your art, finding that they all had similar themes. All morbid. 

He couldn’t help but wonder why...what about all this awful stuff interested you and kept inspiring you? 

It was supposed to make people uncomfortable but apparently not you, you welcomed it in your art. How very intriguing.

He started watching you for a different reason after that. His cautiousness turning into curiosity.

You didn’t seem...bad.

You didn’t seem like you would enjoy that stuff. 

In fact, he often saw you smiling softly to yourself, sometimes even humming. 

You hadn’t touched his childhood bedroom because you had felt empathy for the family and their past. 

You had been polite and kind to the men who helped you move your belongings.

And he admittedly thought it was cute when you would get a smudge of paint on your cheek without noticing.

How could somebody who seemed so sweet and so normal, create such morbid art?

He supposed it was a little interesting though.

He’d keep you around for a while...just to learn more, that’s all.

He noticed that you kept the portrait of himself and his parents up. He didn’t know why. Maybe you respected the art, maybe you respected the family that once owned the house and didn’t take it down for the same reason you left his bedroom untouched.

Either way, he appreciated it. And it made him all the more confused as to why your art focused on such dark subjects.

You’d been living there for a few months now.

You noticed some weird things happening. Things moving around or going missing, mostly your belongings or smaller pieces of art.

Some items would show back up out of nowhere, making you even more curious as too where they had disappeared too.

Brahms continued to watch you, liking you much more than he did when you first arrived.

He saw how you were confused by the occurrences around the house but you didn’t seem scared and you never ran away.

That was a good sign.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much longer before he let you know that you actually had a housemate this whole time.

Billy Lenz

Once again, of course you know the history of the house. At least you knew that it used to be a sorority house, where numerous young women were murdered.

And yet you still bought the house, perhaps against your better judgement.

Billy actually isn’t that mad about somebody buying the house. It’s just the next person he can mess with.

Would probably be more annoyed if a family were to move into the house but it’s just you so he’ll be fine.

He sees you a soon as you step through the door, deciding that he found you attractive and deciding that this was going to be fun.

It could get lonely being all alone in the house all day.

It was nice to have a new face around.

He decided to let you settle in before making his first phone call. He would learn about you secretly before making that call, that would be best.

He didn’t want to scare you too soon and make you run away.

You took about a week to move in your belongings, clean the house and make it your own.

You found the largest, most open room that let in the most natural light and made that your studio. Spending most of your attention on that task, setting it up just as you wanted it.

Billy had perked up a little when he realised that you were an artist. At least you should be entertaining!

The house was already looking better than it had for a while. He was almost impressed.

He liked watching you paint, even if he couldn’t see what you were painting from this angle. You looked so calm when you painted and that calmed him to some extent.

One night, when you were sleeping, Billy crept down into your studio and got himself a closer look.

Your art was definitely...shocking.

From how nice you had seemed over the last week, Billy hadn’t expected your art to be so dark and morbid.

Don’t people usually paint flowers or fruit or something? Well...this certainly isn’t flowers or fruits.

And Billy didn’t know how to react.

But he did spend the night looking through your work, eventually falling asleep in your studio and having to hurry up to the attic once the sun started to rise before you woke up and found him.

He spent the whole day watching you, just learning more about you.

He decided to put off making the first phone call because now he was even more curious about you.

Eventually that call came though.

The phone rang and you answered it, only to be met by the sound of somebody moving around. You couldn’t really make it out the sounds.

But then you managed to make out a few actual sounds. There was a voice but you couldn’t really make out what he was saying and then...was that a moan?

You just told him he got the wrong number before hanging up.

Over the next few weeks you received some more calls. Just some perv, nothing to worry about too much.

But then you got a call from the same perv, you were used to it by now. You just carried on painting as you listened to his mostly unintelligible ranting.

You froze with his question, the only clear thing you could make out fully. “Why do you paint that stuff?” but he hung up before you could answer.

So...this man could see you?

You were suddenly reminded of the smaller sketches you did that had randomly gone missing. Had this man taken it?

You remembered him muttering the name “Billy” once or twice so you took it that was his name.

So you dedicated a piece to him, leaving it on the easel that night for him to see.

The next morning you headed down stairs to find it missing, meaning that he had accepted your gift.

You were interested in the man who had been watching you.

And Billy was even more interested in you. 

It was a large house for one person but you tried to explore every inch of it, finally getting to the attic that you had been avoiding. You just though it would be dusty and neglected but you wondered if you could find anything interesting up there.

It didn’t take much looking around before you came across a pile of blankets and pillows, beside them a phone and the painted you had gifted your stalker.

Then it hit you.

This is where the man on the phone, Billy, had been staying and calling from. He had been in the house the whole time, hiding in the attic during the day.

Just as you were processing this realisation, you heard a door close downstairs.

Guess it’s time to meet the man behind all those creepy phone calls. Maybe another gift would encourage him to take mercy on you?

[familyagrestefanblog]

Ml Theory: Origins of Emilies name and Mayuras design

While looking up the real life equivalent of Emilies portrait and its artist I came across something that is just WAY too good to be a mere coincidence.

As many fans know already Emilies golden portrait is in real life the painting “Adele Bloch-Bauer I” by Gustav Klimt from 1907.

Its to this day the painting sold for the highest price EVER, making it a fitting portrait to visualize Gabriels love for Emilie I always thought. But there is quite more background information with potential to be important.

Back before we were given Emilies name in “Gorizilla” Adele was a very common name for her in the fandom because of the original golden Lady, Adele. Funnily enough, the idea that Emilies name is connected to her portrait has quite likely never been a wrong assumption in the first place. We just never went deep enough to find her actual name or a couple of other similarities for not only her but for Natalie as well.

Because as the names might have already given it away, Adele Bloch-Bauer and Gustav Klimt were not husband and wife. Adele was married to someone else and Gustav never married at all. So while this painting is one of Gustavs most well known and one of the most valuable paintings in the world, the lady in the painting wasn’t his wife/lover and therefore Emilies name also isn’t Adele.

But just because Gustav Klimt wasn’t married doesn’t it mean that there wasn’t a very special woman in his life, one he was incredibly close with.

So may I present to you:

Emilie Flöge

Right away its obvious that both painting were done in the same eye catching style, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

She was the almost life long and very dear life-partner and Muse of Gustav Klimt. Just like him she was austrian and she was a fashion designer/creator and business woman and the sister of Gustavs sister-in-law. From 1891 onward he drew/painted her several times and rumors even say that Gustav, on his most well known painting “Der Kuss (The kiss), eternalized him and her together as lovers.

So if there is a name associated with the “Adele” portrait that were to be Emilies namesake it certainly was the right call to have it be the dear life-partner of the artist who is basically representing Gabriel in this. Emilie Flöge.

But digging even deeper into Gustav Klimts works one could even make the argument that another name in the show wasn’t as completely random either and apparently not lazy at all:

Amilie Graham de Vanily

Because 7 years after finishing “Adele Bloch-Bauer I” he started painting another portrait called “Das Bildnis der Amalie Zuckerkandl (The Image of Amalie Zuckerkandl)”

but it was never finished because… well… both he and Amalie died in that timeframe for reasons unrelated to each other so.. yeah. But still.

I do think this woman is the namesake for our Amilie de Vanily, not because of background information as with Emilie, its more that I can indeed imagine it very well that for Emilies sister Thomas Astruc and Team went back to the same artist they got her name from and looked for a fitting name. And since it’s a pair of twin sisters we are talking about here the name “Amalie” was probably just waaaaaay to good and convenient to pass on.

So Amalie became Amilie and our family Graham de Vanily twin sisters had their names.

But you know what? If I’m already at it, lets take this to another level and you all know what I'm about to point out.

Because the first thing I thought when I looked at the portrait of Emilie Flöge was a sober: "Yeah, so THAT looks like Mayura" 

-Main color blue with pink highlights

-one piece of each outfit has white incorporated

-both have a "peacock tail". Mayuras is just part of her dress and Flöges is something like a big fancy collar (idk man)

-Hands gloveless

-necks covered. Natalie/Mayura wears a turtleneck and Flöges wears a scarf

-Flöges has dark hair like Natalie (not as dark but definitely closer to Natalies than Emilie Agrestes)

I do even have another reason why I think Mayuras design was inspired by the real life background of Emilie Agrestes golden portrait.

Not only does Miss Flöges blue dress with pink highlights explain why the peacocks signature color is blue combined with (FREAKING) pink even though that isn’t anywhere close to an accurate depiction of a real life peacock the way all the other Miraculous do (It bothered me to no end but now I can finally sleep again in peace) But would you believe it? One of Gustav Klimts last finished paintings shows a woman who is supposedly meant to visualize what he thought to be the epitome of beauty:

Peacocks, fan, you get where I’m going here right?

And this would make sense, RIGHT? Emilie was the peacock miraculous holder before Natalie so Emilies namesake wearing an outfit resembling the peacock holder we know and the peacock in general combined with the symbols of what the artists thought to be beautiful should checkout, shouldn’t it?

Weeeeell yes but mostly no imo.

While it is true that Emilie was the blue peacock long before Natalie became Mayura, it doesn’t change the fact that we, the viewers, were trained to associate the direct complementary color with Emilie right from the start. Emilie for US is not blue, she’s the opposite of blue, she’s yellow like her portrait:

So it is very unlikely in my opinion that the blue Mayura outfit would be used like that for Emilie as well. That’s just WAY to harsh of a color whiplash for a character only given to us (for now) through stoic visual representation and a couple of lines from her family. We have very little to directly associate Emilies character with so yeah, her color coding with yellow and white is way to important to just break like that.

Therefore I do think its safe to say that the Mayura outfit/colorscheme is meant to be primarily associated with Natalie, meaning if the team actually took inspiration from this portrait for the Mayura design even though its also the portrait they took the name of the lost WIFE from, I do think this is supposed to mean something.

Especially when you consider that the painting of the epitome of beauty woman is obviously hindu oriented. Which comes right back to Natalie because not only is her villain name MAYURA the name of the male peacock in hindu mythology (the female one is called Mayuri) a general oriental flair is also how her room is designed as we just saw in the New York special 

So what does all of this mean now? I’ve thrown quite a lot at you and a lot is contradicting each other too much to get a clear picture right away. So lets bring a little order into all of this and translate how these informations properly with what we see in Miraculous.

I’ll break it down like this:

Adeles golden Portrait doesn’t show the actual lover of the artist. Although Adele was married the actual special woman in Gustav Klimts life was Emilie Flöge, his partner, friend and companion he may have been in love with.

Translating this for Miraculous would become this:

Emilies golden Portrait doesn’t show the actual lover of Gabriel Agreste. Although Emilie was married to him the actual special woman in Gabriels life was Natalie Sanccour, his partner, friend and companion he may be starting to fall in love with.

Meaning this for the usage of the real life portraits as references:

Yes they still choose the right name for Emilie. The lady on the golden portrait is neither lover nor wife hence why Emilie couldn’t be named Adele. Because even if Gabriel is now falling in love with Natalie its doesn’t change that before all of this started Emilie was indeed the special woman in his life, hence her namesake being Emilie Flöge.

But on the other hand Natalie/Mayura, Gabriels new love, we know from the very start and a lot better than Emilie, is the right person to give the design of the blue portrait. E. Flöge was life-partner, friend and companion to a single man, everything that Natalie is as well. So while all of these aspects also applied to Emilie Agreste in the past they are way more fittingly at home with Natalie in the narrative of the show.

Besides that I will continue to stand to my believe that once we get Emilie back things will not go the way Gabriel wanted. Too much has happened that is too unforgivable. So our Emilie is portrayed as the not-wife-lady in gold because once Emilie is back and finds out what a monster (of a father) Gabriel has become there will very quickly be no marriage between them anymore. 

Okay, that’s all I have but I just had a thought so I wanna say it for protocol that I called it:

I'm calling dips on Gabriel getting a portrait for Natalie in s4 that looks like the the blue one from Emilie Flöge.

Just saying, I'm calling dips

[the-marsh-harrier]

Who was Orion Black? (Pt 6) Orion Black x Female!Reader

A/N: I wanted to explore Sirius’s childhood more in a non-traditional sense and give Orion and Walburga some interesting character development. This takes place after Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. Although this is a reader insert in parts, it is not the main focus and some chapters will have little or no mention of the reader. I have also altered the year Walburga was born to be 1940 instead of 1925 as it states in cannon (this is my fanfic and I’ll do what I want with the characters that are in it). Similarly, in some of the chapters to come, I already know I will upset some people with the way I portray Sirius and Walburga’s relationship - remember everyone is entitled to portray fictional characters as they want in their fanfics and if you disagree, please write your own. JKR's bigotry and opinions are not welcome here nor supported.

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Part 6) Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

The Explanation

It had been a few days since Sirius had watched any more of Orion’s memories. A lot of what he knew of his father, or rather what he had assumed he knew of his father was starting to unravel and he wasn’t ready to delve further yet. He wanted to find out more about what happened after he ran away and how Y/N L/N tied into their family. There was only one person in the house that could answer his questions – Walburga.

A primary cause of concern was the amount Sirius had begun to drink. He was finding comfort in the same way his father had… he realised he needed an intervention after he received an owl from Harry asking to spend Christmas with him and he didn’t want Harry to see him like that. He didn't want to be like his father, clinging to Harry in the early hours... he didn't want to call him James in a drunken state. However, Sirius still had the itch of addiction telling him that having a drink would make asking the questions a little easier. So, he gave in one more time and stumbled into the parlour where his mother’s portrait was hung.

“Drunk again, I see.” Walburga’s disapproval was evident in her tone.

“Well, I wouldn’t say drunk just yet. More liberated.”

Walburga let out a deep sigh. “You’ve never sounded more like your father.”

This made anger boil up in Sirius, but he wasn’t quite drunk enough to give in to it yet. “I have questions.” He slumped down on the settee opposite the portrait. “I’ve been going through his memories; you know father’s memories in the cigar box?”

“I was unaware that he was keeping a Pensieve – especially in a cigar box.” Walburga scoffed, her face curling into disgust.

“Well, he was.” Sirius took another swing from his glass. “So far, I know how Y/N L/N and father met. Where he took her as a first date – a muggle cinema… since when did father like muggles enough to sit with them for over an hour watching a film?” Walburga went to answer but cut her off. “That’s not one of my questions.”

He continued. “I suppose I want to ask about what happened after. I want to know everything you know and why Orion ended up marrying you after her. She was undoubtedly more pleasant. I know I would’ve preferred to die a widower than marry a cousin.”

“Charming. I feel like I’m talking to your father now. Look at the state of you. Drunk, might as well be unemployed, falling apart at the seams and constantly talking about that girl. The only difference was your father wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with people that left him to rot in Azkaban for years without a second thought.” She continued to scold him. “You know when I saw it in the Prophet, I never believed it. I even wrote to your precious Albus Dumbledore to tell him there had to be a mistake; you would’ve sooner died than let that family be slaughtered. Not to mention, you were always fond of that plump Peter-boy at school and needlessly killing twelve muggles when targetting one half-blood! None of it made any sense to anyone that you knew you that all! I made many mistakes in raising you two boys, but I didn’t raise cowards and I certainly didn't raise idiots. I wrote to every official in the Wizengamot I knew to get you a trial but every time I was given a date, Dumbledore blocked it somehow. I died going crazy in this house alone and now I have to sit here and watch you do exactly what I did because of the people you ran away to.”

“You did what?” Sirius was so confused. He was positive she would’ve thought he was in the right place as the blood traitor he was.

“I never gave up on you despite our differences. Neither did your father even after you ran away that night. When you wouldn’t reply to his letters, he’d write to Fleamont Potter for updates on you, your schooling, anything that Fleamont would tell him; he sent the Potters any amount of money they needed for you over term breaks, to go on holidays with them, school supplies, Christmas and Birthdays presents. The Potters didn’t just take on the burden of another child without payment, they wouldn’t have seen James without for you, my boy.” She continued. “It made me sick, hearing how they spoke of your father and the lies they spread about us beating and whipping you, even using unforgivable curses on our boys. Oh, but they'd happily take our money as long as they were the saints, and no one knew. Even when you and James left school and began working as Aurors, who do you think wrote to Teneth Hickories to take the pair of you on as apprentices? Fleamont Potter? Or perhaps Euphemia? It was your father and Teneth that were friends at school, your father played at Teneth’s wedding, Teneth used to come to the house every third Thursday of the month; and yet you think he just thought he’d take the pair of you on out of good luck or because 'too good to be true Fleamont Potter' who bullied him relentlessly at school asked. You and James were good wizards, but you were no Alastor Moody.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re manipulating the situation.” Sirius hissed. Sirius knew he wasn’t beaten as a child and neither of his parent’s ever used magic to harm him… maybe snap things away from him if he wasn’t supposed to be playing with them but they never used magic on him. It was more emotional instability, emotional neglect, being stuck between looking after a man losing his mind to a bottle and a woman that wanted too much from someone so young. He experienced a lot as a child and as he got older it worsened and the arguing was nastier and more vicious with each round.

Walburga smirked. “If you don’t believe me, your father’s financial books are on the bottom shelf of his desk or go to the black book on the table over there - we kept all the pictures.”

Sirius looked over at the collection of photo albums on the bookcase in the corner, each is embossed with the individual’s name in shining silver. Sirius’s was particularly worn. Taking a deep breath, he made his wobbly way over to collect it. Before opening it, he looked back up at Walburga. From her position, it was like staring down at the man as if a child again. Letting go of another frustrated sigh, she calmly said. “Go on, lad. Open it up.” She encouraged him.

Sirius was turning pages; he had a sickening feeling build in his stomach as the book seemed to never end. Sirius reached the section where his book should’ve ended... it was supposed to end here... but it didn’t. There were pictures of him and James going to Hogwarts after he ran away, Christmas’, birthdays, graduation, holidays, his and his friend’s first flat, his first day at work, the list went on and on – the only way for these to be here would be if Walburga was telling the truth. Toward the end of the book were all the response letters from Walburga attempting to get Sirius a trial date.

Sirius felt tears beginning to brim in his eyes as he looked back at the portrait. “You really did it.” His voice, barely above a whisper.

“Admittedly, I told your father to stop sending money after you finished Hogwarts, but he refused. He justified it by saying how if you were still here, he’d help you in any way he could. He was the one that matched your input for the deposit for the flat, he paid for your first year of insurance on that awful muggle motorbike you bought, he paid for anything Fleamont said you needed without question. That’s why it stung so much when you finally wrote to him and he was no longer here. I did love your father, just not it the way a wife was supposed to; despite his faults, he really was a gentle and loyal man. He always loved you; he was fighting a lot of demons, a lot of regrets – I’d even guess that he loved you more than Regulus at times.”

Sirius was silent as he stumbled from the room. Walburga watched on, relief coating her canvas with every step he took from the room. For you see, what Sirius hadn’t realised, was that he was right. Walburga had manipulated the situation but not in the way he had thought initially. She had successfully managed to distract him from Y/N L/N. She didn’t want to speak of the girl as that road would lead to more heartache than the man was ready for. She was a terrible mother, she never knew how to bond with either of the boys she had. How could anyone expect her to know when she had never been shown how to? She did as every other mother in the noble house of Black had done before her - she ruled her home with an iron fist and expected the utmost from all who lived under her roof. Though, if she were honest with herself, it had always felt wrong and unnatural to her. Mothering was not something that was instinctual for Walburga and as she aged, it gave her more time to reflect on how she had raised her boys.

Despite the flaws in parental skills, she was proud of the two men she had raised. Most would read the Daily Prophet or believe the rumours that she raised two death eaters, one of which was a mass murderer... but she knew that wasn't true. The true tale of the last two men of her prestigious house would be another secret lost to the walls of 12 Grimmauld Place.

If 12 Grimmauld Place could speak, it would have many a story to tell but if you asked about the night after Sirius ran away and its aftermath, it would have a shocking revelation for you. It would speak of Walburga's regret, it would tell you how she regretted the decision of burning Sirius's face off the family tree in that argument. It was too far to come back from… and if you asked about why she had her portrait hung in the parlour. If you were to ask why she wanted it above the fireplace and hung opposite the grand Black family tapestry, it would answer you with one word - repentance. Walburga had her portrait hung opposite her greatest mistake and her biggest secret. She would spend the rest of forever tormented by the scorch marks she had made and the black rose that connected Sirius and Orion together.

[princesssarisa]

How "Cinderella Monogatari" Could Have Been Better

I've just finished watching the 1996 anime series Cinderella Monogatari ("The Story of Cinderella"). I'll share my overall thoughts on it later, after I've overviewed a few other versions of the fairy tale. But for now, I'll say that I liked it very much. That said, it does have its flaws. Below are the handful of changes I would make to improve it.

1. Have Cinderella's father be presumed dead through most of the series.

It's awkward to have Cinderella's father still be alive, and not a weak henpecked husband, but merely away on business. Why would Duchess Dalbin so extensively abuse and degrade her stepdaughter knowing that the girl's devoted father will eventually come back? I would have preferred for the Duke to leave on his business trip, and then, a few weeks later, have the family receive the news that his ship was wrecked in a storm and that he's missing and presumably drowned. Only at this point would the Duchess start to abuse Cinderella. This could also add a layer of depth to the Duchess's character. She could be portrayed as genuinely in love with her husband and distraught by his "death," and afterwards she would exclude Cinderella from the family because Cinderella reminds her too much of him, similar to what the 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical implies. But in the final episode, the Duke would come back and reveal that he survived after all: he's just taken this long to recover from his injuries and find a ship home. So we'd still have the blissful family reunion the actual series gives us, but with even more emotional weight.

2. Give Duke Zaral consistent motivation.

I like the series' addition of a "Greater Scope Villain" (to quote TVTropes) in Duke Zaral. But at least in the English dub, his motive seems to change completely at random from "Marry his daughter Isabel to Prince Charles and become the real power behind the throne" to "Murder Charles and force his parents to surrender the kingdom." This could be easily solved, though. Simply place the episode "The Disturbing Painter" (his first real attempt to kill Charles, when he tries to have his portrait painted by an artist who traps his subjects' souls in the painting) after the episode "Traveling Toward Happiness" (where his daughter Isabel runs away with her true love) instead of before. Since the series makes it clear that Zaral really does love his daughter, it would make much more sense for his murderous turn to be caused by losing her, especially if he found out that Charles had helped her elope. To quote TVTropes again, it would be his Villainous Breakdown, and it would give him a real character arc.

3. Cut the episode "Prince Charles's Secret," where Cinderella and her stepsisters are forced to work as maids in the castle.

While of course it's funny to see the stepsisters forced to do the same chores they usually heap on Cinderella, the context is ridiculous. If a wealthy duke like Zaral wants maidservants to spy on Prince Charles, why doesn't he just pay real working-class girls to do it? Why on earth would he insult a family of his own social class by tricking a duchess's daughters into visiting the castle only to have them forced into servitude? And afterwards, why does no one ever mention it again? Realistically, wouldn't a trick like that cause a scandal? The whole scenario is contrived and would be better off cut.

4. Make Cinderella less of a damsel in distress.

Now there's no shame in a heroine not being a fighter or needing to be rescued. But it's still a tiny bit tedious to see Cinderella repeatedly being captured or endangered and Charles repeatedly being the strong one who rescues her. Even after he teaches her how to swordfight in "Lets Get Rid of Those Bandits," she never uses the skills she learned in that episode again, particularly not in the finale when she's captured by Zaral. I say remove Charles from some of the episodes where she's endangered and have her rescue herself instead. Have her use the fencing skills Charles taught her throughout the rest of the series, particularly when she's kidnapped in the finale. Not that she needs to use a sword, but at least she could defend herself with a stick or some other improvised weapon. In the climactic battle with Zaral on the clock tower, I'd have Cinderella and Charles fighting him together rather than just Charles. Again, I'm not saying there's any shame in being a damsel in destress, but it would be more interesting to see Cinderella defend herself at least a little bit more.

5. Have the stepfamily rip Cinderella's dress before the ball, as in the Disney version.

The scene where they rip up her invitation to the ball is already a blatant knockoff of the Disney dress-ripping scene, but without the same power. So why not take the imitation all the way and have them rip her dress as well as the invitation? This would also enhance the next scene where Fairy Godmother Paulette works her magic. In the actual series, the fact that Cinderella is already wearing a fancy gown and Paulette's magic just brings its style more up-to-date is slightly underwhelming. We lose the sheer magic of the dress transformation that other versions of Cinderella have. If her dress were in tatters, this would be rectified.

6. Don't have Charles fall in love with the "mystery girl."

Cinderella retellings that give Cinderella and the Prince most of their romance arc before the ball always have a dilemma: what to do with the plot point of the Prince not knowing his beloved's name or where to find her after the ball? Some versions have found good solutions; this one is mediocre. After his series-long slow-burn romance arc with Cinderella, it's awkward to see Charles become enamored in one night with the girl at the ball, whom he doesn't know is Cinderella. Even if it is just because she "reminds him" of Cinderella, whom he thinks will never speak to him again because he lied about his identity, it still seems ever-so-slightly fickle. I'd prefer to have him only regard her as a friend with whom he can confide about Cinderella. Then, after the ball, instead of being depressed about her disappearance, he'd be depressed because Cinderella "never showed up" even though he invited her. But Alex and Hans would mistakenly think he was moping over the mystery girl and set out to use the glass slipper to find her.

7. Give the stepfamily a gradual redemption arc.

Maybe this is what the series was trying to go for, because there are assorted episodes where Cinderella does especially valuable things for her stepfamily (saving Jeanne's life when they're lost in the woods, learning to swordfight and guarding the house against the bandits, risking her life to find healing herbs for her dangerously ill stepmother, etc.) and momentarily earns their respect. But in every new episode, they're back to abusing her. So in the last episode, it feels very abrupt when they start being nice to her after she's betrothed to Prince Charles. If it were played for laughs like in the 1957 version of the Rodgers and Hammertein musical, and they were clearly only sucking up to her because she was the princess-to-be, it would feel less awkward, but it's not played for laughs. It feels as if we're supposed to see it as a genuine, heartfelt family reconciliation, which is completely unearned. And then when Cinderella's father the Duke comes home, they all reunite as one big happy family and the Duke never even learns that his wife and stepdaughters abused his daughter while he was away!

My solution? Put much more emphasis on Cinderella's gradually earning her stepfamily's respect over the course of the series. Don't have them forget the great things she does for them; have call-backs to the fact that she saved their lives, risked her own safety for them etc. Show them increasingly torn between their jealousy of her and their growing respect and gratitude toward her. While they would still have a final "Kick the Dog" moment by tearing up her mother's dress and her invitation to the ball, I'd show them feeling very guilty as they ride away in their carriage afterward. Maybe Jeanne could ask Catherine if what they did was right, and Catherine would reply that they had no choice, Cinderella looked too pretty, the Prince would have ignored them if he had seen her, etc.; but clearly she wouldn't be so sure. Then, after Cinderella reunites with Prince Charles, there could be a scene similar to the opera La Cenerentola, where Charles would publicly berate the Duchess and her daughters for their treatment of Cinderella and threaten to punish them somehow, only for Cinderella to declare that she forgives them and beg her fiancé to pardon them. This would move them to tears and they would finally, profusely apologize to her for all they had done. And when the Duke comes home, Cinderella's choice not to tell him about their abuse could be emphasized as her way of showing faith in their repentance and giving them a second chance.

I realize that all this would probably take up more than just a few minutes of the final episode. So because we've already cut the earlier episode where the stepsisters work as maids at the palace, I suggest we add a new Episode 23, in-between the actual series' second-to-last and final episodes. This entire episode would take place between the slipper-fitting and the royal wedding, and it would open with her reunion with Charles and end with her reunion with her father. Everything in between would be devoted to her reconciliation with the stepfamily. This would be a much more believable, satisfactory conclusion for them than what the actual series gives us.

It's a good series, but with these changes, in my personal opinion, it would be even stronger.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [Track 1]

Original title: 串刺しの蝶たち

Source: Diabolik Lovers Zero Vol. 12 Azusa Mukami [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kishio Daisuke

Translator’s note: The second to last Zero CD I have to translate before completing the entire series, wooh~! I know Azusa isn’t a very popular character within the fandom, but I actually have a huge soft spot for him after translating his Eternal Blood CD. ;w; He is just such a cutie at times, it warms my heart. Hearing his ‘clone’ talk regularly completely threw me off though! He sounds so different, but in a good way! I kind of wish Azusa would start talking a little faster himself but I suppose that’s part of the charm of his character?

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

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Track 1: Pinned Butterflies

*Creaaaaak*

*THUD*

The two of you step inside the museum.

“It’s really...pouring outside, huh?”

You nod.

“I’m glad we just so happened...to pass by a place where we can take shelter from the rain...If not, we might have ended up...wandering through the forest while sopping wet...However, if we return home late...Ruki and the others will...get worried. I wonder if we should have just...headed straight home after finishing our errand?”

You frown. 

“It has been a while since we visited the Demon World...So we just wanted to make a little detour, right...?”

*CRASH*

You flinch at the thunder.

“...Oh. It struck closeby...With the weather like this...It seems smart to stay here...until the rain lifts...”

You agree.

“We’ll end up returning home late but...Let’s stay here just a little longer? Then after we’re back...We can apologize to everyone. I’m sure they’ll understand...If we explain.”

You nod.

“Mmh. I suppose we can kill some time...inside this building?”

Azusa starts looking around.

“Hm...But...I didn’t expect to find a museum around here...Seems like we are the only visitors though...Furthermore...Oh. What an impressive amount of portraits...Several people are portrayed...Seeing them all lined up next to each other like this...makes me a little anxious.”

You tell him it’s a little creepy.

“Mmh. I’m sure they would have made for nice paintings...if only their expressions were a little more bright...But they all seem to be suffering. ...That large canvas over there...The man on it looks sad, don’t you think? I wonder if he...went through a painful experience? ...This museum is kinda...weird.”

*CRASH*

“Ah...! ...Ah, are you okay? ...The thunder is a little scary here, don’t you think? It said on the guide map that there’s a basement floor as well...So should we move there?”

*TIMESKIP*

You have arrived in the basement.

“Just as I thought...We can’t hear the thunder down here...It’s less illuminated than the earlier floor but...It seems comfortable to stay at.”

Azusa comes to a halt.

“Oh. A door. I wonder what room this is...?”

He opens the door.

*Creaaaak*

“Woah...It’s so spacious...There’s a bunch of glass cases...Are they exhibiting something, perhaps...? ...Oh! There’s a lot of...insects. They all look like...specimen.”

You get scared, hiding behind Azusa.

*Rustle*

“Oh? What’s wrong...? No need to hide...They can’t move, so it’s fine...”

You still seem worried.

“Hm...There’s a lot of species from the Demon World but...I can spot some insects which exist in the human world as well...Ah! This! These are the bugs which devastated Yuma’s garden in the past...They ate the vegetables Yuma had been carefully growing...It was quite the fiasco...Me and Kou had to help him get rid of the bugs as well...Fufu~ Brings back memories...”

The two of you continue looking around.

“...Oh. Now that I got a better look, they’re displayed all over the walls as well. I wonder if that...large insect the size of a cushion is...real?”

You get scared again.

“...Oh. Ah...Huh? Your complexion looks...pale?”

You explain. 

“Ah...I’m sorry. I guess these are scary to you...even if they can’t move? Yet I failed to notice...Shall we leave this room now?”

You try and act tough. 

“You don’t look okay...No need to push yourself...Okay?”

*Rustle*

“Your body is...shaking. Hey, come here.”

Azusa pulls you close.

*Rustle rustle*

“I’m sure you’ll calm down in my embrace...In no time...”

He starts stroking your head.

“There, there...Everything will be okay...I’m with you...after all...”

You smile. 

“Mmh. I’m glad you seem a little more...relaxed. Ah...But you’re still a little tense...I wonder if we should touch each other more...?”

He cups your cheek.

“Whenever you do this to me...I always feel really relieved...So I figured you might feel the same...How is it?”

You tell him it feels nice.

“Fufu~ I’m glad...Then, next up...Mmh.”

*Smooch*

You get flustered.

“Hehe~ You twitched just now...Hm. Seems like you’re gradually relaxing...Also the scent of your blood...has grown sweeter. Does it feel...good, perhaps? Oh. Right. If you feel good, you’ll no longer be bothered by the specimen, right...?”

*Rustle*

“Say...I’ll suck your blood. If I do that, you don’t have to worry about a thing...”

You seem a little worried. 

“Don’t worry...Leave it to me. Mmh...”

Azusa bites you.

*Gulp*

*Sluuuurp*

“Haah...Mmh...Your blood is...extremely delicious. Say, do you feel good now?”

You don’t respond.

“What’s the matter? Was this...simply not enough? Hm...Hehe. However, you’re enraptured. Your cheeks are flushed and...you’ve got that dreamy look in your eyes. Haah...I wonder why you are this cute?”

You quickly cover your face with both hands.

“Oh...Why would you hide your face? I want to...see it.”

You explain.

“It’s...embarrassing? Hm...There’s really no reason to conceal it though. But...If you don’t want to, I won’t force you...You can keep your hands there, okay? I’ll suck your blood from here...”

He bites you again.

*Sluuuuurp*

“...Haah...Such sweet noises...Even though you said it’s embarrassing...You actually wanted me to do this...right? Hehe. I’ll bite other places too...”

*Sluuuuurp*

*Gulp gulp*

“Mmh...Hah...Haah...Oh. You no longer...need to hide your face? Has your mind...gone blank?”

You nod.

“Fufu~ I’m glad that’s the case. ...Your body has...stopped shivering as well, it seems...I wanted to do this for your sake but...I ended up getting a little too into it as well. Hm...The wounds aren’t deep so I’m sure the bleeding has stopped already...”

Azusa takes a deep breath.

“The whole room’s filled with the scent of blood now, huh...? It might be good that there’s...no other Vampires here. If someone else was around, it might have lead to trouーー”

A sudden gust of wind can be heard.

“O-Oh...? Ah...What was that just now...? The sound of the wind...? It kind of sounded like someone...crying?”

You tell Azusa you don’t like being here.

“...M-Mmh...Guess we should take our leave soon...? It might have...stopped raining by now. Let’s head back up.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Creaaaak*

“Ugh...Oh? Huh? We ended up in a...different room? Did we take...a wrong turn?”

Azusa steps into the room.

“It’s better lit than the other rooms...There’s a canvas and art supplies...Everything’s all over the place. ...Seems like this isn’t an exhibition room. There’s no specimen either, so don’t worry. Say...This might be a working space? Oh...If that’s the case...We might get scolded for entering without permission, right? Let’s quickly leave. It’d be troublesome if...we were to stain something important...”

He bumps into something while turning around.

*Thud*

*Flip*

“...Aah! Oh...I dropped them...S-Sorry...!”

Azusa kneels down to pick up the papers and so do you.

“Ah...Thank you for helping me...”

The two of you pick up the drawings.

“I guess we’ve got them all now...?”

*Flip*

“Oh...These were drawn with...pencil, I suppose? What a beautiful person...It’s the same woman portrayed on all of them. I’m sure she was...someone very important.”

T/N: From this point onwards, I will be putting fake Azusa’s dialogue between ( ) and changing the font to bolded italics. This CD has both the real and the fake Azusa interacting with you and each other, so hopefully that will make it a bit easier to tell them apart.

( Exactly. She was important. )

“...E-Eh?”

( To me, she was irreplaceable.... )

“...!? W-Who are you...? Where are you...!?”

( Right here. Look at the wall. )

“Oh? ...Huh? My...portrait? Are you the one...who talked just now?”

( That’s right. Nice to meet you, dear visitors. Ah. I suppose it would be rude to introduce myself from within the canvas. )

The fake Azusa steps out of the frame.

( ...Uhm, let me greet you one more time. Nice to meet you, dear visitors. Welcome to the museum. )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[girlmeetsliv3]

Violent Delights: One

Violent Delights

(In collaboration with @jooniescupcakes​)

Genre: Horror, Suspense, & Psychological Thriller

Pairings: Gang!Jimin x reader ; BTS x Reader

Sypnosis:“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.”

Release Date: Sept 29, 2020 @ 8 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 9.2k

Author's Note: It's finally here! Almost a year in the works, but Violent Delights The Series is finally kicking off. Thank you for all the love, support, as well as critiques the one-shot received. I hope this re-telling can both capture and surpass the twisted charm of the original. I would like to thank Min (@jooniescupcakes) for helping me outline and plot the story and for contributing. I greatly appreciate it. This story will be darker, gore-y, and a lot more twisted than the original. So strap in & happy early Halloween! Trigger Warning: This story contains subject matter not appropriate for all ages. This story contains mental illness, emotional, physical, and mental abuse; as well as abuse of power, manipulation, and toxic relationships. All of which play a big part in this story. It is never my intention to sensationalize or spread misinformation about mental disorders, please take the "medicine" used in this story with a grain of salt. Links to helplines can be found in the navigation of my blog. Lastly, this is a work of fiction and does not portray the character of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

The door slammed shut harshly as Hanbin rushed to bolt it locked, by his side, he tugged an inconsolable YN through the small house. There was very little time until she arrived. He maneuvered his way through the piles of old dirty clothes, the children had long become accustomed to the stench coming from the kitchen, the dust, and grime that covered their home. It’s why no one came over. Not that anyone was allowed over. In the center of the room framed on the wall shined a family portrait mockingly. Hanbin was short for his age, just eight years old, but it allowed him to navigate through small openings and hide in tight spaces. It was a survival tactic.

“Shh, YN. You need to calm down. She’ll be here soon.”

“i-I wuh-wanted to help, Binnie. She was hurt -”

Hanbin pulled on his sister a little too harshly trying to draw her attention, it caused her lower lip to quiver as she tried to hold the tears back. That wouldn’t do she didn’t like it when they cried. “Helping people only gets you into trouble.” Outside, the slamming of a car door could be heard. Quickly Hanbin located the small broom closet and helped YN inside. The jiggling of the doorknob was barely above a whisper, but it rang as loud as the fire alarm in the children’s heads. YN began to hyperventilate knowing what was coming even if she didn’t truly understand why. 

“It’s okay,” Hanbin rubs her cheek affectionately. “Just stay inside, be quiet, and don’t try to help.” Just like that he closed the door and locked it. He silently hoped YN hadn’t skipped lunch that day. YN cowered under the old headboards, her only company the dusty cleaning products and cobwebs, the second the screaming started she covered her ears and closed her eyes.

“Miss YN?” The nurse’s bright pink scrubs served as a strong contrast to the muted tones of the rest of the building. YN cast a glance around she was likely the youngest person there, but everyone around her shared a similar air of ennui that YN had long grown to associate with doctor’s offices. Slowly she stood up following the nurse as she guided her through what appeared to be an endless labyrinth of doors. After stopping abruptly the nurse turns around and smiles though it’s evidently rehearsed. “Don’t be nervous, Dr. Kang is one of the best doctors here.” How many times hadn’t she heard that before? YN offers the nurse a smile making sure it is wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. That seems to suffice the woman enough for her to finally knock on the door.

Dr. Kang Daniel was certainly young for his profession, but that provided some relief for YN. It would be nice not to spend almost an hour with someone that looked to have been around when Freud was. “Please take a seat.” He gestures over to a chair in front of the desk and YN notices there is little decoration around the room. It’s also missing a clock, but thankfully she sees Kang is wearing one. YN notes the time: 5:36 pm. Forty-three more minutes to go. 

“I apologize that we’re going to have to go through all of this, but its procedure.” He lightly shakes the file in his hand. Most doctors operated digitally now, so that stood out.

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get to it then. Why are you here YN?”

They went over the usual things and YN was quickly growing a bit bored, her eyes danced around the room as she did find it very strange that it seemed so vacant for a personal office. “Bored?” Her eyes snapped back to his, Kang wearing an unreadable expression. “I apologize for the lack of decor. I recently moved offices, so this will be my last day here.” YN frowned, “I thought I was to be your new patient.” Kang nods, “Yes, but our sessions will be held in my consultation. It’s closer to downtown so you might save yourself the trip.” How does he know I live closer to downtown? Perhaps seeing the further furrowing of her brow Kang speaks once more. “Unless you live far from downtown?” YN shakes her head feeling the tension leave her body just a bit.

Slowly he closes the file and leans forward, resting on his elbows. “I know this isn’t the most comfortable environment. I also know how jarring transfers can be and that they can halt any sort of process…” YN zones out of the conversation having heard it a thousand times since she was eleven years old. The rambling tends to have the same conclusion every single time.

‘I want us to be friends.’

“I want us to be friends or something similar. I know there are some barriers and guidelines in our relationship, but don’t think they aren’t malleable. I’m here if you need me.” 

YN mulls over what might serve as an appropriate response, aware that taking too long might ruin the pseudo-friendly atmosphere and she doesn’t want to have any more problems with psychiatrists. “Thank you, Dr. Kang. I’m sorry I’m just a bit nervous.” The sheepish smile that follows afterward is enough to convince Kang. Perhaps he isn’t a bad man but YN has encountered his type far too often: those striving to make a difference. Always trying to make things better. Always trying to help. 

“No one will help us, YN. No one cares about us.”

“So let’s move onto your family YN -”

“Actually I wanted to ask you about my medication.” Kang seemed surprised at her interruption but encouraged her to continue. “Dr. Lee only gave me enough medication to last the transfer, so I’m almost out.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking you off the medication for a short time anyway.” What? Kang’s attention was now on his computer, not bothering to look at YN in the eye. “I need to run some tests and in order to do that your system has to be clean.” 

YN hadn’t been off her medication for a long time. Sure the dosage varied depending on the treatment, but going completely off was unheard of. Especially so soon. “Don’t worry,” Kang smiled. “There shouldn’t be any potential side effects and if there is I’ll give you my private number. In case of emergencies.” What was supposed to be a soothing smile only unnerved YN even more. YN nodded once more though she felt her anxiety begin to swell up in her stomach. Her heart rate speeding up, but YN knew a panic attack wouldn’t do her any favors. It would make her look like an addict and they would lock her up for sure. It’s only a matter of time. Now that the issue had been cleared Kang cleared his throat, “Now what I was saying about your family -” 

YN stood up abruptly thankful the minute hand had finally landed one above the four. “It’s 6:19 our time is up.” She gestures towards his wristwatch and an annoyed look masks his face before it went just as quickly as it came. “It appears so.” His hand covers the watch in a motion that could hardly be described as casual. Kang waves her off, “It was a pleasure meeting you, YN. I’ll schedule the tests for Friday and I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“In other news….updates...gang violence…”

YN wandered through the aisles looking for inspiration or something to satisfy her cravings. In her hand lay open her phone just so she wouldn’t have to keep making eye contact with the older woman behind the cash register. The employee peered at her as if YN was one of the dangerous criminals the news anchors droned on about.  YN keeps looking over the message her social worker sent her: you have to be there at least a month before I could put in a transfer request. When YN bent down to read the label, she felt the woman lean over the counter. YN rolled her eyes and picked up the packaged bulgogi before grabbing a sports drink and a small fruit salad.

Once she saw YN was an actual paying customer, not a shoplifter, the woman’s expression changed. Her smile far too gleeful for this time of night. “Will that be all, dear?” Her voice too high to be sincere. Nonetheless, YN nods and forces a polite smile on her face. Even wishes the woman a safe night for extra measure. Before YN could walk out of the store, the woman responds with her own form of goodnight. “I would be careful walking home tonight. There’s been a lot of crime recently.”

 It is a bit cruel that the second YN exits the store and turns a corner someone begins to follow her. She becomes aware of it instantly, her senses having been trained from a young age to pick up on the small imperceptible changes. Instinct was not to be ignored. The wind became thicker and the streets a little too quiet. YN wouldn’t look up, but if she did, surely there would be storm clouds looming. Don’t acknowledge him. Just keep walking. People like that enjoyed prey. The game. No one wanted to face off against a predator being one. Unless this was a different kind of predator then YN really ought to call the police. For once she was thankful for the pocketknife stored in the inner pocket of her jacket but disappointed that her pepper spray remained stashed in her bag.

Her groceries hung heavy on her arm, but YN was too far from home to attempt to sprint. So she would have to wait it out, YN could take a few punches. Surely whoever it was would become tired after following her for too long. By the time YN had walked ten blocks, she realized that was not the case. The person was still behind her, though there wasn’t much that she could tell much about the person. They were likely taller and considering their persistence they were a threat.

YN could pick up distantly on the booming bass that likely came from one of the many clubs scattered downtown. It meant she was near her house, that she could likely get home. The houses looked familiar she was probably not too far from home. Hope began to swell in her chest until another idea dawned on her. That’s exactly what they want. If the person had followed her this far they wanted to see where she lived. Abruptly YN turned left towards the direction of the main street, she was likely in a back alley of some sort but the bass only got louder so that helped propel her forward.

Towards the center of the alley, YN saw three figures huddled over on the ground. She was too far off to hear what they were saying, but based on their movements it seemed mocking in nature. YN wasn’t able to decipher what was occurring until it was far too late. A man is wriggling on the ground while bleeding profusely from the side of his head while two men stand above him. Blood is spattered on both walls and their clothes are covered in it. There no longer was a presence behind her the real danger now lay in front. In the form of a tall raven-haired man and a slightly shorter blonde - the latter of which YN made eye contact with.

YN bolts down the alleyway in the opposite direction aware that the blonde is hot on her tails. As she rounds a corner she feels him catching up to her right on her before he abruptly slows down. He doesn’t want the chase to end.

56...57...58…

YN counts the streets aware she’s nearing her apartment but isn’t about to lead him straight to her doorstep. In her peripheral, she sees one of the neighboring buildings which contains a doorman stationed there twenty-four hours. YN uses the last bit of her strength to push through the glass doors tumbling at the steps, but the doorman is there to catch her. “Miss, is everything alright?” YN turns around to catch a glimpse, but there’s no one behind her. Though she does note something disappointing: her groceries are gone.

When YN unlocked her apartment door she felt this immediate wave of tranquility hit her. It had taken a while to convince the doorman not to contact the police, she didn't want to be in bigger trouble, but the man had finally agreed after stating he would walk her back home. Once in the lobby, she took the stairs just to be safe. Quickly, she turned around securing all three locks, and headed straight for the bathroom. YN never understood the sentiment behind showers helping unwind, then again she never spent enough time under the water to allow for that. Baths weren't a treat - they were a utility. Like most utilities YN didn't have a lot of available growing up, so she learned to adapt.

Still, it was long enough to let her mind wander to everything that had occurred today. YN wasn't quite sure about how she felt about Dr. Kang, he unnerved her in a way other doctor's hadn't before. Then there was the issue regarding her medication: YN hadn't been unmedicated since she was eleven and that was a time she didn't want to go back to. Then there was the person that may have followed her and the man that definitely did. My head hurts. She rinsed herself and shut the water off, drying herself quickly with her towel. The chase had been real, too real, everything in YN's body had reacted instinctively once she met his eyes. Those dark eyes that had pierced into hers. The blonde man wasn't just chasing YN - he was hunting her down.

But what about the other person? YN hadn’t seen them, but she had felt them trailing after her. However, why would someone do that and especially for so long? The blonde man had only really tracked YN down for two blocks, but even then it felt shorter. The other person simply observed her. Didn’t do anything. Was there even someone there? YN glanced up, catching her reflection in the foggy mirror. The mist had dispersed in some sections, but not others so the only thing she could see were parts of her face. Faltering in her step, she walked forward and pulled the mirror open. Grabbing the white-labeled bottle with her name printed on it.

Habin sits atop the bathroom sink balancing himself. One of his hands gripping tightly to the side to not slip. This has to be done quickly before she gets back from the store. YN holds his legs or attempts to, while Habin finally manages to grab the bottle. “Is it this one?” He sticks his hand out for YN to see. The young girl squints her eyes, “Are they blue and little?” Hanbin looks through the orange tint of the bottle before nodding. “I think so.”

“Do they smell like fruits?”

“I can’t open the bottle YN. I don’t know if they smell like fruit.”

YN nods and Habin notes how hollowed out her face has become. Once round and plump, full of life, now looks as frail as his. “I think those are the ones.” Habin closes the medicine cabinet and cautiously jumps off, the medicine bottle still tight in his hands. “Why does she give them to you?” YN can note the confusion in her brother’s face, she was confused before too. “She says I need them to go to sleep. They help me sleep.” Habin stays quiet before in the blink of an eye he throws the pill bottle against the wall, breaking the seal causing all the pills to spill all over the floor.

“Bin why did you do that?! I need -”

“No! You don’t need anything YN. You aren’t sick, she's just lying to you!” Habin screamed in frustration. He could see the tears starting to well up in YN’s eyes and he felt regret pool in his stomach. “Please YN. You aren’t sick. We aren’t sick. Okay?”

YN took a deep breath, the way her brother had shown her would help stop the tears, the inside of her cheek was bitten harshly until her throat cleared up. “Okay.”

YN looks at the white bottle in her hand considering taking the medicine despite what Kang said. It would just be one more. Just to calm her down. To make sure that what happened tonight wasn't a side effect of going off so quickly. Her hand twisted the bottle cap, but instead of grabbing one and placing it in her mouth, she headed towards the toilet flushing them all away. Though she might not agree with his treatment plans Dr.Kang was a professional and surely knew more than she did. Plus, YN couldn't afford to be transferred again; her social worker might drop her altogether. It’s just until the blood work is completed.

“Unfortunately Miss YN, we won’t be able to conduct any tests until your insurance approves it.”

YN paces around her apartment, phone in hand. “I understand but my doctor ordered it. It’s necessary in order for him to treat me.”

“It appears that the necessary paperwork hasn’t been sent over to the insurance company. At least not enough to justify the exams. You can go through with them, but it will have to be out of pocket.”

YN sighs, running her hand through her hair as the nurse lists off the prices for each exam. A knock disrupts her causing YN to glance at the door questioningly, no one in her building would ever knock on her door. Looking through the peephole, she sees the manager and doesn't know if that makes her relieved or tenser. "I'm sorry can you just give me a minute?" YN speaks to the phone and mutes it, just to be safe. Upon opening the door, a brown bag is shoved in her face.

“Sorry to interrupt dear, some boy left this for you downstairs.”

Just as quickly as he came, the manager leaves. YN quickly shuts the door and locks it, before hanging up the call. The bag looks simple enough though YN hadn’t ordered anything in the past couple of days. Cautiously she opens it and the horror that spreads through her body is instantaneous. In the bag are her groceries from last night, but with minor changes: The red energy drink is now blue, the fruit salad is replaced with regular salad, and instead of bulgogi it is kimchi now. Though it isn’t the food that upsets YN, but rather the pink sticky note placed on top.

To replace everything you lost ;)

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Staying locked inside her apartment for the following days seemed like a smart choice. There was someone out there who knew where she lived. What she looked like. YN was used to being preyed upon, but this was a different game. Not one she was accustomed to. There were enough faded white lines and healed over bones to evidence that she was a survivor. That time and time again YN had faced against monsters and gotten out alive. The thing that terrified her about this monster - was how different he was. She kept waiting for the tall blonde man to show up one night: looming over her whilst she slept, crouching in a dark corner of the room. Lurking behind the shower curtain.

YN wasn’t able to sleep, didn’t bathe, and had thrice rearranged the room so there was no furniture to hide behind. Her paranoia was through the roof and it didn’t help that it had been the first time YN was off her medication for an extended amount of time. Which was bound to be causing more problems than she was aware of, or would like to acknowledge. The cycle continued until on her fourth day, sick of the grime, YN picked up the phone and dialed Dr.Kang’s office. Hoping to resolve the issue and be back on medication as soon as possible.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Kang isn’t in the office today. However, I can schedule a house call”

She hung up, not even bothering to respond to the secretary on the other line. If YN would have allowed herself a moment to feel anything except for fear - sympathy would've been felt for the probably nice young woman she had just hung up on. Maybe I can just sleep until my next appointment. Sleep it all away. So YN crawled into her bed, the covers lie somewhere on the floor. Exhaustion taking over as she drifted off to sleep.

It should've been easier to tell her childhood room apart from all the ones she had before. It had the most personality; if stickers on the wall, old pencil marks, and deteriorating plaster counted. Most of them hadn't even been done by her, but rather Habin in time before her. It created a sense of normalcy in YN's life that didn't exist elsewhere. Of course, her safe haven didn't last long, the hole in the wall right near the bed frame was proof enough. YN couldn't remember the last time she had dreamt, the medication helped with the nightmares, now she stood curled in a ball in the center of the room. The way she would always get once she heard the heavy footsteps approach the hallway.

YN had long learned to tell the different patter of the weathered old sneakers. Heavy stomps that scraped against the wood meant she was going to be screamed at. Rhythmic ones that were heavier on the heel, than the toes meant they might get dinner. While footsteps that dragged meant YN would be getting ignored. It was the ones she didn't hear. When the hallway was so quiet that all YN could hear was the sound of her breathing and the fear rushing through her tiny body - those were the steps she feared. Those were typically followed by the gentle, yet suspenseful pushing of her bedroom door. It didn't have a knob. There was no escape.

YN expected to peer up and see the tall large figure that always tormented her. The thick thighs, rounded hips, a bulbous stomach that spoke of all the meals she'd had - all the ones her children hadn't - and her face. It was much like YN's though much more feminine, older, and eyes devoid of life. It had always stood out to YN when she was a child, though she was certain that if she were to look in a mirror now YN would be the spitting image of her mother. Instead of her birth giver stood a man.

His face was angular, rounded cheeks, and sharp eyes highlighted by thick brows. His lips appeared full as if they were meant for bright large smiles, but it was obvious from the man’s expression he rarely did. There was something strangely familiar about him. An amalgamation of someone she knew and her own imagination, filling in the blank spaces. He looked like her, yet not at all. Tears welled in her eyes, “Bin?” Then he morphed. Now slightly taller, more weight to his frame. A rounded face with hooded eyes, the corner of his lips were tilted upwards in a way that was full of mirth. Dr. Kang faded as quickly as he came.

Now all she saw was a silhouette. Despite being mostly obscured, she could at least tell it was a man. He was lean yet muscular. His body was sharply defined in a way that seemed deliberate. Facial features were obscured, but YN was certain he was glaring at her in a way that caused goosebumps to rise all over her body. Plump pink lips parted moving slowly, tauntingly, but no sound exited them. Only by the smirk formed afterward could she tell their salacious nature. He stepped forward drawing closer to her, but the way he moved was inhumane. It wasn't a walk. But a predator's crawl towards her. Now he was finally in the light, entirely visible but all YN could focus on was the blonde mop of hair atop his head. When he pounced, she screamed.

YN awoke covered in sweat, her hair matted against her forehead and neck. She could still taste the saltiness of her tears and when she finally managed to breathe a sob tore out. Get out! Get out! Get out! If she remained locked inside her apartment for one more second, YN was going to reach her breaking point. Quickly she hopped in the shower before throwing on the first thing she saw and grabbing her wallet. YN didn’t know where she was headed, but her body acted on its own. Locking the apartment door before racing towards the stairs, dashing down all seven floors with little care if she tripped. Perhaps a silent part of her wished she did, it would put her out of her misery.

The lobby of her apartment building, if it could even be called that, was always empty. Never a soul in sight to guard the door, even though YN was sure part of her rent went towards security. Not to mention the intercom system, which allowed people to be buzzed in, hadn't worked for several weeks. It was something she was always acutely aware of but pushed towards the back of her mind. Wouldn't do her any favors to obsess over something she had no control over. Now walking through the desolate lobby out into the night - it was all she could think about. He was all she could think about.

YN took a deep breath and opened the glass doors sneakily peeking towards the sides and being thankful when she noted nothing great. Now where to? She wouldn't go very far nor somewhere unknown. It was reckless to be out so late and would be a death wish to try and enter city life. Gang violence was on the rise and YN didn't fancy herself prepared to face off against someone. So, YN went to the one place that felt familiar no matter what. The convenience store was a fifteen-minute walk, but she took the bus. The original plan was to sit towards the back, where she could see everything, but it wasn't empty. An elderly woman, far too frail-looking to be out this late, sat in the center. Whilst three boys huddled over sat in the back, they must have felt her eyes on them. As one of them - the one in the black beanie - stopped his conversation and turned slightly. Before they could make eye contact YN looked away and sat down.

“Which one do you want?” Habin asked as they stared at the ice cream truck. He had counted the cents twice making sure they had enough. “Hm,” YN eye’s glanced all over the various images glued onto the truck. She already knew what she wanted but had long learned that taking your time was important - not too much though. “Mint choco.” Habin grimaced, disgust evident on his face. “Come on YN. We have to share it. Why can’t we get something I like for a change?” He whined, it was only ice cream but it was the only food Habin was likely to have all day. “Okay, let’s get chocolate then.” YN didn’t really care, she wasn’t planning on eating. Habin had sacrificed enough meals to feed her, an ice cream was the least she could do.

As she steps into the cold building, a small bell chimed to signal her entrance, alerting a young employee near the cashier. 

“Welcome!” The boy smiles, wide and welcoming, handing her a basket,

YN didn’t respond. She walks towards the back, looking for some of her usual snacks, and before long, her basket was filled to the brim with all sorts of colorful foods, and she headed towards the till to pay, grimacing under the weight pulling at her arm. As she pulls out her purse, a soft chime catches her attention, making her glance at the door quickly, before trailing her eyes back. A familiar head of blonde flashes in her mind immediately, and despite herself, she found herself clenching her purse tightly, feeling her palms become clammy with sweat. What were the odds..?

“Is that all?” the cheery voice of the employee breaks her out of her trance as she nods back firmly, unable to push aside the nervous feeling from seeing the person walk in. Quickly weighing the options as she sees him bag all her groceries, she forces the question out before she can stop herself.

“Could you...walk me to the bus station?” Her voice was awkward and tight from keeping quiet most of the day, and she internally winced at the confused expression the other gave her.

“Are you..” he pauses, eyeing her carefully, “is someone trying to hurt you?” 

YN doesn’t know what to say. Could she tell him what she saw? Fortunately, she didn’t have to reply. The boy - Kai, as it said on his tag - seemed to assume her pause was a yes. Excusing himself, he disappears behind the counter, and within a moment, hushed voices coming from there. Something was unnerving about standing there alone with the blonde, chilling her to the bone, knowing she was faced away and he could pounce at any moment. As soon as the terrifying thoughts crept in, Kai stepped back out. He takes her bag and silently leads her out the glass doors, warm, still air hitting her face the minute she left the building. They walk side by side silently, and YN could only count her steps as she got closer and closer to the station.

Her steps quicken when she sees the familiar structure, tall gray pillars, and a few large buses waiting. Kai keeps up with her as well, not bothered by the bag that seemed to drag her down, looking around carefully. 

“Thank you.”

He smiles, what she initially assumed to be his practiced ‘customer service’ smile seemed a little more genuine now. Or maybe he was just very good at it - she wasn’t sure. She takes back the plastic bag, letting herself get used to the additional weight before turning to board the bus. 

“Have a safe trip home!” The boy calls out, making her look back.

YN was expecting to see him with his blinding smile, but something eerier catches her eye. The young employee was standing a few steps away from her, and behind him, dangerously close, was the blonde man from before. Her mouth goes dry as she notices his dark gaze fixated on her hand that held the railing inside, something else in them as he cocked an eyebrow. He almost looked as if he was questioning her, asking what she would do now that he was close, much closer, and positioned to attack the boy. Realizing he must have followed her all the way, she felt her heart rate pick up as she found herself rapidly staring between Kai and the perpetrator, the choices dawning on her. She had to choose to leave Kai behind, or possibly die with him. 

She felt her heart drop at the calm expression on the boy's face, not noticing the danger he was in, she knew he was young, but watching him now, she only just realized how young. He was so young, so innocent, with a whole life ahead of him - but because of some unfortunate circumstance, an unforeseeable future, he would have to throw everything away. 

But if she stayed for him, so would she. She would have to give up everything she had struggled for, while in any circumstance, the blonde would kill Kai, regardless of whether she chose to stay or not. However, she could spare her own life. She couldn’t convince Kai to get on with her without alarming the man, but she could save her own life. After everything she had gone through, trouble was the last thing YN needed. Even if it meant someone else had to suffer alone, she had to stay safe. She found herself holding back hot tears as she quickly ducked into a lonely seat, refusing to look back, still clenching the cheap plastic in one hand and forcing herself not to look back as the tears freely slid down her cheeks. 

‘Helping people only gets you into trouble. You do whatever it takes to survive.’

           “They tell me you’ve missed the appointment I had set up.”

           YN is noticeably tense as she sits in the blue velvet mid-century, her nails digging into the denim fabric of her jeans. “The insurance wasn’t notified,” her tone was clipped. Lower with a slight tremble to it as if it were about to break, but never really did. “I also needed a referral.” Dr. Kang frowned, glancing back down at the file before looking at YN questioningly. “That’s strange. I told my secretary to handle all the paperwork. I even told Joy to hand you the referral.” Seeing the confused expression on his patient’s face, he shrugged. “My apologies, Joy must have forgotten.” The smile he shoots her is sincere, or at least looks so, YN has no reason to doubt him any further on this matter.

Her posture slackens somewhat but given everything that has happened these past few days she finds it difficult to truly relax. YN feels that she is tethering at the edge of a breakdown, but that if she were to fall it would only make her circumstances worsen. There is something that has been bothering her though, how pacified everything has been as of late. The blonde man knew where she lived, he'd likely overheard her name as well, yet nothing had happened. Even Kang, with his cold calculating eyes, had not commented on her odd behavior the last session or how worse she had seemed to get after only being off her medication for a week. Why can’t I figure them out?

           “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to assign you any new medication until I have the results from the bloodwork. However, I do want to know how you’ve been feeling lately.” Kang crossed his legs, leaning forward in his seat. “Have you been experiencing any side effects or withdrawals? Anything I should know about?”

There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, one that warned YN that he may know more than he lets on. As if the man sitting in front of her was single-handedly responsible for everything that had occurred to her recently. "Normal things…" I am being stalked by a homicidal maniac. “Migraines, low blood pressure…” I keep having vivid flashbacks that only serve to increase my paranoia. “Sometimes I dissociate a bit.” Most importantly, doctor, I had a nightmare where you were about to kill me. “And trouble sleeping.” YN looked towards the ceiling, feigning as if she were in deep thought. “I think that’s it.”

Kang Daniel looked affronted as if she had not given a sufficient enough answer. Hadn't given him the answers he wanted. "I see." His eyes darted towards her hands, which had been tightly intertwined on her lap - immediately she relaxes them. When their eyes meet once more she levels with him. YN knows there is no point in engaging with Kang, that is exactly what he wants. To pry. Dig deep. Learn of all her secrets and who knows what else. He won’t win. I’m safe here. YN had suffered too great a loss yesterday, she was determined to win this game.

           “I had time to go over your file YN. There’s a lot to discuss, but I would prefer to dive right in if you don’t mind.”

           “I-”

           “Very well,” She’d upset him. YN wasn’t even truly aware of what she’d specifically done, but it seemed to matter very little. “It states here you’ve been diagnosed with a personality disorder - at quite a young age too.

           “I was ten.” YN’s voice is muted. Her mind blank.

           “Do you agree with this diagnosis?” YN shrugs, her eyes move down to the file. She knows what he’s going to say next. Or she can at least predict it: it typically doesn’t vary. No matter how many times she goes through the same process the words and intentions are the same. It isn’t sincere sentiments, but rather rehearsed lies spewed to make her feel better - as if she ever could. No, YN is broken. No fixing her up.

           “I don’t. I think you were misdiagnosed.” YN’s eyes widen as they shoot back up to meet Kang’s. “The main reasoning behind this is because of your apparent lack of empathy, but that isn’t true either is it, YN?” Her mouth felt dry, she struggled to swallow the saliva building up. There was a build-up of breath in her lungs which was starting to become painful and she felt her throat tighten. “It’s a survival tactic. An effective one at that - if I may be honest.” So many thoughts were rushing to the forefront of YN’s head. So many memories. Stop. She wanted to scream. Please stop! She felt like she was going to throw up. Kang bent over, his face so close to YN's that she could see how dilated his pupil was: only leaving a sliver of his iris shines through.

Why is he doing this?!

“You feel something YN. It’s okay to feel things. You aren’t with your mother anymore anymore. You aren’t with your brother anymore. You’re safe and I know the next time something happens you’ll do the right thing.”

YN’s eyes were red, brimming with unshed tears as Kang’s words bounced around her head. “Dr. Kang -” She chokes, a sob threatening to escape, but the man doesn’t allow her to finish. “Our time is up. Pick up your referral at Joy’s desk. I will see you on our next appointment.” The smile given is full of sadistic glee.

YN didn’t know how long she had spent wandering around the city. Last she knew she had passed the bus stop and convenience store from last night. If she were smart YN would’ve gone back to her apartment. She didn’t want to though, not trusting herself to be alone. It had been mid-afternoon when she had left Kang’s office. Now it was pitch black with only a few people walking down the streets and cars passing by. Her phone was tucked away in her bag, YN couldn’t muster up enough energy to reach for it to know her location. The tears she shed had long ago dried, though their evidence remained clear to see on her face due to the streak marks and reddened nose.

Several voices were speaking to her, memories, all pulling her in different directions. One by one, YN blocked them out until only three remained. Her brother’s: “You’re not sick.” Dr. Kang’s: “You’ll do the right thing.” Lastly, the faintest one of all - hers: "What do I do?" She had muttered it without realizing it. A cry for help that traveled through the wind, searching for an answer or a sign. She would be granted one.

The scream was so loud, it tore straight through the foggy haze that had settled in her mind and YN found herself frozen in place. Glancing upwards, she noted that a few feet away to the left was an alleyway. That was it, wasn’t it? Yet her feet wouldn’t move. Her brother’s voice echoed so loudly that it barely allowed her to breathe much less move. Until, a stronger, much more powerful one broke through - “It’s okay to feel things...I know you’ll do the right thing.” Her feet were moving before YN had even a second to dwell on her decision. The alleyway was, deceptively long, but YN could see several silhouettes just from the entrance. Quickly she dug her hand into her bag and pulled out her phone, dialing emergency services but hovering over the call button. YN didn't even know where exactly she was - nor did she know what was going on either. It wouldn't do well to just rush in, thankfully about ten feet inlay a giant dumpster which YN crouched behind.  

Another scream echoed off the brick walls, a cacophony of laughter followed it. There’s more than one. YN had hoped it was a robbery or something simple, now she realized just how in over her head she may be. You can still walk away YN. Just walk away. Cautiously YN moved to sneak a glance. There was a singular lamp attached to one of the buildings that illuminated most of the alley. The faint light didn't allow her to make out specific features, but it was enough for her to bear witness to the disturbing scene. Seven men were standing all loosely crowded around a young couple: a man and woman whose bodies were severely bruised and beaten. The man's skull was cracked open with blood profusely leaking from the side of his head. Several teeth were scattered on the ground and his hand was tightened around his abdomen which seemed to have been cut as well. The woman beside him had most of her clothing ripped and large bruises on her side, an indicator of broken ribs. Her eyes moved deliriously as she muttered to herself.

YN’s attention lay entirely on the victims until she witnessed a crowbar fly through the air and land on the man’s leg, with a sickening ‘crack’ that had YN feeling nauseous. The man was too out of it to do anything but let out a small howl of pain. Her previous assumption had been right, there were seven men: all standing there with blood-stained clothes and mocking the man. There was something familiar about them, but YN couldn’t pinpoint what. All of them cheered as the man’s now dead body slumped to the side. Her phone had been long forgotten, YN observed everything now with a morbid fascination. Taking advantage of the perpetrator’s lack of attention the woman stood up slowly and bolted, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement and alerting them their prey had gotten away.

None of them moved - they simply observed her and YN watched in shock. Why aren’t they chasing her? Would they actually… By now the woman was only a few feet away from the entrance, she passed by YN and must've caught sight of YN's hunched over the figure for the woman's head snapped towards her. Causing both women to miss the figure dashing in their direction until it was too late. The woman was harshly tackled to the ground, her head bouncing off the pavement in sickening motion. There is a glint of something in his hand before a dagger plunges into the young girl's body multiple times. In a desperate move, she extends her hand reaching out towards YN begging for help but YN remains frozen. Eyes wide and teary as she cowers as close as she can to the wall, shaking her head she begs the woman not to speak. Begs her not to draw the perps attention. Please don’t!

“Please help me.”

The perpetrators head snaps towards YN and she finally sees him. He's tall, lean figure, plump lips, cat eyes, and ruffled blonde hair. The blood splattered across his face revealed the dark truth behind his angelic features. His dark hooded eyes trail across YN's body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. The blonde man looks like a predator savoring its next meal. Before he can pounce YN takes off running, unfortunately, he captures her with ease. Caging her body against his own, pillowy lips part and it dawns on YN she has never heard him speak before.

“Caught you.”

Just like that their game has come to an end, surely YN’s life will too. The two of them are so enraptured in each other, they don’t notice the figure slowly standing up and grabbing the abandoned knife on the floor. Not until the blonde man’s body sags slightly and YN notices the woman standing behind them. Don’t. She wants to say, furious that the woman wouldn’t have run away - escaped when she had the chance. For YN couldn’t bear another dead body on her subconscious. The blonde man turned around with pure rage steaming off his body, upset that his prey would dare to fight back. His arms gripped her head and with the slightest flick of his wrist, he broke the girl’s neck. When he turned back around to face his prize, he was shocked to find her expressionless staring at the corpse right in front of her.

YN came to a disturbing conclusion: She wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t helped me. As she once again made eye contact with the monster before her, all YN could see was her reflection in his eyes. Hanbin was right.

The man stepped forward and YN stepped back, crashing into the wall. His hands gripped at her sides, nails digging into her flesh harshly. He was formulating a plan, thinking about how best to kill her - YN could see it. It seems the universe had decided to take pity on her, or further condemn her, for just as his eyes were beginning to light up, the rest of the group made their presence known. “Jimin let’s go. The fun’s over.” Jimin? There was something familiar about that name.

“Funs not over yet, boys.” As if she weighed nothing, Jimin grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. YN struggled against him, aware that if she couldn’t handle one man, there was no way she could survive seven. “I finally found my pet.” What? When Jimin finally put her down, his arms encased her again showing her off to his friends as if she was some shiny new toy, they could look at but not touch. As YN glanced at them she found she recognized some of them, they’re from the bus. At that moment she realized that death had been following YN for a long time and even if she hadn't stepped into the alleyway tonight, their paths would have crossed eventually.  

“Ah, so you’re the girl Jimin’s been obsessed with.” The tall tan one with curly dark hair spoke, his low baritone voice was mocking in nature.

“She’s not that pretty.” muttered another one, with rounded eyes and a tall nose.

“Now, come on kookie. Don’t be mean, she’s a lot prettier than what we’re used to.” The third man’s tone was higher pitched, lips stretched into a heart-shaped smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What do you think we should do, Namjoon?” spoke the light-haired one dawned in all black. His eyes darting over to the tallest member, his platinum hair shining brightly in the dark alleyway.

When Namjoon spoke it was deliberate and calculated, his eyes boring into YN’s, his words dripping with implication. “We should take this one to go.”

Distantly YN could hear the wailing of sirens rushing towards them before Kookie stepped forward and delivered a right hook to her face, making her lose consciousness.

[thexfridax]

Translated interview

Adèle Haenel: 'Sex in cinema is usually quite pathetic’

Wenke Husmann, in: Die Zeit, 31st of October 2019

Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]

Our understanding of art? Patriarchal! Eroticism in cinema? Stunted! The actress Adèle Haenel about her new film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’.

In the film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, the young aristocrat Héloïse literally catches fire. Around 1770 she falls in love with a young painter, who is supposed to portray her. The role of the shy former convent student seems unusual for Haenel at first glance, who otherwise plays very assertive female characters: an AIDS activist in ‘120 BPM’, a martial artist in ‘Love at First Fight’, a doctor who solves a murder in ‘The Unknown Girl’. But Haenel also interprets the role of the muse as a very active one. The actress had her breakthrough in 2007 at the age of 18 with ‘Water Lilies’, the debut film by film-maker Céline Sciamma. The two were a couple for years. ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is their second collaboration, which was awarded the Best Screenplay (for Sciamma) at the Cannes Film Festival.

Haenel speaks German very well. She learned the language almost perfectly for Chris Kraus' feature film ‘The Bloom of Yesterday’. However, whenever she speaks German, she will always be so categorical, Haenel warns, and after a very German expletive slips into the conversation, she switches to French.

ZEIT ONLINE: In ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ you play a restrained woman at first. Your Héloïse is supposed to be portrayed by a painter. She is the more experienced, a self-assured artist you fall in love with. But then you reinterpret the role of the muse.

[T: Short bio of Adèle and description of the film is inserted here, but I didn’t translate these, as y’all know everything already 😏]

Adèle Haenel: It's about equality. I believe that the role of the muse is in fact active - and as important as the official role of the artist.

ZE: What is the active part or equality in the relationship between you being the portrayed and the painter? And what's new about it?

AH: I think in art history, being a muse was the role that women were allowed to play. That's why men said, ‘Oh, it's a passive role, the muses are just in the room, and we're dreaming and fabricating great ideas in our heads.’ It was their way of saying that as men, they are the only ones who create art. That's Scheiße [T: 💩 💩 💩] in my opinion. I’m sorry. Whenever I speak German, I am always a bit more categorical. But that’s the way it is.

(Continues the conversation in French)

I believe, however, that muses have always been active. They were just not presented like that. This also has a lot to do with a certain notion of art. Art is not just an ideal sphere that comes down to earth through an artist who is both absolute and ingenious. Art is created by questioning your own choices over and over again, as well as the reasons that led to them. Thus, there is something sacred and something entirely unholy in art. Questioning postulates, constantly questioning your own work, makes art powerful. And that is much more the result of collaboration than of anything else.

ZE: In this case, collaboration is based on love. Muse and artist are on equal terms. Your connection acts like an engine and unleashes the creativity of the artist. Is that the reason why the first portrait that the painter Marianne made of you as Héloïse is technically good but rather conventional? [T: the interviewer uses ‘not befitting’ here]

AH: It's not even about the progression, where only love makes art better, but it’s actually about the process. That's why you constantly ask yourself questions. Of course, at some point a portrait will come out, but in the film it’s not about whether that’s a good thing or not in the end. The problem of the first ‘failed’ portrait is that it avoids any questions. It does not ask exactly: Who is this person? What attitude did the painter take towards her? Does the model have an essence that we try to capture and bring to the canvas? Or is it just about capturing a specific moment? At this point, the collaboration begins. My character Héloïse begins to question Marianne, the artist, ‘What's that supposed to be?’ And when Marianne answers, ‘That's the way to do it,’ Héloïse retorts, ‘What do you mean, that's the way it is done, how do you find yourself in it, what's your attitude towards it?’ And you cannot just take that stance, you have to feel it.

ZE: Is this relationship comparable to what you have as an actress with the director Céline Sciamma?

[T: The above was taken from a translation on the Teller Report website and revised where necessary, my own translation continues below.]

AH: Yes, absolutely. Our collaboration is based on that idea. There are also parallels in terms of content, because painting in this film also has a lot to do with cinema. As it’s also about sequence, scene and so on. The screenplay was very detailed. Improvisation as a method wasn’t intended. But I had a certain amount of freedom to shape my character. The point wasn’t to do this behind closed doors, but the idea was developed in exchange to centre my character around the gaze and into three phases: At the beginning of my journey, I saw myself more as an object, then there was the phase of questioning, and at the end I’m more of a subject. This means that I used my face like a mask at the beginning of the film, very solemn, almost sacral, with little emotion, reserved. The warmer Marianne’s gaze becomes at Héloïse, the more I change the way I’m acting. I become more active and animated. I gave myself a very clear structure. Céline went with this kind of idea. And then we start to discuss about specific and precise things.

ZE: That seems quite practical and unpretentious.

AH: Oh, I’m a very impatient person and get annoyed very quickly. That’s why I can’t stand some of the questions that I get (mimics a stupid tone): ‘How do you endure just being looked at the whole time?’ I do retort then: ‘Have you even seen the film? It’s about the exchange of gazes!’

ZE: There is a narrative framework in the film, where Marianne remembers this love several years later. It’s about the impact of that encounter. How important is such an echo for the arts?

AH: You could say that every human being contains something like an eternal truth inside of them, but that this cannot manifest in a person in its pure form. The potential is there. So, you can develop, change, grow. It’s almost our responsibility to become a better [T: bigger is stated here] person, who exhausts all possibilities to become what makes us human. A romantic relationship [T: love affair…] also makes us feel the possibility to become someone else, more than what we were before. I’m thinking in particular of Spinoza in this context.

ZE: In short, he talks about the necessity of individuals to evolve so that they become more perfect. [T: ‘Vollkommenheit’ is difficult to translate, but I understand that Spinoza meant that this is the ideal state of being, see: The Ethics, Part 4. Of Human Bondage, Or The Strength Of The Emotions, Preface]. Looking at your career, it seems that you and film-maker Céline Sciamma, who was your partner for a long time, also helped each other very much in that sense to evolve.

AH: Céline and I have an extremely close connection and always had an intense intellectual exchange with each other. And an intense emotional exchange, but of course that changes over time. When it comes to what I said before about the search for and questioning of what’s underneath, and how we make choices in terms of our work, then Céline and I understand each other well. We agree about the questions and how we can communicate about them.

ZE: The film takes place around 1770. Back then, the first female artists’ associations were found such as the school of Adélaïde Labille-Guiard. Marianne also worked in such an art school. It was only a few years that women could work as painters. Before and after, female artists could only do that in a limited capacity. Why was that?

Adélaïde Labille-Guiard, Autoportrait avec deux élèves (1785) © Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

AH: You get the impression that the female gaze is somehow threatening for male colleagues, that’s why they always tried to ban it. And besides, that is still the case.

ZE: How?

AH: Because some kind of natural order is being postulated. We have very much internalised this patriarchal order, in our intimacy, our desires, in everything. Indeed, challenging this perceived natural order is dangerous, because the entire patriarchy virtually depends on this everywhere. The trick to avoid answering questions that women are asking is in pretending that women really don’t have any reason to ask these kind of questions: They are doing well after all. If it wasn’t that pathetic, it would be really funny.

[T: Two of the below bits were extracted (for ease of reading) from @hedawolf​​‘s fantastic gifset on Adèle smashing the patriarchy, please head over and show some love.]

ZE: It seems that many big film festivals are now more open to show films that are about interesting and diverse female characters. Aren’t there more of these stories these days?

AH: Indeed, the problem has now come to the surface of society – two years after the Weinstein affair and #MeToo. You can see the facts. These are hilariously pathetic: 100 per cent of women, who use public transport in Paris, have experienced violence or abuse. 100 per cent! You always hear: ‘No, not all men are like that.’ Yes, of course. But all women have experienced this. And men also feel it. They’ve started to question the structures, in which this was possible, and in which they also lived for a long time. They also question their own behaviour. It’s not about locking up all men in a cage, but that we all evolve. It will make us all freer. But you have to let go of your little privilege of always being in charge. I understand that this is tough. [T: 😏]

ZE: You’ve really shown us one of the most wonderful scenes on this topic in your film, without men.

AH: This scene is sexy, inventive, created in collaboration – we were also quite satisfied with it. That’s why I was so happy at the premiere in Cannes: There are 2,000 people in the audience, who will see something completely different.

[fandom-necromancer]

‘You come here often?’ ‘Well I work here.’ Part 4 

This was prompted by the lovely AO3 user LoafofCat! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [Read complete on AO3]

‘You know, if you just wanted to see me, there would be easier ways.’ ‘Bold of you to assume I come here only to see you.’ Nines smiled looking up to Gavin, who was just untying his apron and sitting down in front of him with a coffee of his own. ‘Am I wrong then?’, the human asked and Nines huffed, letting his head fall. ‘No’, he admitted. ‘Okay, so let me get this right’, Gavin laughed. ‘I had to propose to my boss to get thirium drinks on the menu as a “costumer asked for it” and it might help us crank those numbers up, just so you could plant your ass here in your break?’ ‘It did get you more costumers though’, Nines shrugged pointing to the other tables. ‘That’s not- Nines, do you think I care about this shop? I just work here; I don’t care if… You know what? Screw it. Nice to see you, Nines.’ ‘Nice to see you too’, the android chuckled. ‘How are you?’ ‘Can’t complain. What do you have there?’

Nines looked down on the tablet in his hands. ‘Oh, just work. A case.’ ‘You are on your break and brought work?’, Gavin asked, looking at him sceptically. ‘Tina was right, you really are me just with a little less personality.’ ‘Being nice and polite doesn’t mean not having a personality. You were just an asshole.’ ‘What technically is a personality trait’, Gavin argued, taking a sip from his coffee. ‘Now come on, tell me about your case!’ Nines frowned. ‘I really can’t tell you, it’s-‘ ‘Confidential, I get it. But come on, I’m a former cop I can keep a secret. For old time’s sake.’ The android eyed Gavin and how he looked so eager to get information. It was cute in a way, how he looked in between his eyes and the tablet in his hands. Maybe that’s why Nines showed weakness and caved in.

‘Okay, but you really keep this to yourself. We are investigating a series of murders. They don’t have anything in common in regard to victims or how the deed was done or staged, but at every crime-scene we found the picture of this man.’ Nines flipped through the pictures of the different crime-scenes until he reached a few portraits. They weren’t really the kind of pictures you would expect of a cold-blooded serial-killer. Not after the few flashes of gruesome staging, Gavin caught a glimpse of as Nines had searched for these. They all portrayed a middle-aged man with a small belly you could easily get if you worked long hours in the office and were too exhausted afterwards to do sports. The pictures looked like they were ripped right out of a family photo-album. The guy was at the beach smiling at the camera with a cocktail in hand. The next one showed him in what Gavin supposed to be his home with a small dog on his lap. Then next to a ridiculously oversized barbeque grill all shiny chrome and reds.

Gavin lifted a brow at Nines. ‘Yeah, sorry Nines, but no way this is your killer.’ ‘I ruled it out as unlikely, too’, the android nodded. ‘Although you can never know with people. At the very least it’s a lead. Maybe the killer knows this man. As much as this is a lead, it is also our only link.’ Gavin shrugged, leaning back. ‘Well, why haven’t you solved it then? I mean, you can scan his face and get a name, age, address, likely even social media as creepy as they designed you and Connor. No offense there.’ Nines sighed. ‘As creepy as I might be designed, my scanner has its limits too. I can’t get a name to this man, not even an age. Scanning him just returns an error. Manual research in the police databanks also hasn’t brought up anything yet. We also can’t exactly go around asking for this man. If he is the serial killer, as unlikely as it might seem, we would only alert him.’ Gavin nodded absent-mindedly, staring at the photo, pulling the tablet closer to zoom in on some details. ‘Honestly?’, Nines said frustratedly. ‘We’re all currently waiting for the forensics to find more evidence on the bodies. It’s quite frustrating, but at the same time no one really minds if I spend a bit longer on my break with you.’

Gavin couldn’t help but let out an exaggerated ‘Awww’ at that, Nines reprimanded with an annoyed but amused look. ‘Nah, really thanks, looking at your tablet for what, ten minutes? This was already more exciting than the whole damn month. The most action I had was a drunk guy I had to escort out because everyone else was too chicken shit to risk getting vomited on.’ ‘Understandable.’ ‘Not the point. I mean, I’m happy here, I guess. It is decent money and I have more time for my cats at home. Also, maybe not being confronted with what humans are capable of is nice for a while. But I can basically feel my brain rot here.’ ‘That is also understandable’, Nines huffed. ‘Maybe search for some outside work activity? Something new to learn and keep you active mentally?’ ‘Like what? Knitting?’ ‘If you want that?’ ‘You know what? Maybe not the worst idea. I’ll see if I can find anything and when I have I will-‘

Nines never got to find out what Gavin would do afterwards, as his colleagues called him, pointing at the growing queue. The human sighed. ‘Well, my call to duty’, he announced and walked over to press a quick kiss to the android’s temple. ‘Was nice chatting with you, babe. Good luck with your case.’ ‘Yeah, you too.’

-

It was a slow Tuesday, without many costumers coming in. The rush of office workers in their break had already stormed the small shop and rushed back to their workplace and now it was mostly a few students and the regular old granny circle in the front judging people and eating cake. Living the life. Gavin had already washed the entire stack of mugs twice now and was out of work, except for manipulating the radio until his co-workers began to wonder why the last song had been so long and found him messing with the system. Then he walked around, collecting discarded newspapers and cleaning the tables while his co-worker told him she would be out for a cigarette. He nodded and continued working until a sole costumer entered. Gavin quickly rubbed the table dry and hurried over, throwing the man an extra smile just in case he wanted to complain about having to wait a few seconds. ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘I’d like a coffee, please. Medium, to go with cream but no sugar.’ ‘Coming right up.’ Gavin was already going through the motions of preparing the coffee and turned around to hand it over. ‘Anything else…’ He trailed off, as he saw the man’s face, but he seemingly hadn’t noticed his slip. ‘No, thank you, that would be all.’

Gavin watched him leave again and was trying to decide what to do next. He couldn’t just leave; he was at work after all. But he couldn’t do nothing either. Frantically he looked through the shop and, in the end, shook his head, rushing past the counter. Outside his co-worker stopped him. ‘Gavin? What are you doing?’ Gavin blinked, but came up with an excuse fast enough: ‘Dude forgot his wallet. Can you take over for a moment? Sorry!’ ‘Sure, no problem. Just hurry, he’s already behind the corner.’

Gavin did hurry. But not to run after the man, but to pull out his phone. ‘Nines? Yes, hi babe I know you are at work, shut up, this is work. Li-Listen, yes. Shut up for just a second! I’m pursuing your office killer. Ye-Yes, exactly, the beach holiday photo model with the ugliest dog I’ve seen in my life. Now will you phcking get your ass here? I will pursue him you can track my phone. Wh- come on, it can’t be that dangerous, I’m still well trained now stop worrying and move your ass!’

He had become louder than he wanted and had caused the man he wanted to follow inconspicuously to turn around. He wasn’t really unsuspicious though, dressed in the silly coffee-shop apron and shouting at someone on the phone. Trying to play it down, Gavin instead tried the open approach: ‘Hey, you forgot your wallet!’ It only caused the man to bolt. So much for being a friendly, costumer-orientated employee. Gavin pushed it all to hell, lifting up his apron and running after the man. So, he did had dirt on him. Gavin followed him down the street and used a streetlight to take the corner with more speed. A mistake he later would regret as he ran face first into a fist that definitely wasn’t human. Seeing stars, he looked up from where he had fallen against the building. The chubby man was surprisingly agile and fast, unfitting to his overall completely average looks. And Gavin saw why: The skin where the man had punched him had retracted to show stern white underneath. The man was an android? Where the hell did he get all these modifications from? Cyberlife had designed all androids to be phcking inhuman models. But maybe that had been the plan. Being as inconspicuous as possible. Remembering the brief flashes of crime-scenes that made him pale. Oh no.

‘How the hell did some barista recognise me, huh?’, the android asked, holding Gavin by the throat, his toes barely touching the ground. ‘You are all over the news!’, Gavin tried. ‘I’m not. None of my doings have even been published yet.’ ‘Well, I was a cop once.’ ‘Were you? Well, who is your contact then? If you were a cop once.’ Gavin really hoped someone would turn the corner and see this to help him. Because the way the android’s hand clenched around his throat, lack of oxygen could soon be his least concern. ‘My boyfriend, okay? But I will never tell you his name!’ ‘Your boyfriend? Alright, thank you. After I killed you, I will go to him next. See if I can’t keep this information from spreading.

The pressure on his throat became almost unbearable, as Gavin saw a flash of white behind the man. ‘I highly doubt that’, Nines voice sounded through the alley and Gavin could see the gun aimed at his head. ‘Now let him down and go.’ The android in front of Gavin cursed, but complied. ‘You are arrested for the suspected murder of three people, as well as the attempted murder of this man. Turn around, hands behind your back.’ Nines handcuffed him, reading him his rights before making the call to the station to send a car.

‘Gavin, that was extremely reckless of you.’ ‘Hey, I got your killer, right?’, Gavin croaked with a cocky grin while rubbing his throat. ‘I solved a case you would have waited weeks on before even getting close to the guy.’ ‘Oh, please, I’m the most advanced android there is. I would have gotten him.’ ‘Yeah, but it was the ex-detective they threw out to replace with you that caught him in the end.  Please, rub that into Fowler’s face for me, would you?’ ‘I most certainly won’t’, Nines stated. ‘I will emphasize your involvement in this case though, what at least should keep your employer off your ass.’ ‘Oh, what would I do without you?’ The android in Nines grip struggled against him, causing Nines to return his attention to him. ‘Urgh, get a room, you two!’ ‘Excellent idea actually. Gavin, how about after our shifts ended, we meet at my place? You know? To celebrate.’ ‘Oh, I’d love to’, Gavin grinned and winked the RK900.

The captive criminal got a glimpse of the gesture and regretted it deeply. ‘Oh, please, just kill me, would you?’

[aion-rsa]

Best Corrupt Cop Movies to Watch After Training Day

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Training Day is one of the archetypal crime dramas of its time. It features a classic standoff between a young, fresh-off-the-street rookie police officer named Jake Hoyt (Ethan Hawke) and his veteran partner Alonzo Harris (Denzel Washington). The older cop is ostensibly evaluating his young partner, but in actuality he’s breaking Jake hm down and trying to corrupt him–just as Alonzo himself, one of the great screen monsters of the past 20 years, is corrupt beyond all redemption. Here is a supposed officer of the law who acts more like a crime boss, ruling over his neighborhood with an iron fist.

The tension that burns at the center of the movie–will Jake be turned and will Alonzo get his comeuppance?–forms the bedrock of a classic dramatic scenario. The power inherent from being in law enforcement can be both a force for good and a weapon of evil. The ability to wield that power over the lives of so many others can lead anyone or any institution to a moral crossroads. And whether a single cop or an entire police force can stand up for what’s right or descend into a cesspool of rot and amorality has been the basis of some of our greatest movies.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but if you’ve recently had a chance to revisit Training Day on Netflix, then here are five more superb movies in which a lone cop goes head to head with that insidious corruption. All the movies feature drugs, guns, money, and sometimes sex; but in the end, the most powerful and dangerous narcotic of all turns out to be power.

Serpico (1973)

Legendary director Sidney Lumet’s classic 1970s police drama was one of several films that established Al Pacino as among the greatest actors of his generation, and kicked off a loose trilogy of movies from Lumet himself that focused on police corruption in New York City–others being the less iconic but equally brilliant Prince of the City (1981) and Q&A (1990).

Serpico is also the only film on this list based on a real person: Frank Serpico, a plainclothes detective who uncovered widespread corruption and eventually blew the whistle on it during his 11 years of service. In keeping with the true-life inspiration for the story, Lumet shot the film in a documentary-like style and chose some of the grittiest locations in New York City in which to work. Pacino himself met with Serpico several times, immersing himself in the character and his life.

The result was one of the first major American movies to tackle real life police corruption head-on, and what’s frightening is that there is no single villain for Serpico to go up against: it’s the entire NYPD itself, which came under extensive investigation thanks to the real Serpico’s actions.

Internal Affairs (1990)

Richard Gere stars in this Mike Figgis-directed film as Dennis Peck, a corrupt Los Angeles police officer and womanizer who comes under investigation by Raymond Avilla (Andy Garcia), an Internal Affairs officer intent on taking down Peck even as the department around him portrays him as a role model. But the wily Peck has other plans, including turning Avilla and his wife (Nancy Travis) against each other.

Set in pretty much the opposite of Serpico’s rough NYC environs, Internal Affairs, as its punning title indicates, is less about widespread systemic corruption and more about ideas of masculinity. Gere’s charm and sex appeal is put to wicked use as Peck fucks or threatens to fuck the wife of every man he crosses paths with, using that as a weapon to undermine them as men and leverage his power over them. Using his family as cover for his nefarious deeds–he has three ex-wives and eight kids to support–puts a dark twist on the idea of the male as the head of the household.

Garcia’s Avilla is flawed as well, racked with jealousy and anger management issues, which gives what could have been just a sleazy potboiler an extra level of complexity. And no amount of ravishing L.A. locations will wipe away the slime at the heart of this low-key thriller.

L.A. Confidential (1997)

The late Curtis Hanson’s masterful adaptation (with co-writer Brian Helgeland) of James Ellroy’s novel remains one of the best films of the 1990s, mixing fictionalized versions of real-life figures with indelible characters in a complex, suspenseful, and epic tale of police corruption and Hollywood celebrity.

The two cops at the center of the story are LAPD Sgt. Ed Exley (Guy Pearce) and officer Bud White (Russell Crowe); the former is upstanding yet aggressively ambitious while the latter is a blunt weapon used–unknowingly at first–by precinct captain Dudley Smith (James Cromwell) to advance Smith’s own ends. Also in the mix are a high-end prostitute (Kim Basinger), a jaded detective (Kevin Spacey), and a tabloid magazine editor (Danny DeVito), all of whom are caught in the LAPD’s web of corruption.

L.A. Confidential builds its story brilliantly to an explosive third-act confrontation between White and Exley that gives way to an even more thrilling motel shoot-out at the film’s climax. Relatively unknown at the time, Crowe and Pearce are outstanding while Basinger shines in a career-peak performance. L.A. Confidential takes the “cop vs. cop” scenario and drenches it in neo-noir style and Tinseltown sleaze, creating an unforgettable portrait of power gone mad.

Cop Land (1997)

An early drama from writer/director James Mangold–now known for films like Logan and Ford v. Ferrari—Cop Land stars Sylvester Stallone as Freddy Heflin, the sheriff of a small New Jersey town that is a bedroom community for a number of New York City cops. Although Freddy, who is partially deaf and perceived as somewhat slow-witted, reveres the cops and aspired at one time to be an NYPD officer himself, he becomes gradually aware of the rampant corruption among them. Eventually he must act.

Read more

Movies

Taxi Driver: A Look at NYC’s Inglorious Past

By Tony Sokol

Culture

The Real Goodfellas: Gangsters That Inspired the Martin Scorsese Film

By Tony Sokol

Stallone put on 40 pounds for the role of Heflin and his performance cast him in a new light as a serious actor after years of mindless action vehicles or Rocky sequels. Mangold’s screenplay may be too overly complicated for its own good, but the lonely small-town cop making a stand against the men he once looked up to is a poignant, haunting image. The film is also bolstered by great work from an all-star cast that includes Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, Ray Liotta, Robert Patrick, and Annabella Sciorra.

The Departed (2006)

Based on the 2002 Hong Kong film Infernal Affairs, The Departed is an operatic, grand crime thriller as only the great Martin Scorsese can do it. Leonardo DiCaprio stars as Billy Costigan Jr., a Massachusetts State Police recruit forced to go undercover and infiltrate the gang of crime boss Frank Costello (an over-the-top Jack Nicholson). Meanwhile another State Police officer, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), is actually a mole for Costello inside the force, and the machinations of both Costello and the police eventually pull the two undercover agents–one good but troubled, one corrupt–into each other’s orbit.

Loosely inspired by real-life figures like corrupt FBI agent John Connolly and Boston crime kingpin Whitey Bulger, The Departed has more twists than a winding mountain road and all the double-crosses and betrayals can be tricky to navigate, even for fans of the Hong Kong movie it dramatically remakes, Infernal Affairs.

But Scorsese’s expertise with this kind of material leaps off the screen and his cast is impeccable (including a career-best performance from Mark Wahlberg and a scene-stealing turn by Alec Baldwin). While it can be a little on-the-nose at times–we’re looking at you, Mr. Rat on the apartment terrace–The Departed nevertheless conveys its cynical view of human nature with style, wit and manic energy. As it turns out, we’re all basically fucked up and vulnerable to being fucked with.

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[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 46 Review: 2 Theories About Jean Paul, Erica, and the Locket

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

In this great house on Maljardin, evil lives, even amongst the dead, and the poison this evil spreads threatens Erica Desmond, who lies frozen in this cryocapsule until the day a scientific miracle returns her to the living and back into the arms of her husband Jean Paul Desmond, who has defied powers real and imagined to assure his wife’s return from beyond the veiled curtain of death. Strange happenings are forcing a decision that could doom Erica Desmond...forever. 

Hello and welcome back to my Garden of Evil, where today we will examine Jean Paul’s reaction to Dr. Alison Carr’s new discovery about her sister’s bloodied locket and two possible explanations of what it may say about Erica’s death and Jean Paul’s state of mind. I could do an entire recap of this episode if I wanted to, but I'd rather narrow the focus of this entry to the theories that have been floating around my head for a while (one since before I started this blog, in fact).

A brief summary of the important stuff that happens in this episode: Alison learns that the blood on the locket is human blood, type AB-, which leads her to conclude that it must be Erica’s, because both she and Erica have that rare blood type[1]. She also tests the poison found in the glass of wine that Holly drank from two episodes ago and finds that it’s not the missing cyanide, but an unknown poison of vegetable origin. Elizabeth defends herself to Matt, telling him that she has no motive to kill Holly, not even her inheritance--and, surprisingly, he believes her. And then Raxl and Quito steal the rabbit from Jean Paul’s room and stumble upon that wonderfully sinister skull, which will co-star with Jacques in Episode 47.

Jean Paul receives irrefutable proof that the locket found around the rabbit’s neck belonged to Erica.

Outside of those plot points, this episode focuses primarily on Jean Paul’s confusion over how a bloodied locket even ended up in the cryonics capsule with his beloved Erica to begin with. When Alison shows Jean Paul the blood sample under the microscope, he's skeptical at first and tries to convince her that she either bled on it or someone else somehow put her blood there to confuse him. I would say it boggles my mind how someone with an IQ of 187 like Jean Paul can conceive such a ridiculous theory, but, honestly, it doesn’t. The popularity of conspiracy theories and other misinformation in our time has convinced me that human beings of any intelligence level can trick themselves into believing anything, no matter how patently absurd, if they want to believe it enough.

Subtle Dark Shadows reference?

I can’t tell how much of the next part where Jean Paul continues speculating about the locket is actually in the script and how much is just a particularly bad line flub. Listening to his dialogue, it sounds like a combination of both, but it’s hard to tell given that the character is supposed to be very confused already. Here’s an exact transcription of what he says:

Jean Paul: "Well, maybe I-I-I put the necklace on her neck without realizing it. I perhaps didn't put it on her when I put it in the capsule. It could have happened that way very easily. You see, I had thought I had. You didn't see me do it, did you, Raxl?" Raxl: "No." Jean Paul: "Quito, did you?" Quito: *shakes head* Jean Paul: "Well, there you are. You see? She could have cut her finger a while before she died, and so the blood got on the locket, and maybe I put the locket in the, uh, dresser drawer, and it was left there, and in my grief I didn't know what I was doing and I gave her another piece of jewelry which I put around her neck. Don't you think that probably is what has happened?"

Vangie isn’t convinced of any of these theories, and neither is Raxl. The latter believes that the locket appeared because of evil, “slimy like a snake, ugly like a black rabbit.” (WTF? The rabbit is adorable!) Jean Paul accuses Vangie of suspecting him, but she insists she doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t believe her and he takes out his anger by breaking Alison’s microscope in half, throwing it to the ground, and accusing Erica of mocking him.

In the next scene, he ruminates in his room over the likelihood that he killed Erica, intentionally or otherwise:

Could I have killed my Erica? Could I have slain my love? That's impossible! Oh, you would like it, Jacques Eloi des Mondes, my bloody murdering ancestor. If it was so, how you would rejoice! But then, if I didn't put the locket in the cryocapsule with Erica as I thought, what other things that I believe as facts--things which are part of my life and experience--may be no more than creeping, malicious, lying fancies? Perhaps I didn't love my Erica at all. Perhaps I hated her!

Jean Paul pondering whether he truly loved Erica.

Getting dramatic!

Later, while lying on his bed in shirtsleeves, he realizes that he genuinely loved her, but that his memory is still faulty:

Jean Paul: "I loved her. I remember how I loved her. There was no world but the world outside, and then there was another world and that was us. Oh, how I loved her, so good, so beautiful, but what happened at the end? I can't…was the necklace with Erica when she was sealed in the capsule? I can't remember."

But later on when he visits the Great Hall (inadvertently giving Raxl and Quito the opportunity to retrieve the Rabbit of Evil), Jacques torments him by implying that Jean Paul, like him, is a murderer. “Think there’s a chance you may have murdered your sweet Erica?” he asks. “That blood was very interesting, wasn’t it?”

Jacques hinting again that they’re the same man, or just that the apple doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree? Or perhaps this is like that one line from Game of Thrones: “You can’t kill me, I’m a part of you now.”

Then we get this exchange which acts as a segue into the next scene:

Jacques: "So maybe you killed your little love before you put her in that tin coffin, hm? Maybe there is no pristine, pure body to revive. That's what's been on your mind all day, isn't it?"   Jean Paul: "Even if it has been, I certainly wouldn't tell you."   Jacques: "You can have no secrets from me, anyhow. You know, if you ever are thinking of murdering again…" Jean Paul: "I did not kill her!" Jacques: "All right!" *laughs* "But whether you did or not, you might want to kill someone else one of these days." Jean Paul:  "Good night." Jacques: "All right, run away, but you might find an example of my skill nearer than you know and sooner than you think."

After he storms out of the Great Hall, Raxl and Quito return, the latter carrying the rabbit. Before they can sacrifice the rabbit in an effort to rid the house of its evil, it jumps from Quito’s arms. While trying to catch it, he bumps his head into a painting of mysterious ancestor Étienne des Mondes and knocks it off the wall, revealing a hidden cupboard with a skull swinging from a rope through its jaws.

We’ll discuss this skull in the review for next episode, where it becomes the focus. For the rest of this review, however, let us turn our attention to two possible interpretations of the Jean Paul and Jacques scenes in this episode. My theories are as follows:

Theory #1: Jean Paul killed Erica and is living in denial

Jean Paul’s reaction to learning that his deceased wife’s blood is on the locket and especially Jacques’ comments about it seem to imply that Dan Forrest’s theory about murder may not be a red herring after all as Ian Martin would have had us believe. Remember that, although Jacques is evil and Martin’s episodes portrayed him as the Father of Lies, he and Jean Paul may or may not be the same man. That could mean anything from Jean Paul having a split personality to Jacques having transported himself forward in time to live as Jean Paul Desmond before the events of Episode 1, but I’ll save those ideas for another essay. The point is that Jacques seems to know Jean Paul as well as he knows himself, and as such knows things about him that the other characters don’t.

It’s possible even that Jacques has observed and interacted with Jean Paul since long before Jean Paul freed him by removing the silver pin from the conjure doll’s temple. Think back to Jacques’ introductory scene in the pilot, where he responds to Jean Paul’s proclamation of “on this island, from this moment forward, I am God” with “bravo.” He could speak through the portrait and even give characters visions before Jean Paul freed him! Also think of all the things he’s referenced that a man from the 17th century wouldn’t be aware of: merry-go-rounds, bus time tables, the figurative expression “jack up by the bootstraps,” and whatnot. Assuming Jacques is a spirit like he claims, he’s been observing and learning things on Maljardin for a very long time! Sure, he looked confused about that fountain pen in Episode 4, but perhaps that was only because he hadn’t had a chance to practice using one before Jean Paul set him free. If Jean Paul killed Erica, Jacques would know about it and may even have encouraged it by communicating with him through the portrait. There’s no indication that the scene in the pilot is the first time he made contact with his descendant. It could be the second time, the fifth, the tenth, the thousandth, or more.

Also note that the exact cause of Erica’s death is never made clear. Jean Paul claims in Episode 5 that she died of eclampsia, but the Lost Episode summary for Episode 47 from the CBC program log indicates that Dr. Menkin’s missing notes would have eventually revealed her to have “died attempting to gain eternal youth.” The latter could have meant anything from plastic surgery complications to swallowing gold à la Diane de Poitiers. It’s not even clear if the attempt at eternal youth is truly the cause of her death, just what she was doing when she died. This leaves the possibility of homicide open.

But did Jean Paul (or Dr. Menkin) intentionally kill her, or could it have been an unpremeditated, spur-of-the-moment decision? I believe the latter is more likely. Jean Paul seems genuinely confused by her death, and even by whether he loved or hated her. It’s possible he already wasn’t in his right mind before her death and may even have blacked out during it (although probably not because of possession, as he had not yet freed Jacques). Perhaps the artificial intelligence hinted at by the reference to W. Grey Walter’s “Imitation of Life” factored into this: for example, the implant inside Erica’s brain may have malfunctioned, causing her to become violent and attack Jean Paul and/or Dr. Menkin.

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM (1961)

Another thing to consider: Strange Paradise shares many plot points in common with the Roger Corman/Vincent Price movie The Pit and the Pendulum. In the film, we have (1) a husband whose wife recently died under mysterious circumstances, (2) whom he comes to suspect he accidentally murdered. (3) His doctor is living at the castle with him, when (4) a sibling of his deceased wife comes to investigate her death. Among the ghostly happenings in the house, (5) a portrait of the wife is slashed. Finally, (6) the husband goes mad and (7) is possessed by an evil lookalike ancestor, in this case his father. While I don’t think that we can accurately predict planned revelations in Strange Paradise using the events of a film written by someone unaffiliated with the show’s production, it is interesting to note that Vincent Price’s character accidentally buried his wife alive. This connects to the events of Episode 44, where Erica’s spirit possesses Holly and tells them to “let [her] out,” although in Erica’s case it’s more likely that she’s just been resurrected from death instead of being buried alive.

END SPOILERS

Theory #2: Jean Paul is imagining things

Another possibility is that he didn't kill Erica and is using the new (apparent) evidence to construct a false memory of killing her. Although most of us like to think of memory as infallible, numerous studies have proven that it's anything but. This can occur on a collective level, such as the famous Mandela effect where, prior to Nelson Mandela's actual death in 2013, many people misremembered him as having died in the 1980s. More often, however, individual people remember false versions of events from their own lives.

In the late 20th century, numerous psychological studies identified the way that even changing small details of a story--changing a stop sign to a yield sign, for example, or adding the detail of broken glass to the story of an accident--could alter a subject's memory of it, creating a "misinformation effect." During one such study, researchers used a fake advertisement showing Bugs Bunny in front of the Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland to trick their subjects into believing that they could meet Bugs at the park (despite Bugs being a Warner Brothers character and Warner Brothers being affiliated instead with Six Flags). For 16 percent of the subjects, it worked, and they described further false memories of meeting Bugs at Disney, adding details like that they touched the ear of his costume[2].

Speaking of false memories of amusement parks, I swore for years that I remembered visiting a dinosaur theme park in the northern Ohio woods back in 1998 or 1999, when I was five or six. I never questioned whether the memory was real until one day when my family drove past a drive-through dinosaur exhibit and my dad said to my mom, "They didn't have anything like that when Michelle was a kid." Skeptical of his claim, I did some Googling and discovered that there was a dinosaur-themed park in the woods near Sandusky called the Prehistoric Forest that looked much like what I thought I remembered[3]. When I sent my parents the link to the article about the Prehistoric Forest, both of them denied ever taking me there or even having heard of the place. Nevertheless, I swear I've been there or somewhere very similar. I think the most likely explanation is that I dreamt about it, but that the memory of the dream was so vivid that I mistook it as one from my waking life.

Much as a researcher can convince their subjects to believe that Bugs Bunny appeared at Disney or I convinced myself that I had visited a place like the Prehistoric Forest, Jean Paul is capable of brainwashing himself into thinking that he murdered Erica. This isn't even the only time he speculates without clear evidence that he’s guilty of murder. We'll see something similar in Episode 137 regarding the murder of a different character, whom Jean Paul will successfully convince himself he killed despite hazy evidence at best.

Note that these two theories are not one hundred percent mutually exclusive. It’s entirely possible that Jean Paul killed Erica, but misremembered specific details about her death or how he felt about her. Also note that this show contains quite a few retcons, one of which we saw last episode. Just as the trajectory of this show has changed significantly from Ian Martin’s original plot, the truth about Erica Desmond’s fate is currently in flux within the show’s universe.

The contents of the secret compartment that Raxl and Quito discovered.

Coming up next: A delightfully chilling episode where Jacques uses the skull that Raxl and Quito found to further terrorize his guests.

{<-- Previous: Episode 45   ||   Next: Episode 47 -->}

Notes

[1] While rabbits can have type AB blood (or type ZY blood, using the system from this 1954 study) and they cannot tolerate injections of Rh-positive blood, they have different antibodies in their blood from those of humans.

[2] Elizabeth F. Loftus, "Memories of Things Unseen," in Current Directions in Psychological Science 13:4 (2004), pp. 145-146. There are other examples from other studies, including one involving false memories of witnessing a demonic possession, but the Bugs one is my personal favorite. Also, this period of Strange Paradise puts me in a rabbity mood.

[3] Coincidentally, the Prehistoric Forest's entrance appeared in the 1995 film Tommy Boy, which also featured Colin Fox and Pat Moffat (Irene Hatter) in supporting roles. There was also an animatronic dinosaur attraction at Sea World Ohio called Carnivore Park that operated in the late 1990s. Despite having visited that Sea World many times as a kid, I couldn’t have gone to that exhibit because we couldn’t afford to go there in 1998 or 1999.

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 9 - Just A Little Bit

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

With Hermione and Harry's friendship mended, and her bond with the twins, strengthening, Hermione finds herself looking up. The only thing left to do is fix Ron's attitude and keep herself from throttling Rita Skeeter the next time she sees her.

Fred and George have found relief in both Hermione's help and her friendship. Unfortunately, as a result they've been neglecting their other friends and someone isn't too shy to point it out to them.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 8

Oh, no I'm not the one, oh, you can ignore I'm not like those you had before Oh, hell no

  “It’s just absolutely ridiculous, right?”

“Are you still on about that?” George asked, his tone laced with practiced boredom as he laid on his back in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He had somehow come into possession of a quaffle and was repeatedly tossing it in the air and catching it, occasionally passing it to Fred when the mood struck.

“Yes, I am still on about it! How anyone could read this garbage and believe it, I will never know.” Hermione threw the quill she’d been writing with onto the desk, ink blotting across her parchment, and picked up the Daily Prophet once again. An avid reader of the wizarding newspaper, Hermione never gave much thought as to whether the stories of journalist Rita Skeeter were true or not. However, as she stared at the words printed across the page for the hundredth time, she questioned whether the woman had ever written anything factual in her life. Harry had told her about the disastrous interview the night before – Rita Skeeter’s devious smile, the basic lack of attention, her casual yet inappropriate flirtations, and her Quick Note’s Quill scribbling away all the while. Therefore, it hadn’t surprised her when the article portrayed a weepy yet confidently disillusioned Harry Potter pouring his soul out and then boasting on his magical prowess. What did surprise her, though, were the last few sentences.

“…Harry Potter’s close friend, Collin Creevey, has informed us that the young Triwizard participant can regularly be found in the company of a Miss Hermione Granger – a pretty muggle born fourth year. While officially their relationship has not been confirmed, it’s hard to deny the tell-tale signs of young love,” Hermione read, her voice raising to a shout by the end. Folding the paper, she threw it aside once more, this time as far out of her reach as humanly possible. Whirling through the air, the heavy paper made contact with an unsuspecting first year walking by. Hermione winced and gave the boy an embarrassed apology before picking up her wand and cleaning the ink from her assignment. She looked at the contents of her notes thus far and huffed. The words blurred together, her anger resulting in an altogether apathetic state for anything that wasn’t the infuriating article. Turning her head, she glared at Collin Creevey from across the room as he sat in the corner with his brother and a few other younger Gryffindors. They chatted away, playing the perfect role of innocence.

“Hermione—” Harry gave her a pleading look “—could you please just let it go?” He placed a hand gently on her forearm. At that moment, two third year girls walking past, spotted the placement of his hand, and hurried past, whispering and giggling to each other. Harry removed his hand quickly, grimacing. Hermione sighed, taking a moment to think about how this affected not just herself but Harry as well. Whispers and pointing she could deal with but lies were intolerable. It was just so…immoral! However, she imagined all Harry wanted was for all of this to disappear, to forget about it, and to be able to go back to some form of normalcy. She leaned back in her chair. If she could do anything for him at that moment, it would be to do as he asked.

“Alright, I’ll let it go. But don’t think I won’t give this Skeeter woman a piece of my mind when I finally meet her.” She sat forward and began writing out her study guide for transfiguration again.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Harry said in amusement, before turning back to his own work.

Unlike George, Harry and Hermione sat at a table adjacent to the fire accompanied by Fred. Harry was working on an extra paper given to him by Professor Snape after his abysmal duel with Malfoy. Hermione was working on transfiguration, and Fred on his latest product. It was another sweet, similar to their Ton-Tongue Toffee, but ultimately very different. Earlier that night at dinner, Fred and George had ran into the Great Hall flushed with excitement. They pulled her away from the Gryffindor table and into the adjoining corridor, ignoring Hermione’s questions and feeble attempts to pull her wrist from Fred’s grasp. Once out of earshot from their curious peers, they began to bombard her with their latest and greatest idea – Canary Creams. Fred insisted that the idea would be hilarious, a sweet that when eaten, turned the person into a giant canary bird.

Silently, Fred slid his notebook on top of Hermione’s work and pointed to a list of possible wand movements and an incantation to charm the sweets. It really was a tricky thing when you thought about it. Sure, some sweets were already available that caused physical changes to their consumer, but none that she knew performed full form transfiguration. Pairing transfiguration, charms work, and potions was no easy feat. To successfully develop a Canary Cream, they had to produce a lasting charm that utilized transfiguration elements to result in a temporary transformation of the whole body from human to aviary. It was, to put it lightly, difficult.

George had helped early on with the charms aspect of the spell, but now they needed Hermione’s help with the transfiguration part – a subject, lucky for them, she was well versed in. Closely, she surveyed the work and found herself quite impressed. The incantation seemed to be correct and the wand movements as well, except there was just something about them that was…off. Mentally, she visualized the movements and when it finally came to the last movement, she realized the mistake. Dipping her quill into her ink, she crossed off the last tap and replaced it with a flick and then a tap, before sliding the notebook back to him. Fred shook his long ginger hair from his face and assessed the changes she made as Hermione returned to her own work. Looking down at her papers, she tried to find where she left off.

“What’s this for?” Fred whispered. Turning towards him, Hermione was caught off guard to find the boy so close, leaning towards her and pointing at her correction.

Blinking a few times, she answered, “You do want them to be human sized canaries, correct?”

Fred stared at her for a moment, and then back down at the paper before smiling. “Yeah, I suppose we do. I knew there was a reason we asked you to help.”

“If I remember correctly, I volunteered. Should I be regretting that?” Hermione teased.

“Don’t you dare Granger,” responded Fred with a wink. Heat pooled on Hermione’s face and she nervously grinned back, unsure of what to say. Fred spoke again, “Are you sure it will only be temporary?”

“What are you guys working on?” Harry asked. Hermione jumped, pulling back from Fred and the notebook they’d been piled over.

“N-nothing! I’m just helping Fred with his studies. He’s struggling in quite a few of his subjects, so he asked me to tutor him,” she lied. “Isn’t that right Fred?” She turned to him with a sweet smile.

Fred glared back at her, but ultimately cleared his throat and looked to Harry before speaking, “Yeah, I asked Granger to help me. But don’t worry Harry. It’s strictly professional. Wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to steal your girlfriend from you.” He ended his sentence with a cheeky grin. Hermione responded the only way she knew how – by kicking him in the shin under the table.

“Ow!” Fred reached under the table, and rubbing his leg. “Did you just kick me, Granger?” he asked, his long hair falling into his eyes.

“Yes, and you very well deserved it.”

Fred looked to Harry for support but only met his grinning face and a shrug of his shoulders. He then looked to his twin, still lounging on the floor but much more interested in the conversation.

“Don’t look at me, I think you always deserve a good kick in the shin,” said George, chucking the quaffle to his brother. Fred caught it easily.

“Some good friends you are,” Fred grumbled throwing the quaffle back to George before they all let out a few good-humored chuckles.

“I’d say they’re better friends to you than they are to me.” The voice took them by surprise. Looking to the portrait entrance, Hermione saw Ron, having just entered the common room to find the four enjoying themselves without him.

“Do you have a problem, mate?” Harry asked, his voice stony.

“I’m not your mate,” Ron responded, a touch on the dramatic side in Hermione’s opinion.

“Well if you’re not my mate then I guess you can just piss off. Yeah?” added Harry lightly, turning back to his work. Hermione looked between the two, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Ron gave her a nasty glare before turning to his brothers.

“You two can’t possibly believe him, can you?”

“Yeah, we do,” Fred and George answered in unison. George sat up properly, tucking the quaffle under his arm.

“He may be the Boy Who Lived—” started George.

“—but he’s not nearly bright enough to put his name into the goblet,” Fred finished.

“Sorry mate!” the two called over to Harry who merely shrugged, finding no offense in the statement.

“What happened to family loyalty?” Ron asked his older brothers, a hurt expression on his face.

“I think there’s a ‘being a complete prat’ contingency to that concept, brother. Besides, Harry’s family too.” George stood and stretched before tossing the quaffle at Ron, who caught it unenthusiastically.

Ron turned to Hermione now. “Guess I know why you always take Harry’s side. Thought you two would at least have the decency to let me in on the secret. But I guess there’s a lot of things you don’t tell me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get a word out Ron continued, “Doesn’t matter though, everyone else agrees with me anyways.” With a final glare, he turned and headed towards the boys’ dormitories, ridding himself of the quaffle on the way.

The common room was silent after Ron’s departure. Hermione realized that everyone had stopped to listen in on the dramatic scene. She really wished they hadn’t. One look at Harry and she knew he was wishing the same thing. His shoulders were hitched all the way up to his ears and his face was unnecessarily close to his parchment. The quiet weighed on Hermione like a thick and heavy blanket. She returned to her work, but the more she stared at the pages of her book, the more uncomfortable she became. Every fiber of her being wanted to storm up those stairs and give Ronald a piece of her mind, but she was worried she didn’t have the strength. Then something Fred had said to her in the hospital wing rang clearly in her mind, giving her the strength, she needed: …there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. You’re more badass than I could ever be.

She rose, pushing back her chair. Harry, Fred, and George looked at her.

“If you’ll please excuse me,” she said politely, turning on her heel and heading towards the stairs that led up to the boys’ dormitories. She had only been in Harry and Ron’s room twice before, but she still knew the way. She climbed the spiral stairs in a fury, having no idea what she was about to say, but knowing she needed to say something. Her period of silence with Ronald Weasley had to end. Coming to the dormitory door, she pushed it open, not even bother to knock as anger and determination fueled her actions.

“Bloody hell Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, covering his bare chest. He was standing in the middle of the room clad only in his pants, trousers and shirt strewn aside in a pile, as he uncomfortably shifted. His face and chest were red as a cherry tomato, flushed in embarrassment, but he glared at her all the same. Hermione coughed, caught off guard by his state of undress. She had never seen Ron without his shirt, let alone his trousers. Trying not to focus on the freckles that spattered his chest, the flush that now covered her face, or the strange tug in the pit of her stomach, she pushed past the awkwardness of the situation and continued on with what she originally intended to do. Looking to her left she noticed Neville was also present in the room, confused and uncomfortable. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Neville, would you please excuse Ronald and I for a few minutes?”

The pudgy blonde boy nodded quickly and jumped from his bed, fleeing the room in a full run.

“Hermione, what are you doing in my room?!” Ron asked in a yell.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ve come to make peace. To have a heart-to-heart as they say…” Casually but with purpose she strolled further into the room, past Ron, to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Now? While I’m sodding naked?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, starting to feel normalcy return at Ron’s thickness. “Well put some clothes on if it’s so important to you, but yes, now.”

Ron stared at her, frozen where he stood. When he failed to move, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head insistently, urging him to hurry up. Ron scurried to his trunk and pulled on a pair of striped bottoms and a vibrant orange Chudley Cannon’s shirt, before plodding over to sit next to her on the bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, closing himself off to her and the world around him.

“What?” Ron stubbornly asked, avoiding her gaze.

“I think I deserve an apology from you,” said Hermione bluntly.

Ron looked up at her in surprise. “I need to apologize to you?!”

“Yes. You do—” Hermione stayed strong, squaring her shoulders “—Ronald, we have been friends for nearly four years. More importantly you and Harry have been best friends for just as long. Have we once ever lied to you? Deceived you? Betrayed you? Not supported you?”

Ron didn’t answer. Instead he looked down, resting his forehead against his knees.

“No, we haven’t—" she went on “—Now I don’t know what’s exactly been said or not said between you and Harry, and it’s not really my business. All I know is that when you accuse me of not being a good friend to you, it hurts. I’ve done my best to try to support you and Harry as I see fit. And that support involves believing and trusting you both when you tell me something. So, when Harry tells me he didn’t put his name in the goblet…I believe him. Because he’s my friend and until he does something to make me not trust him, I will continue to trust him. I’m not ‘siding’ with him to spite you and honestly this whole story you’ve concocted, that we’re conspiring against you, makes you sound like an absolute loon.” Hermione finished her speech and tucked her own legs up to her chest, hoping Ronald would respond to what she said with reason. When he didn’t automatically bite her head off or demand she leave his room, she let out a deep breath of relief.

She watched as Ron’s mouth scrunched up in conflict, his long hair covering his eyes and most of his emotion, until finally, he spoke, “I know you two aren’t plotting against me.”

Hermione looked at him in confusion.

“Well I mean, I guess at first I thought you were, but now not really. It’s just not fair. No one likes to be second, especially to Harry Potter. Harry Potter’s stupid friend…”

Hermione’s heart broke. She unwrapped herself and scooted sideways, pulling Ronald into a tight hug. He stiffened at the contact for a moment and then relaxed. They had never been physically close, the way she and Harry were, but Hermione felt this situation called for it.

“You’re not Harry Potter’s stupid friend, Ronald. You may not see it, but you’re worth a lot more than you realize. Are you a bit lazy when it comes to schoolwork? Sure—” they chuckled at her comment “—but you are not stupid.”

She pulled back, looking into Ron’s eyes for the first time in weeks. “You know, I think if he could, Harry would switch places with you in a second. Fame isn’t always a good thing.”

Ron nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and felt the heavy weight of Ron’s head atop hers.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he mumbled sincerely, slightly begrudgingly, but sincerely, nonetheless. Hermione smiled. Despite his bullheaded nature and obnoxious tendencies, Ron really did have a big heart. She was warmly reminded for a brief moment why, despite all his character flaws, she possessed an affection for him.

“So, how are you going to make things up with Harry?” She perked up, breaking the nice serenity of their resolution with their next challenge. Ron sighed in frustration.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, dropping his arm off her and rubbing his face.

Hermione hopped off the bed. “Well, do it on your own time, I suppose, but try not to take too long. Harry’s going to need the both of us this year.”

Ron stood as well and walked her to the door, nodding in agreement. Hermione pulled the door open and turned, looking over Ron’s kind face. A moment of impulse and Lavender’s nagging words to make a lasting impression took over and before she knew it, she was lifting onto her tip toes and placing a quick peck on Ron’s cheek. She watched as Ron brought a hand up to where her lips had touched, his cheeks turning a shade of pink under his fingertips. Throats cleared from behind her and Hermione turned, finding the twins standing in the stairwell, arms crossed and smirking. They had obviously been snooping.

“Goodnight Ronald,” said Hermione quickly, closing the door in his face and turning towards the twins in annoyance.

“Is this the young love Skeeter was talking about then?” asked George amusedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, answering in irritation, “Get an earful then?”

“Nah, couldn’t really hear through the door,” George admitted in disappointment.

“Too thick,” added Fred.

“You know, we really should invent something for that,” mused George, looking to his brother.

“I’ll start whipping up the schematics tonight,” bit Hermione sarcastically as she pushed past them and headed down the stairs. She found Harry right where she left him and sat back down in her seat. Neither said anything as she picked up her quill and got back to work. They sat there for quite some time until Harry finally broke the silence. She wasn’t sure how late it was, but the fire was beginning to burn low and they were the only two left in the common room.

“I got a letter from Padfoot last week,” he informed her. Hermione perked up at the news, hoping that something good would come from Harry’s godfather.

“What did he say?” she asked, setting down her quill and rearranging her notes.

“Not much—” Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair “—he wants to talk on the twenty-second. Guess he doesn’t trust sending letters anymore.” 

Sirius Black, also affectionately known as Padfoot, had great reason to be untrusting of the mail as he was currently still on the run from the Ministry of Magic. Accused of a crime he did not commit, it was barely a year ago he used his Animagus form to break out of Azkaban, the wizarding prison. Then through a series of incredibly complicated and confusing events (some of which included time travel), she and Harry helped him make his overall escape on the back of a hippogriff.

“Talk? How are you going to talk?” Hermione asked, placing her things into her book bag. Surely Sirius wasn’t planning on coming onto the school grounds. With ministry officials scurrying around for the tournament, Hogwarts was a risky place to be. The whole country of England wasn’t a safe place for him really.

“I don’t know. He just said to be in the common room at one in the morning,” admitted Harry as he collected his things as well. Hermione frowned.

“Well I just hope he doesn’t plan on putting himself in danger of getting caught or seen,” she said, looking purposefully at her best friend.

“I just hope he has some advice on how to not die this year in the tournament,” said Harry. Hermione bit her lip and something tugged sharply in her chest. She reached across the table and placed a hand atop Harry’s.

“Harry James Potter, you are not going to die. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hermione proclaimed the fact with so much conviction, she surprised even herself. Harry looked at her though his round glasses, his green eyes scanning her face. For what? Sincerity? Truth? Answers? Hermione did not know, but what she did know was that she wasn’t going to let Harry down. Her breakthrough with Ronald was only the first step. He placed his other hand over hers and gave her a tight smile. Hermione blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill down her face. After a moment they stood and left the common room to their respective dormitories. Not another word was needed.

    Fred sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall eating his lunch. He thought there must have been some greater power looking out for him today because they were serving his favorite – shepherd’s pie. The day had been a rough one so far and the little comfort that came from his favorite food was enough to take the edge off. That morning, after another futile attempt to catch a visiting Ludo Bagman, he and George had gone over their inventory and funds. Needless to say, it was depressing. Turns out they needed the money Ludo owed them more than they thought. They were for all intents and purposes, broke. The advertisement they sent out for had profited quite well, but with their mother’s raid before the start of term, their supply was limited and soon they would no longer be able to supply products to keep up with demand. He and George wagered they could make a larger profit off of new and exciting products, but they really only had a few sickles and knuts for pocket money. The whole situation left them with one option.

“Harry—" Fred spoke, catching the attention of the dark-haired fourth year “—mind being a dear and letting Georgie and me borrow Hedwig?” He watched as Harry swallowed his sip of pumpkin juice and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Uh, sure. What for?”

“That my dear boy—” smirked George “—is classified.”

“Really on a need to know basis,” Fred added, sniffing importantly.

“You know, I think I’d rather not know actually. But sure, she’s up in the owlery. Just make sure you bring her a treat, or she’ll be put out for a while and I’ll have to pay the price,” Harry informed them before stuffing a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. It was at that moment Fred spotted a flushed and chipper Hermione entering the Great Hall. Her hair was especially full and bouncy as she skipped towards them, her cheeks and nose a soft pink hue. Fred imagined she would be in a better mood today after what he could only imagine was a reconciliation between her and Ron last night.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted the lot of them cheerfully, setting her bag down and sitting next to Harry.

“What’s got you all pink? Just come from a hot snogging session?” George asked cheekily. Hermione’s face transitioned from its soft pink to a brilliant red. Lifting her nose up in indignation, she trained a disapproving look on George.

“If you must know, I’ve just come from Hagrid’s—” she loaded the plate in front of her with shepherd’s pie and vegetables “—he had me over for tea, and so naturally I’m starving.”

Harry snorted, shooting pumpkin juice across the table. Fred cried in despair as the last of his lunch became covered in regurgitated liquid.

“Gross mate,” said George, scrunching up his face as he wiped his wet cheek with his robes.

“Sorry,” coughed Harry sheepishly.

“Did you see the new notice on the bulletin board this morning?” asked Hermione. They all shook their heads. She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed they didn’t keep rigorously up to date with the daily affairs of the school like she did. Fred watched hypnotically as Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and took a bite of her food. He concentrated on the odd way her nose scrunched ever so slight when she chewed, almost like she was intrigued by the taste alone. Hermione had a very small nose. Not in a disproportionate way, but in a very pleasing way, he decided. Thin across the bridge, it’s up-turned end pointed ever so delicately into the air. It was also spattered with freckles, much like his own but not quite as obvious. From far away you’d never see them, but as you got closer, you’d notice the light patterns of golden brown that adorned the bridge spreading under her eyes.

“Earth to Freddie!” George bellowed in Fred’s ear.

Fred jumped, covering his assaulted ear drum. “What?!”

“I was saying they just put out the announcement that next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought maybe we could all go!” Hermione proposed for the second time.

“Or do you prefer to sit and stare at Hermione all day like a twat?” George asked.

Fred frowned at his brother. “I wasn’t staring. I was simply lamenting over the fact that I have to buy Granger a week’s supply of sugar quills.” Luckily, they were a very cheap sweet, thought Fred.

Hermione smiled sweetly, but Fred caught the devilish glint in her eye he was becoming very familiar with.

“I don’t know Hermione—” said Harry “—you might have to go without me.”

“Why?” she asked, her face falling. Fred watched Harry lean in and whisper something to Hermione. She pulled back and nodded, her face a mask of concern and understanding. Leaning back in, it was her turn to whisper something to him – information that he and George were not privy to. Her small hand reached up from under the table and landed on Harry’s upper arm as they pulled back smiling. Obviously, they had come to some kind of agreement that both were happy with. Fred felt an odd sensation wash over him as he watched the two engage in their private conversation. It was the same feeling he got in the hospital wing with Angelina and again when he watched Hermione kiss his little brother on the cheek.

If he didn’t know any better, watching this interaction, he might have believed Rita Skeeter’s accusation that her and Harry were entangled. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the strange route his thoughts had taken. Glancing down the table his little sister, Ginny, was sat next to Neville Longbottom and a few of her friends, laughing and gossiping as they ate. Just past them sat a group of first years looking over a copy of Seeker Weekly, and then further down were Lee, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina. The first three seemed to be engaged in an excited conversation. Lee was lecturing Katie on something with a tired look on his face while Katie shook her head and brought a hand up to her brow. Alicia watched the two, grinning as she stifled a laugh. But the last, Angelina, was looking at him. As their eyes connected, he gave a small friendly smile. However, he was not greeted with a smile in return like he expected. Instead she stood abruptly from the table and headed towards the exit to the Great Hall.

 Fred stood too. “I’ll catch you later Georgie. Gotta’ go take care of something.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he raced out of the Great Hall to catch up with Angelina. He found her not too far down the corridor.

“Angelina! Hey, wait up!” called Fred, jogging towards her. Angelina stopped and turned, waiting for him to close the distance between them. From her crossed arms and scowl, Fred could tell she was upset. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on her cheek.

She brushed him off. “Nothing,” responded Angelina, pushing her dark braids over one shoulder, and looking away from him. However, Fred could tell from the tone in her voice that there was in fact, something wrong.

“Come on. Don’t lie to me Angie. You can tell me. What’s wrong?” implored Fred as he reached out his hand again and pulled her face towards his, coaxing her to look at him.

“Oh, now you’re here for me? How nice of you to actually pay me the time of day,” bit the athletic chaser. Her reaction struck Fred dumb. Is she mad at me? he wondered in utter bewilderment.

“What have I done?!” he asked defensively. Just then a group of Hufflepuffs rounded the corner, casting sideways glances at the quarreling couple. Angelina grasped Fred’s wrist, pulling him from out of the middle of the corridor and tucking them into a small alcove.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks! You’re always too busy hanging out with Granger and Potter to spend time with any of your friends,” accused Angelina, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and shifting her weight from foot to foot. A pang of guilt rushed through Fred. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a puff of breath. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really hung out with any of his usual friends in a while. Lee, he saw nearly every day as they shared a room, but he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to any of them for more than a few minutes. He looked back at the girl in front of him to begin his apology but before he could, Angelina continued.

“Look, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to just answer me honestly. I won’t freak out or anything, just be honest—” Angelina took a deep breath “—do you maybe have a crush…or something on someone?”

“What?” asked Fred.

“You know? Like on Granger or…whatever?”

“Her—Granger, she’s just a friend. She’s been having a bit of a hard go of it lately, you know, with Ron and Harry off their rockers. George and I sort of took it as our responsibility to look after her. But you know, as friends. She’s a cool girl and I like her alright, but just as a friend. Only a friend. That’s it,” said Fred, feeling dizzy at just how many times he used the word ‘friend’. It was as he repeated the word, however, that he wondered just how true it was. He hadn’t ever really thought of Granger in that way. Perhaps that fact alone meant they were just friends. Angelina seemed unconvinced.

“As for not spending time with you—” Fred went on “—I’m sorry. We haven’t actually been spending all our time with Granger. Mostly George and I have been working on our joke shop stuff. We’ve hit a couple of roadblocks you see.” He let out a frustrated sigh as he thought about the lack of money and dwindling supplies.

Angelina’s expression softened. “I guess I’m just used to having you all to myself. It’s been hard to adjust what with quidditch being canceled and everything…” said Angelina. Fred smiled knowing that was probably the closest he’d ever get to hearing Angelina admit she was wrong.

“You know, Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. How about you and I spend it together?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Angelina smiled sweetly.

“Are we good then?” asked Fred. He watched as Angelina’s smile turned into a playful smirk.

“Yeah, we’re good. But we have a lot of catching up to do.” With that statement she grabbed his wrist again and started pulling him down the corridor.

“Where are we going?” Fred asked dumbly.

“To catch up. I was thinking it’s been a while since we paid a visit to our secret passageway.”

“Oh—” said Fred and then realization struck “—Oooooohh! Oh, you saucy minx.” And with that his pace quickened till the two of them were practically running towards poor Gregory the Smarmy.

Chapter 10 >>

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