#other 1980 kids are welcome to chime in

[alltheyoungmoons]

Record Shopping

@wolfstarmicrofic | 997 words | Rated T | ATYD Timeline Compliant | CW mention of war (nothing major)

Unintentionally wrote this on a whim yesterday and realised it fit the last two July prompts "Missing Scene" and "Fluff". Wrote this to slot into the 1979/1980s chapters of ATYD and I reference a couple of things from this other incredible short fic by @snailwriter. Song referenced is this.

March 1980 started and ended with a full moon. Remus tried to see the irony of being welcomed into his twenties by a Blue Moon. If that wasn’t an omen of things to come… but then again, he had opted out of taking Divination. 

It had been a gruelling start to the year, but with the news of “Baby Prongs” on the way and the fact that Remus had been relegated to minor duties, he and Sirius had spent more time together without fighting than ever since the beginning of the war.

Remus’ birthday fell on a Monday, so Sirius insisted on going out to celebrate that Sunday, just the two of them. They ended up record shopping in Kensington, pressed shoulder to shoulder while sifting through crates of records in companionable silence. Sirius was often quiet these days.

 He was busy inspecting a copy of Pink Floyd’s The Wall when Sirius called out for him from the new releases section, waving a dark-covered record as to beckon him and grinning like a madman. He snaked his way across the displays, his eyes never leaving him, relishing in how alive he looked, a glint of the incandescent kid he’d once been illuminating his silvery irises.

“What do we have here” Remus mused when Sirius held the vinyl in front of his chest to show off the cover. It was a picture of the band - three men glancing directly at the camera with various expressions and a woman with a mane of ginger curls on her profile. Remus thought that they all sorta looked like they belonged in Slytherin, but didn’t mention it, as not to upset Sirius and as to pretend, even if just for a couple of hours, that they weren’t themselves, that they didn’t know anything about wars and dead relatives and they were just two normal, dumb twenty-somethings in love. Of course this all but lasted five seconds before Sirius, still grinning with his gaze fixed on Remus, flipped the record on the back and pointed to the fourth track with his slender index finger.

Remus had to read the short sentence three times.

“Are you fucking for real?”

“Moony, it’s perfect!”

Remus was stunned. He knew Muggles had some knowledge of magical creatures, from their shared heritage that they shrug off as “folk tales”, but he hadn’t lived between Muggles for so long that it was shocking to see such evidence in the wild, so to speak.

“You better like it because this is your birthday gift.”

“I already chose my three records, actually”

“Well lucky you I’m feeling generous, so I’m getting you a fourth. Even if they do kinda look like pretentious prats, don’t you think?”

“You’re one to talk” Remus scoffed

“Moony, don’t start calling me names now, or we won't be able to make it back to bed in time.”

Remus went to pick up the copy of The Wall he’d left behind, plus the latest single by Blondie and London Calling, which had come out a few months before. Sirius slipped him some cash and he paid, as the other boy was -still- not very acquainted with muggle currency.

They got home and had takeout from Huang’s, who was kind enough to gift them a couple of beers when he found out it was about to be Remus’ birthday. They sat in the living room, evening into night, listening to music, and as midnight quickly approached, Sirius put on the record he insisted on buying, with that stupid song. It wasn't bad, though a bit to rockabilly for Remus' taste. As the grandfather clock in Flat 7 chimed twelve times, the stereo started thumping a steady rhythm accompanied by strumming chords that sliced through the silence, immediately captivating. After a few riffs, a low voice started drawling out

I was a teenage werewolf Braces on my fangs I was a teenage werewolf And no one even said thanks And no one made me stop!

The two boys froze, exchanging a glance. It was Remus who broke first, melting into a fit of hysterics.

“It’s so stupid!”

“I know! It’s brilliant!” Sirius was wiping his eyes. How long had it been since they were happy tears?

I had a teen-land mind I had to blow my top And under teen full moon No one could make me stop! No one could make me stop!

Sirius slipped from the sofa to snuggle up to Remus, who had lain on the floor catching his breath. He kissed the tip of his nose, gently.

“Happy Birthday, Moons.”

A teenage werewolf Parallel bars A teenage girlfriend Got a lot of scars Somebody please make me stop Ohhh please…

“Would you have fancied me if I had braces on my fangs?” Remus mused jokingly.

Sirius answered with a gravity like his honour depended on it “What kind of- yes? I would’ve probably been gone even more. I like the nerd thing, if you haven’t noticed.”

You know, I have puberty rights And I have puberty wrongs No one understood me All my teeth were so long And no one made me stop!

“You can officially say you were a teenage werewolf, now”

“Yeah, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”

Sirius slapped his arm.

“Oi!”

“What I mean is - we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Haven’t you had a few months to adjust to the idea already?”

“Calling me old?”

“Never in a derogatory way, my love - I haven’t felt younger than sixty since I was thirteen.”

Sirius went quiet, clouding over. How much of their teenagehood had been lost to the war already? His brother would never live to see his twenties. Their futures, this new decade, were unfolding in front of them, ripe with potential and terrifying like the concrete mystery of a black hole. For now, though, Remus was content with lying on the carpet, his lover in his arms, listening to some weird Muggle band making light of his life’s curse.

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3    part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty 

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual. 

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

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It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are. 

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

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“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another. 

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous. 

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed. 

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus? 

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

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Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her. 

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.” 

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers. 

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway. 

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat. 

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will. 

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head. 

"How's your memory these days?" 

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago. 

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?” 

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea. 

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

���We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly. 

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?" 

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her." 

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish. 

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?" 

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging. 

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all. 

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

 “What else did you teach me?” 

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face. 

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work. 

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

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“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him. 

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her. 

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

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The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing. 

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her. 

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair. 

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still. 

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?” 

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm. 

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist. 

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face. 

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt. 

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds. 

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that. 

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun. 

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad. 

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone. 

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once? 

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?" 

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so  👁👄👁

[super-famicom-star-inactive]

Friday Special #5

December 18th, 2020

Welcome back to another Friday Special!

For this week, we’ll be looking into the history of cheat codes and what happened to them.

So what exactly are cheat codes? What qualifies as a cheat code?

In the most basic definition, cheat codes are usually a set of numbers, words, or phrases that, if a video game allowed them, would allow certain abilities or rewards to happen based on the code entered. For example, rewards could be something like infinite lives or all weapons/costumes/etc. unlocked.

According to history, the first recorded instance of a video game cheat code was in the video game Computer Space alllllll the way back in 1971. It was installed into the software and could only be accessed while holding the two buttons to the left while the machine was booting up to make your score start at 14. This tidbit of information however is difficult to prove as it only worked on a handful of machines.

Cheat codes were not always about given more “freedom” to players.

Did you know that they originally started out as developer tools?

Other early examples of cheat codes were ones like Colossal Cave Adventure, a text-based adventure game where if you inputted XYZZY, it would teleport the player between two places, or for a game like Manic Miner where if the player inputted the number code 6031769 (sources vary between some saying it was creator Matt Smith’s phone number and others say the last few numbers of his driver’s license) into the title card and press enter, it would allow the player to shift between the six levels of the game.

The original purpose of cheat codes were meant for developers to quickly move from one section of the game to another as well as video game reviewers to properly see through the different parts of a game to review and score it properly in gaming magazines.

Cheat codes at the time were pretty simple and not given much thought.

Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked when the Konami Code was first introduced.

Just about everyone and their mother knows about the legendary Konami Code, but just in case you don’t, it was a special code combination first introduced in 1986 for the game Gradius as a way to test the game during the early stages. The code is:

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start

It was created by Kazuhisa Hashimoto (he passed away back in February of this year, rest in peace) and although it didn’t gain popularity then, a little game called Contra was where the Konami Code really started to send shockwaves all across the Western gaming world.

In the original Contra, if the Konami Code was used, your three lives were boosted to thirty, making the impossible game more manageable to play. The code became so widespread with immense popularity that Hashimoto insisted that from then on that every single Konami game would input the cheat code in its programming.

This kickstarted what would become a more modern definition of what cheat codes would be.

The Konami Code would be so famous it even found its way into non-Konami titles such as Bioshock Infinite, Ratchet & Clank: Up Your Arsenal, and even Fortnite Battle Royale. Several famous Konami IPs that feature the code include the likes of Castlevania, Resident Evil, Metal Gear Solid, and even DDR (Dance Dance Revolution).

So what are some other famous types of cheat codes?

Sometimes the cheat code in question can provide some content that has been hidden away. Take the debug mode in the first Sonic the Hedgehog game for instance. The way to access the debug mode was to input the following code:

Press ↑ C Button, ↓ C Button  ← C Button → C Button on Title Screen

A ring chime can be heard

Hold then A Button  down and press start button

The game begins with Debug Mode

The debug menu became a rather popular feature for SEGA Genesis players, mainly for the chaos that ensued where you could alter parts of the game without bricking your cartridge and console.

Now to the more controversial stuff.

When Mortal Kombat was first released in arcades back in 1992, it was immediately hounded by enraged parents and politicians alike for its graphic violence and abundance of blood for the famous “Fatality” scenes, thus paving the way for the ESRB (Entertainment Software Rating Board) rating system for video games. When the game started to get ported to various consoles, Nintendo of America, being the same stickler for family-friendly content, censored the blood in the SNES port. SEGA, on the other hand, decided to use the cheat code route, and while the blood is censored upon boot-up, you enact the cheat code to bring back the blood. The code below:

ABACABB

This code famously became known as the Blood Code and this along with other factors made the SEGA Genesis version of Mortal Kombat so popular.

Wait! What if a game can do cheats but not just by using button combinations?

This is where cheat code devices come in.

The first recorded instance of a cheat device was in the form of the ‘Multiface’, which found its home on the likes of consoles like the ZX Spectrum. There were different variants over the years that added better and better quality to the device itself. Due to its success, similar devices made their way to the market like the ‘Freezer’ for the Commodore systems and the ‘Darth Vader’ unit (yes, it was actually called that) for the Atari 2600.

If you owned an NES/SNES/Game Boy/Mega Drive at the time, you would’ve heard about the Game Genie, which was the next major cheat device to be created. The player would put the game in the Game Genie slot and then insert the device into the console itself. You could then up your game depending on what game you had. Although they are a by-gone relic of gaming history, it still paved the way for similar devices.

When you think of the name Action Replay, those who had an original DS or a DSi probably had one of these devices, however the device is actually much older than that, dating back to its original release back in the late 1980s with its first appearance on the Commodore systems. It has since release on consoles like Nintendo DS, Gamecube, Gameboy Advance, Playstation Portable, and even the Xbox 360 and Playstation 2!

If you were a kid in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, you would’ve had the Game Shark. This cheat device was primarily known for its appearance on the Nintendo 64, but it was also widely used for the original Playstation and Playstation 2 as well as the original Xbox and Game Boy/Game Boy Color. You could even bypass the region-locked security using it, which can allow you to play any game from any region.

So what happened to cheat codes, and why don’t we see them anymore?

Well, they didn’t go away completely, as they can sometimes be found in some video games, rather they just fell out of style. See, as we approach to today’s gaming culture, cheat codes are nowadays hidden behind higher-level programming and it is no longer able to be manipulated by average players. This was done as video games became bigger and more complex, going past just some programming and the developer tools were now locked away so that the game doesn’t get altered so much it crashes. This started to become more prevalent in the mid-2000s and onward. As mentioned before, cheat codes originally started as a way for developers to go across different levels in order to fix coding or bugs. They are still being used, they’re just not for open use like they used to be.

Cheat codes have changed the gaming world and are still remembered fondly by players even to this day with the rise in retro gaming in recent years. Here’s to hoping they can come back someday.

Thoughts From The Head

Cheat codes have always been a part of my gaming experience growing up for as long as I can remember. I remember the Book Fairs that my elementary school hosted every year and I remember getting some cheat code books for games. They have unfortunately been lost to time but i do miss them fondly.

I also have memories of cheat devices, the Action Replay for the original DS for example. I used that sucker to use the ‘Complete Pokedex’ cheat for Pokemon Pearl as well as ‘Infinite Health’ cheat in Kirby Super Star Ultra. That was later unfortunately lost as my dad tossed it out, saying “it wasn’t good for anything”. Jokes on him, that device alone is easily $30-40 online, and higher in some cases.

Thanks dad.

I do have a cheat device in my possession for my original Playstation and it’s the original Game Shark. I received it for free at my local video game store since they had no real use for it and it was “Flashed” which meant that it was slightly different and was capable of playing burned and imported games (which I had). I have not had a chance to test it yet because I do not have a game to really test it on yet (plus the text is kinda odd, see photos). I will try to give it a shot this weekend and see if I can come up with anything.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 61: Welcome to Storybrooke, Pt 2

After leaving the lake the night before, Hades surveyed for the richest neighborhood in Storybrooke, which naturally brought him to Mifflin Street. Since Deimos had been imprisoned, his mansion was vacant, so the God of the Underworld decided to take up residence. He had already magically redecorated to his liking and had spoken little to Hermes since the confrontation with Persephone and her family just hours ago. Or non-confrontation rather. Hermes was still extremely puzzled by Hades attitude and actions. And the God of the Underworld didn't seem to feel the need to share his reasons. Which annoyed and frustrated Hermes, obviously.

He had taken big risks in going down this path. Zeus likely knew of his betrayal by now and he was certain that if he stepped foot anywhere near Olympus right now, he'd be struck with one of the superior God's infamous thunderbolts.

"I suppose you are wondering about my actions at the lake," Hades finally said, interrupting his internal thought process.

"Now that you mention it...why did you let them live? I thought the whole point of making Persephone pay was to kill that which she loves most," Hermes answered. He smirked.

"I could have chosen to strike last night and together, we might have even overpowered Persephone and killed that precious little Charming family. But where is the fun in that?" Hades questioned.

"Then you do plan to make them pay?" Hermes questioned with a smirk.

"Depends on your definition of pay," Hades retorted vaguely, as he gazed out the window of the home. It was so good to be in the world of the living again.

"Did you really revive Persephone's mortal Prince?" Hermes asked. He smirked.

"I did," he answered.

"Why?" Hermes questioned.

"For the fun of it," Hades answered.

"I...I don't understand," Hermes replied.

"Therein lies the beauty of it. You see, Persephone doesn't understand either and she will labor over why I did it or if I even did it. And when she eventually comes face to face with him again, she may be surprised at what she finds," Hades said cryptically.

"Still lost," Hermes said, as the King of the Underworld chuckled.

"Let's just say that her precious Elijah has been in the river a very long time and that has an effect on a person, even just the soul of a person. We'll leave it at that for now," Hades stated. Hermes mulled that over, as Hades continued to gaze out the window at the little gem known as Storybrooke.

~*~

Regina gazed out Henry's bedroom window, as the town went about it's normal routine that morning. She hadn't slept at all since the confrontation at the lake with Hades. It hadn't been much of a confrontation at all though and certainly had not ended as she had envisioned. In her mind, it was supposed to end with her enemies swept away and her bringing Henry home to sleep in his own bed. But none of that had transpired and worse, Henry had arrived to witness her part in Hades arrival in town. She would never forget the look in his eyes when she was forced to tell him she was involved in Snow's kidnapping. She clutched one of his pillows to her chest and inhaled his scent from it.

If only he could understand why she had done all of it. But he was just too young to understand that she just wanted him to be happy and she was doing all this for him, even if he couldn't see it. Her own mother had once done the same for her and she hadn't been able to see it either at the time. But Cora had been right about power. It was the only way she could have everything. But without Hades making her enemies pay, she had no idea how to get that power back, short of outright killing her enemies. Even with a sneak attack, she'd likely never successfully pull anything like that off. She sighed and decided to get dressed, before going to her vault. All of her mother's things were there and it was time to face the painful task of going through them.

~*~

"What was the call about?" David asked, once they were outside the diner.

"Someone said they spotted Hook down at the Harbor," Emma replied.

"So he made it back here from New York...without his ship?" David asked. She nodded.

"Yeah...and I'd like to know how. He doesn't strike me as the type that navigates land as well as he does sea," Emma replied. He looked at her.

"Do you think he had help?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Possibly and I have some other questions for him," she replied.

"Yeah, he has a pair of handcuffs with his name on them," he agreed, as Snow exited the diner and caught up to them.

"Hey...are you okay?" he asked, as she put her arms around him.

"I am...I was just wondering if maybe you'd be okay with the Mayor coming along on this call?" she questioned. He smiled and kissed her hair.

"You did say you didn't want to let me out of your sight," she added, as she bit her bottom lip. He grinned.

"I did say that. It's definitely okay with me. What about you, Sheriff?" he asked. Emma smiled.

"Of course," she replied, but then turned to them.

"But can you guys like promise not to make out and stuff?" she asked. He chuckled.

"We'll try," he said, as he gazed at Snow fondly. Emma rolled her eyes playfully at them, before she continued on, with them following, hand in hand.

~*~

Over at the Inn, they entered the common room and Tamara took a look around.

"Wow...it looks like this place hasn't been redecorated since 1980," she commented, taking in the dated wallpaper and furniture.

"Yeah...you're closer than you think," Neal quipped. She turned and looked at him.

"Okay Neal...what's going on? And what was all that at breakfast?" she questioned, as Henry watched his father shift nervously. He thought about telling her himself, but he figured she'd just laugh and think it was cute. He had gotten a lot of that from people before the curse was broken.

"Okay yeah...there's something I need to tell you. Here's the thing. I'm not from here. I'm from a place called the Enchanted Forest," he said. He decide maybe just ripping off the band-aid would be the way to go and expected her laugh when it came.

"I'm being serious," he said, silencing her, as he grabbed the book from Henry's bag.

"Here...go ahead," he said, as they sat down. She gave him a disbelieving look and then opened the book with an annoyed expression.

"These are fairy tales," she replied.

"And they're real, all right? They're more than real...they're history. They're my history...basically the history of everyone in this town," he said, as he flipped through the pages.

"See this little boy?" he asked, as he pointed to the book.

"That's me," he added.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tamara questioned with an angry edge in her tone.

"I'm trying to be honest with you," he replied. She closed the book and stood up.

"If you wanted to be honest, you would just tell me what this is really about," she shot back.

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, as he stood up.

"Oh I don't know, cute blondes? Mother of your child?" she replied.

"Emma?" he asked in disbelief.

"I'm not a fool, Neal. I saw the way you two look at each other, even if you try to hide it. That other couple was looking at each other like that all through breakfast, except that it was to a level that was purely nauseating," she complained.

"Grams and Gramps are just like that though. They're true love," Henry chimed in.

"Grams and Gramps…" she snorted, as she took Neal by the arm and pulled him out of earshot.

"Those people can't be his grandparents!" she hissed.

"I know it looks impossible…" Neal started to say, but she cut him off.

"No Neal...it is impossible! But your kid believes it and obviously his Mom encourages it!" she said.

"Hold on...Emma is a good Mom. And I know all of this is a mess, but if you let me explain, I can," he pleaded. But she shook her head.

"You just defended her! That's what this is about!" she accused.

"It's not like that," he refuted.

"Really? Because I think it is. If you want to be with her, Neal, you could've just told me instead of making up crap to force me away," she hissed.

"I don't want to force you away! That's why I'm telling you all this! I'm trying to be one hundred percent honest with you about my past," he argued. But she shook her head.

"No...you still have feelings for Emma and you are even indulging your son's fantasies about that couple being his fairy tale grandparents. Hell, Emma introduced them as her parents, which makes her delusional," Tamara spat.

"Hey...it's not like that," Neal defended and she shook her head.

"I'm sure...but here's the thing. When you're ready to be honest with me about yourself, your feelings, then come find me," Tamara said, glancing at Henry.

"And when you're ready to get your son out of this obviously unhealthy situation, I'll be ready to help you find a good family attorney," she added, as she stormed out. Neal blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

"That didn't go very well," Henry commented. He sighed.

"No...it didn't. I think the only way she's gonna believe in all this is if she sees it with her own eyes," he replied.

"That's it! We can show her magic and then she has to believe!" Henry exclaimed.

"Whoa...not yet. There is no way she's ready for that. I need to talk to her again first, but right now, I think it's best if we let her cool off for a while," he said. Henry shrugged and they went back over to the diner side.

~*~

Emma arrived at the Harbor with Snow and David behind her. But they didn't see the Jolly Roger docked anywhere.

"Did he leave?" David wondered, but Snow looked up into the sky and saw seagulls circling peculiarly above them.

"No...I don't think so," she said, as she grabbed some sand from a bucket on the dock and tossed it seemingly into the water. Except it didn't hit the water first and rather something solid they couldn't see before them.

"Captain Hook has a cloaking device for his ship?" Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Probably something Cora gave him, but I bet you could remove it," David replied.

"Me? I'm not even sure how to begin to do something like that," she said. Snow and David exchanged a glance and then looked back at their daughter.

"You just need to feel it...like you did when we fought Cora. You put up that protection spell and you can break through this cloak," David stated.

"He's right...we believe in you, Emma. Now believe in yourself," Snow added. Emma took a deep breath and stretched her hands out, as she concentrated her magic. A burst of white light erupted from her hands and hit the shield in front of them. It rippled and burst, suddenly revealing the Jolly Roger before them. Hook looked startled, as the three of them boarded the ship.

"Hello Hook…" Emma greeted. He smirked.

"Swan," he leered, as he let his eyes roam appreciatively over her.

"Oh this guy is going to get under my skin really fast, isn't he?" David murmured to his wife and she winced.

"Probably," she agreed, as they followed their daughter. As per usual, Snow had her hand hooked on his elbow and his hand rested on her hip opposite him. It was not unusual for them, but after what they had been through lately, the need to be touching always was almost as necessary as breathing for them now.

"To what do I owe this...pleasure?" he asked, as his eyes raked over her.

"How'd you get back?" Emma asked bluntly.

"I'm a pirate...I find my way around," he replied.

"Yeah...at sea, but there's no boats that are unaccounted for, which means you got here on land. You can't drive and no buses come here. It's not exactly easy to find," she said. She was still miffed about that. Neal would have had to give Tamara pretty good directions for her to find her way on the winding back roads of Maine or so she assumed. Come to think of it, even if Greg Mendell's claims that he veered off course, because he was drunk, didn't really add up all that well either. And she hated when things didn't add up. There was more going on here, but she had little proof. If she could just find that one loose thread though, she knew that one pull, and everything would unravel. But that loose thread wasn't obvious at the time, so she was bound and determined to find it.

"Buses?" Hook asked in bewilderment. Emma rolled her eyes.

"See, you don't even know what a bus is and I know you can't drive. So start talking now," she ordered.

"Or what?" he goaded.

"Or you can go to jail," Emma replied.

"And what crime have I committed?" Hook questioned. She looked at him incredulously.

"Well, stabbing Gold with your poisoned Hook comes to mind," David interjected. The pirate smirked.

"Oh, I rather believe I was doing all the realms a great service by ridding us of the Crocodile. Pity it didn't stick," Hook retorted.

"The bigger question is why would Prince Charming befriend such a being? Doesn't he operate askew to your strong moral compass?" the pirate goaded.

"Perhaps Prince Charming is farcical title, after all. Maybe you are no better than him...or me," he leered. Emma was about to retort, but shouldn't have been surprised when her mother beat her to it.

"Oh, I can assure you, Captain, that my husband is so much better than you. The fact that you even have the gall to suggest that he's on your lowly level is laughable," Snow interjected.

"And trust me...there is nothing farcical about his title. If Prince Charming really is a concept, as this world suggests, then he is the embodiment of that title," she continued defensively. Hook smirked, letting his eyes rake over the raven haired beauty this time.

"I see where your daughter gets her...gumption," he leered, as his tongue poked out on his lower lip. David clenched his fist, wanting nothing more than to deck this smarmy pirate.

"Okay...that's enough, Hook. You're under arrest and you'll thank me for it, because the other option is to just let Dad tear you apart," Emma replied.

"Worried Charming? I've had many a man's wife, you know," Hook boasted, as Emma cuffed him. He chuckled.

"I knew it...you just can't wait to tie me up, can you love?" he leered.

"How about it...shall we go below deck and have some fun?" Hook leered and then hissed in pain, as Emma made sure the handcuffs pinched him. He chuckled.

"Our daughter isn't going anywhere with you," Snow said and he looked at her.

"I knew it...you'd rather have me all to yourself, right love?" he leered. But he wasn't expecting Snow to laugh at him.

"Are you so deluded by your own ego that you think I could be swayed away from my husband by the likes of you?" she shot back.

"Many a married woman has, love," he leered.

"I am not your love. I'm his love," she snapped back.

"I take my marriage vows very seriously, Captain and the true love I share with my husband is obviously something far beyond your comprehension. There is no man, least of all you, that could lure me from his arms and your attempts are disgusting," she continued. The look on David's face was as smug as any Emma had ever seen and she smirked at the pirate.

"Congratulations, you pissed off my Mom. Probably the sweetest, kindest, most forgiving woman I know. That's quite a feat," Emma goaded, as she marched him off the ship.

"Ugh...it's beyond me how any woman would fall for any of those lines or that smarmy smirk," Snow complained, as they followed their daughter. But he stopped her when they stepped back onto the dock.

"So...level with me. You don't find him even a little aesthetically pleasing?" David asked. She smirked and smoothed her hands inside his open leather jacket, along his chest.

"Why would I when all this is mine?" she asked, as her eyes looked him up and down. He grinned.

"Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Nolan?" he purred. She grinned back and tugged him closer by his collar.

"What do you think, handsome?" she purred back, as their lips met passionately.

"Guys...you promised not to make out," Emma whined. Their lips parted and they chuckled together.

"I think we promised that we'd try," Snow corrected. Emma huffed and rolled her eyes, before prodding Hook into the back seat of the patrol car.

"Twenty-eight and she still rolls her eyes at us like she did when she was a teenager," he joked. She smiled and kissed him quickly again. She then frowned at the prospect of sitting in back with Hook. He sighed.

"Take the front with Em. I'll sit in back with his smarminess," David relented. She smirked and kissed his cheek.

"I'll make it up to later," she promised with a sultry look. He smirked.

"Can't wait for that," he said, as they got in the car and Emma drove off for the station.

~*~

"Well, Mr. Mendell, I'd say your recovery is nothing short of miraculous, considering the internal bleeding you came in with," Whale stated, as he scribbled on the patient's chart.

"So I can go?" he asked.

"I don't see any reason you can't be discharged later today. Physically you check out fine, though I need you to take it easy. But if your blood tests come back okay, then you can be on your way," Whale replied encouragingly.

"Thank you Doctor," Greg replied, as the doctor hung his chart back up and left. Greg waited to make sure he was gone and then dialed "her".

"Hey...it's me. Are you here yet?" he asked.

"I just got here this morning. When are you going to be released?" Tamara asked.

"Later today...so I'll be getting a room at the Inn. Then I can finally search this town properly for my father," he whispered into the phone.

"Good...I met the boy and his family. The stories that we were told are apparently true," Tamara responded.

"Yes...I've been getting the same thing and more than just fairy tales that are supposedly real," Greg mentioned.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'll explain more later, but there is definitely strange things going on in this town and I'm going to find proof," he replied.

"We both are. I went off on Neal and acted like his entire story was bogus. Now I'm sure he'll make the mistake of showing me what I want to see and then we'll have the proof that this town is diseased with magic," she said.

"When are you going to break it off with him? Now that we're here, we don't need him anymore," Greg hissed.

"Yes, we do. I promise it will be soon though," she refuted. He sighed.

"Fine...can I at least see you tonight?" Greg asked.

"Neal will probably be spending time with the kid. Come to my room around dinner time. I'll tell Neal that I need some time to think and opt out of dinner with him and the Nolans," she said.

"Great, see you then and we can go over the next step...among other things," he leered, as their call ended.

~*~

Zelena was a few weeks into her stint as Kelly West, a nobody citizen of Storybrooke and she had bided her time, watching and waiting in the shadows. She was getting a bit impatient, but for all she knew, Snow White was already with child and just in the early days. Soon enough, she was certain the Princess would be sporting a baby bump that would be her key to getting everything she wanted.

"Is this seat taken?" a voice asked and she looked up from her place on the park bench. Her mouth was slightly ajar, as she was surprised to see none other than Hades himself standing there. But then she smirked.

"So...you found a way here," she stated.

"No thanks to you," he replied, as he sat down next to her.

"Well, you were going to stand in my way of getting what I want and I'm not going let anyone do that, even the God of the Underworld," she spat in return.

"So it seems. Because of your betrayal, I had to rely on my minion to use the blood of my step-daughter to get me here," he replied.

"And yet she still lives. I thought you'd try to murder the poor thing the moment you had the chance," Zelena stated. He chuckled.

"Why Zelena...don't tell me you care about the well being of Snow White?" he questioned. She scoffed.

"Of course not...I just need her alive, until she spawns another brat, that is," she refuted.

"Then you haven't given up your foolhardy plan to travel back in time?" he questioned.

"It's not foolhardy! It's the only way I can have everything!" Zelena refuted.

"Really? You'd actually want to be raised by the likes of your mother Cora and King Leopold. To me, it sounds like you dodged a bullet there," Hades quipped.

"If it means that my sister won't exist and mother will give me everything, then yes! At least I will be appreciative of her efforts, unlike Regina," Zelena spat.

"And yet...you don't seem overly sad about your mother's passing," he said. She scoffed.

"Helping Regina got her that fate. It will be different for her with me," Zelena responded.

"Zelena...I encourage you to give up this conquest and think of a new one. One where we can rule together and sweep away all our enemies," he tempted. She smirked.

"Sorry...I have no interest in being your Queen. Besides, I thought that title was still taken?" she questioned.

"Persephone can barely stand the sight of me and she's far too absorbed with her Charming little family to be my proper Queen," he replied.

"Well...that's your problem. No one is standing my way and it will not be long until Snow White is with child, considering that she and the Prince can't keep their hands off each other," she said. He smirked.

"Yes...giving her that potion to nullify her birth control was a nice touch. But I still must warn against this path, my dear Zelena," he said.

"And why is that?" she asked.

"Quite simply, it is one offense that my brother will not stand for or let go unpunished," he warned. She gave him a skeptical look.

"Zeus may have broken most of his own rules and sleeps with anything that moves, but this is one aspect of magic even he hasn't tampered with. It's expressly forbidden in the most severe sense," Hades warned.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" she questioned.

"It should," he snapped.

"What if I could promise you a better life?" she questioned.

"Not even time travel can change my banishment to the Underworld," he refuted.

"Perhaps not...but it would give you a chance to do things differently. As much as you express your love for me, I know that you will always hold a torch for Persephone. What if you could go back and with a kinder hand...you might earn her love in return," she tempted. He looked at her, but shook his head.

"I'm not sure that's possible," he refused.

"Oh, I don't know...think about it. What if you had spared her mortal Prince that day and forgave her indiscretion? What if you promised to help her raise her lover's child and even let her be with her mortal lover half the year?" Zelena asked.

"And why would I do that?" he asked. She smirked.

"Think about it...what do you Eva and the northern Kingdom would think if they had to deal with the scandal of their Prince having Persephone as his consort?" she asked. He smirked.

"They would cast him out...unless he agreed to marry for the good of his Kingdom," Hades realized.

"Which would most certainly sour any love between them. And what do you think would be their opinion of dear little Snow White?" Zelena questioned.

"She'd be labeled a bastard child in the royal court...she'd be lucky if she was allowed to be a servant in her father's Kingdom. And since she's a girl...she'd be more of a slave than anything," Hades said. She smirked.

"And then you could provide salvation for her beloved child. She would adore you for it...and eventually love you. You might even be able to eventually convince her that all the strife in her life is Zeus' fault. Persephone would easily sway the other Gods to her cause and then...you would rule Olympus with her by your side," Zelena replied. He chuckled.

"Oh Zelena...I almost forgot how devious your mind is," he said. She smirked.

"Then you'll help me?" she asked. He smirked.

"Time Travel...Zeus will hate that," he mused and then looked at her.

"You have yourself a partner in crime, my dear," he agreed. She smirked.

"Good...I'll even play the villain so you can pretend to disapprove of my plans and side with the heroes. That will win points with Persephone too. All we need now is...for Snow White and Prince Charming to conceive another product of true love," she stated.

"Well, like you said, I doubt it will be long with the way those two look at each other, if it hasn't already happened," he replied, as they shared a devious smiled. So far, his visit to Storybrooke had yielded unexpected, but very interesting results. If they could pull it off...then perhaps time travel was the answer to him getting everything he truly wanted as well…

[rosaetae]

for all the petals

pairing; namjoon x reader

genre; angst 

word count; 4.4k 

a/n; honestly this was one of the quickest story i’ve ever written omg

summary; a story in which you met him in the spring, fell in love with him in the summer, but he left you in autumn and how you missed him in the winter. 

If you were given a question to choose between your favorite season, it would have been spring.

Despite the bad mouths of anti-spring-lovers and the constant spread of allergies due to the spread of pollen, you didn't think it would be as bad as the other seasons. Summer was too hot and humid for you, autumn was always a time for a lot of leave-raking and mud splashing, and winter gets colder every year.

Maybe you were just a pessimistic about the other three seasons, but they have their perks as well.

Spring, however, has always been your highly favored season of them all. Maybe it was because you weren't allergic to pollen or maybe it was because you were able to escape the below zero weather, but spring had been your favorite since you were seven and your mother brought flowers to your ballet performance.

They were peonies, and you had grown a love for peonies.

But spring had always been good to you- whether that be the blooming flowers on trees, or the sun beams finally peeking through the clouds that kissed your golden skin- but there was another reason as to why you had marked spring as your favorite season. And that was because you had met the love of your life during spring.

He came to you as a cherry blossom fell down the tree and it had completely felt like a movie in one of those scenes in which a flower falls and there stood the person the protagonist would come to seek for. And the audience knew that that that person would be the protagonist's love interest.

It felt exactly like that.

He had worn adoring colours that one spring day and you were completely enticed to his ripped blue jeans and the checkered sweater that made him look warm matched with his circular glasses. Admittedly, you stared at him for awhile when he wasn't looking because you felt as if you were the protagonist in the movie and he was going to be your love interest.

But, it was a moment too quick when he turned on his heel and continued walking the opposite direction of you. Firstly, you had to snap yourself out of your daze and secondly, realize that he was just another handsome man that has another life of his own.

.

spring ; "i wanted to learn your name."

Surprisingly though, he came to you a week after you noticed his immaculate existence during your walk in the park. It was peculiar, but you didn't think much of it when you saw him enter your grandpa's antique shop looking for something in particular. You were dusting the very top shelf that consisted of your grandfather's valuable and most expensive antiques while standing on a ladder until you heard the bell ring, indicating that a person came in.

Since you were the only one in the dimly lit shop, you yelled out without looking at the customer who came in, "Welcome!"

As you finished dusting one part of the section, you turned around to see who the customer was over your shoulder, only to find it was the cherry blossom boy. Your eyes didn't realize it was him until he peered over your way without looking up at you, but his eyes were focused on the few bookshelves that consisted of old books.

Realizing it was him, you felt yourself stumble on the ladder that you had to grasp onto the top shelf to keep your balance. Hearing the small commotion he made, he looked up at you in surprise to find someone on a tall ladder.

As your feet hit ground, you turned around to face the customer, placing your feather sweeper on top of the countertop in front of you.

"Hello, can I help you?" You chimed while plastering on a friendly smile.

The boy that worn adoring colours wore something the opposite and you couldn't help but notice his change of appearance as his circular glasses were no longer worn, but instead a black beanie sliding off his head. His blue jeans were replaced with black ripped jeans and his checkered sweatshirt was replaced with a black hoodie. Even in colors of a blackhole, he was still mesmerizing.

He smiled at your friendly greeting and walked over to you with eyes examining your store. It was fairly large, your grandfather owning it with your grandmother since 1980 and collecting all the antiques passed down from their families from generations to generations. But, when your grandmother died when you were 15, you volunteered to help your grandfather run the place, and to this day, numerous people come and go to buy the most old-fashioned or vintage antiques that were kept in your family.

That included the old redwood piano standing next to the window, untouched and aged, but still created beautiful harmonies; the old pots and teacups on display that a lot of people found admirable, but chose not to buy it; the record players and some old jazz vinyls that you would play every now and then until people decided to buy it; the copious amounts of bookshelves that arranged ancient books that were either called 'magical' or were just plain Shakespearean poetry; and the other items that were scattered around the room that only those would good eyes would find.

They say that antique shops are spooky in a way and 'summons spirits', but to you, you felt that they held memories, and selling them to customers gave usage for new memories to come for each antique sold.

That was what your grandmother told you ever since you were five and asked about the strange golden crested bird cage that stood in the display area at the window.

"I've been searching for a book of Edgar Allan Poe's collection," The boy affably states and you nodded, walking out behind the counter to show him the bookshelves that held strange books in them.

When you showed him the bookshelves, you saw his eyes lit up- as if he was a child on Christmas morning- and his plump lips had parted in awe at the many ancient books that were piled onto the shelves.

"There should be some Edgar Allen Poe collections here..." Your voice trails off with a hesitation at the end. "But the books that I've read on these shelves were mostly Shakespeare... and some crazy voodoo black magic spell books."

He looks down at you with confusion written on his face and your lips curled into a smile as you saw his reaction to your joke.

"I'm kidding," You say as you step towards the bookshelves, your eyes scanning each margin to find the name of Edgar Allan Poe himself. As you search for it, you decided to make some small talk with the guy behind you, his eyes probably hunting for the book as well. "So are you an Edgar Allan Poe fan?"

"Yeah, you could say that... Are you?"

Just as he says that, you spot a book that you have never seen before but had the name of Allan Poe in gold font on a black margin, in which you take between your fingertip. You then turn around to hand it over to the boy who looks at you in surprise that you found it.

"I'm more of a Shakespeare fan," You state while you handed it to him to examine if it was the item he was looking for and you lead him to the cash register.

"Ah, a Shakespeare fan. Let me guess, Romeo and Juliet?" He inquires and you shake your head, taking the book out of his hand to find the price of the book and put it into the cash register. "A Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"That'll be ten dollars and twenty nine cents," You politely say as he takes out his wallet from his back pocket and rummages through it to find exact change. "And no, although the love square was quite interesting- seems too melodramatic."

He fakes a gasp as he gives you the exact amount of coins and bills. "You call yourself a Shakespeare fan?"

"Sonnets," You reply with certainty as you open the cash register to put the money in. "And Julius Caesar."

He raises his eyebrows baffled at your choice of Shakespearean literature as you put the book in a plastic bag gently.

"Also," You started as you handed the bag over to him. "They sell Allan Poe's collections at the bookstore around the block. Why come here?"

Attentively, you watched as he accepts the bag from your hand, your fingers grazing each other's ever so subtly and he flashes a smile at you that had you rose an eyebrow. "I wanted to learn your name."

"But you don't know me nor my name," You interject, crossing your arms at the strange boy that stood before you.

He hitched his breath, nodding at that fact. "You're right. I don't know you other than you work here nor did I ask for your name yet. But maybe we can change that through dinner sometime?"

The sudden question had you flabbergasted that you physically had to take a footstep back. The cherry blossom boy that had coincidentally showed up a week later at your family owned shop was asking you to dinner- and you didn't think he knew about your existence before either. But there he was, a smug look painted on his face as he held the bag, waiting for your answer.

"Uh..."

"Great, I'll meet you here tomorrow at 8?" The boy concluded and your eyebrows sky-rocketed as he walked over to the door, the bell ringing as he pulled it and gave you a small wave.

Once he left, you had to release a deep breath, you hitting your chest lightly with your fist as you realized he was going to make you fall hard for him.

.

summer ; "if your love is real, show me"

As you met during the spring, the rest of season was filled with spending precious time with the enigma that had walked into your life.

He went by Namjoon.

From the beginning of the dinner, he learned your name under three seconds and began saying it as if he had known it for a long time. And you could not deny the subtle feeling growing in your stomach when your name gracefully rolled off of his tongue.

The summer was wholly filled with him visiting your shop every day to buy a small knick knack every now and then that included teacups to utensils to mirrors to plant pots, or just trying to make a conversation with you as you worked.

During the summer, you noticed he was a freak for poetry and anything that dealt with nature. He was also one to verbally quote philosophical interpretations that always had puzzled you at first since you thought he was casting a spell from the black magic spell book, but they had easily came together as he broke it down into small words that you were able to understand.

He was this quixotic poet that had fallen in love with the beauty of nature and you adored him because of that.

However, you notice that he was never one to fall in love with people and their souls- no matter how over-romantic his indefatigable and philosophical words were, they were always related to nature or the universe- never would he relate anything to the human emotions. Not once did you notice him admitting to his feelings or speaking about his past relationships whenever you asked him about it.

And then one day, you were with him during the hot night, you walking him home after watching a movie that you didn't particularly like- and neither did he by the way he fell asleep during the middle of the movie.

"Hey, Namjoon," You say and he hums in return, his ears listening to you as his eyes focused on the street ahead of you both. "Why did you want to know my name?"

Then a pause took its place, making you feel even more awkward at that moment.

"Is it a crime to know your name?" He inquired nonchalantly and you shrugged, your footsteps slowing as you neared his house.

"I mean, we didn't know each other before you suddenly asked me out for dinner..."

Namjoon nods and it makes you feel aggravated at his vague answers that you sigh loudly, giving up as the silence stretches on forever. Once you reach to his house in which he lived alone, you pursed your lips and stopped at his front door while he unlocked it. He made room for you, indicating you to go inside, but you refused after staring at him.

"It's... it's late," You finally say and he nods slowly at your statement. "I should... probably go home."

"Okay," He breathes out and you nod with him quietly. "Good night, then?"

You slightly frowned, quickly covering it by lifting the ends of lips. "Y-yeah. Yeah." You took a step back, ready to turn around as Namjoon nods understandingly at your decision. "Good night."

And when you made that turn, your back facing Namjoon in the moonlit sky, you knew you wouldn't have slept in your own bed knowing that there was this urge to yell at him for being completely oblivious to how you felt and how your indirect body language spoke more than what he could express.

So with that, you swiftly turn back around, seeing that Namjoon was still watching you, but with eyebrows raised at your sudden action. You released a frustrated sigh.

"What do I have to do, Namjoon?" You state loudly, nearly to a shout. "I want to tell you everything about how I feel but I always feel like I'm talking to a damn wall!"

His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion this time and you scoffed, marching up to him.

"What do I have to do for you to let me in? I want to know you, I want to know who you are, but I can't seem to do that if I'm talking to someone who doesn't open themselves up!" You exclaimed as you pressed a finger into his chest. "Why can't you tell me anything about you?"

You were shouting and probably waking up the neighbors, but you didn't care. You kept pointing your finger at his chest as he listened to each word you frustratingly spilled out until he grabbed at your wrists and abruptly pressed his lips onto yours.

It was short, but it was enough for you to shut you up as your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him closer as he breathed you in.

Once he pulled away to look at you with a small smile, you sighed at him, shaking your head as your eyes hungrily tried to look for his.

"I'm in love with you," He says finally and that's the only thing that had you press your lips into him again, both of you stumbling inside his household while his hand tries to search for the light without parting from your lips. And once the lights had flickered on, he pulled you up onto a table that held his keys and other necessities.

It was this hungry, yearning frenzy, as you felt his hands roam your waist to your thighs while he nipped at your neck, making you part your lips when he discovered your sweet spot. You brought your hands to his chest that heaved heavily and pushed gently away from him a bit, catching the lust in his eyes as he stared back at you longingly with his lips wanting to connect back to your skin.

"If you love me, show me," Was what you said before you two made love that night.

And even when he was asleep next to you on his bed, you still couldn't seem to shut your eyes and fall into a slumber afterwards because you realized you were swooning over a boy who was oblivious to the emotions and feelings a person contains and expressed how he felt ever so discreetly.

.

autumn ; "i'll see you when i see you."

Summer had your fulfilled yesterdays, and so did autumn.  

Autumn had a major weather change as the last day of summer ended. It was as if the sun ran away and hibernated for awhile. The clouds were the only thing in sight and you were convinced that the sky was a banal gray instead of the baby blue atmosphere that you once knew.

But, you didn't mind it when you were with the boy you loved so much.

After that night in which he said he was in love with you and made love to you, he was back to being the wall that blocked his feelings from being verbally expressed, but it didn't stop you from loving him. He was one to hear your emotions and how you felt for him, whereas he didn't reciprocate anything back even if you desperately asked him numerous questions.

However, he was one to the show it than explain it. That meant him kissing you every chance he got, spending time with you if that meant being cooped up in that antique store for awhile, and holding you and touching you as you were his and he was yours- and you guess it wasn't so bad.

But when you were just about to close the shop at 8, Namjoon had came to surprise you by jumping behind you as you locked up the door and whispering in your ear, 'boo'. However, he didn't receive a surprise, but rather a loud shriek and you punching him continuously at his prank that had you tremble and gain goosebumps.

As you sent death glares at him, he could only chuckle at your reaction, pulling you into a hug that had your cheeks felt as if it were on fire when you heard the light thumping of his heartbeat through his chest.

"I miss you," He murmurs and it caught you off guard when he says that and you pull away slightly to look up at him. He just smiles and pecks your cheek and you give him a look of suspicion before he grabs the bag you were holding and holds your hand. "I'll walk you home, yeah?"

The rest of the walk to your house was nice, as usual. He'd ask you how your day went and you replied with either crazy responses or just 'the same old, same old'. Then you'd ask him how his day went and he would only be discreet about it, but you learned that that was his thing. Being discreet.

But then there was this long silence that you didn't really care for until you felt his thumb rub against the back of your hand, causing you to peer over at him to see he was staring down at your hands intertwined together with an unreadable look on his face. It had you worry a bit, so you stopped walking.

His eyes looked at you with confusion as you tilted your head a bit. "Are you okay?"

Then, he hesitates for awhile before he nods. "I'm fine."

You sighed, pursing your lips as you walked towards him. "Are you sure? You've been acting... unusual."

Namjoon releases a weary laugh, causing you to worry a bit more, but then your mind kept alerting you that you were overthinking the situation. "Y/N, I'm fine. I just didn't get to see you yesterday was all."

Your brain kept telling you to drop the topic, but your heart couldn't so you nod with a concerned look.

"Okay," You finally say before walking again.

As you reached the front of your house, you gave Namjoon one last look before you let go of his hand and wrapped your arms around his waist, giving him a goodbye hug. "Good night," You say.

But as you attempt to let go, he pulls you back in, stroking your hair as you pressed your ear to his chest, your arms around his torso, holding him tight. Your heart kept screaming that this was out of the ordinary, but your mind kept saying that you were fine and he was just trying to open up to you.

"I love you," Namjoon says with genuine certainty that you fleetly looked up at him, baffled at his words.

"I love you too," You say, biting your lips from smiling. He finally lets go and hands you your bag and you reach no your tippy-toes to press your lips against his.

"I'll see you when I see you?" He finally says as you walk inside your house.

You nod with a smile drawn on your face while waving at him goodbye. He watches you go inside safely and you release a sigh, being glad he was able to tell you the words that you haven't in awhile, but you had to credit him for saying such words because in the end, you knew he was only saying these to excuse himself for something else he has to hide from.

.

winter ; "please."

It's been two years.

You expected him to come into your shop like he usually did every day whenever the sound of the bell rang with your hopes were raised, but then it wouldn't be him. He left and admittedly, you saw him everywhere you went. You saw him in the bookshelves in your antique shop; you saw him in the restaurant in which he took you out on the first date; you saw him on the streets walking with someone else beside him that wasn't you; and you saw him through each fall of a cherry blossom- but he never was there at the other side.

Ever since that crisp autumn night when he said words that you didn't expect him to say again fall out of his lips, you never did once see him afterwards.

"I'll see you when I see you" had been what it exactly was and who knew when you would be able to see him again.

The enigma of that cherry blossom boy had stayed an enigma, bringing you illusions ever since he left you with a hole- and you were hoping that maybe, just maybe... he could fill himself in again.

Undoubtedly, he was something that you held onto for awhile and whenever he came into mind, you feel yourself smile unintentionally. It was odd how he still had that positive effect of you even though he left without a word, but you didn't mind.

One night, you were staring at the photos of him and you together on your phone, swiping endlessly at the album you made for the both of you. As you wasted enough tears for him, you finally learned how to stop letting the waterworks work on their own, but that churning feeling still was present whenever you spotted little things that reminded you of him.

But one day as you were watching a customer wave you goodbye as she was exiting your store, a weird feeling hit your gut when something outside the window caught the corner of your eye. Shooting your head to see if you were imagining things or not, your eyes fixate on the window that always had your hopes up whenever you look out of it, but instead of seeing the only sight you would see outside of your shop which was the usual ol' cafe across from it, you saw a boy with a stance and figure that became all too familiar wearing a checkered sweatshirt walking by, as if he realized you caught him and quickly turned at the last second.

Your heart clenched in your chest as you run around the countertop, hoping to catch the guy you hoped you thought it would be.

"Please," You muttered as you pulled open the door and threw yourself outside onto the cement, your eyes searching left, right, then left frivolously only to find that the checkered sweatshirt figure was not in sight, resulting into you bringing your head down onto the floor while tears flooded out of your eyes. And you crouched down, hugging your knees into your chest as you sobbed into your ripped jeans.

What you didn't know was that that figure wearing the checkered sweater was actually the person who you exactly thought it would be and he watched you crying into your knees outside your antique store, people walking by and giving you weird and strange looks. And in fact, he wanted to pull you into his chest and tell you he was there and would stay with you for now on.

But, the scene of wrapping his arms around you to silence your sobs and hushing you while stroking your hair that felt like silk through his slender fingers only became an imaginary scene in his mind when he saw that your grandfather came out to hug you instead.

And he disappeared without a single word.

.

And that's how the story of Namjoon and you had ever written.

For all the petals that fell and had you wish and hope and yearn for him to come back, he just never did, although there was something scratching at the back of your neck telling you that he was there, just never really was there.

He was someone that made you feel whole but also had you hurt and expect him everyday.

And you loved him, you did.

Although he was this mysterious person who was never good at explaining his feelings, he was this epiphany- your epiphany- as he had you fall for him copious amounts of times, and it didn't seem to hurt. He was someone that you would talk about to your kids one day as he gained the title of being the love of your life and was still completely alluring in every way possible.

And sure, usually the protagonist usually ends up with the love interest in the end, but maybe you weren't the protagonist in the story you and Namjoon wrote- or maybe the story didn't end yet, but you were sure of one thing;

Spring was still your favorite season and you do hope that you could see him when you do see him. If that be in a different world or a different time, you hoped to meet him on a spring day in which a cherry blossom falls from its stem.

[stillpracticingmetoo]

Epilogue 1, Feel (W)hole

Asking for a friend.  Which one of AdventHealth's CEO's, Terry Shaw or Darryl Tol, signed off on the marketing campaign using the words "Feel Whole," knowing since 2018 that a member of the medical staff repeatedly sexually assaulted me as a child by putting his ungloved finger in my rectum on multiple occasions while treating me for a knee injury?

Feel (w)hole.  Two words I read this afternoon on street signs when I arrived for a meeting called by AdventHealth following the publication of my story. The request from the legal department was that I come in to meet to discuss a "solution that works for you, and us and the community." Feel (w)hole.  The words were stretched across banners in the lobby of the organization's executive office building in downtown Orlando, right underneath the organization's mission of "extending the healing ministry of Christ." Now I've read the Bible passage where Jesus licked his fingers and stuck them in the ears of a deaf man to restore his hearing, but this might be a stretch. Feel (w)hole. Two words next to AdventHealth's logotype that quickly evoked the image of the headshot of Dr. William P. Zink I found when Googling his name in the fall of 2017 when I remembered the repressed memory of being sexually assaulted and molested as a child by him under the guise of medical care 30 years ago. Heart racing. Brow sweating. Room spinning. Wondering if this was a mistake. "With a personalized greeting like that, who wouldn't feel welcome," came a booming voice from across the lobby. I turned to see the smiling face of my childhood friend and local Orlando attorney who agreed to join me for this meeting.  "They probably should have run that one by someone with a 13 year old's sense of humor before spending millions to plaster it all over town," he said.  "Fucking idiots.  Let's go see what they have to say." Walking into the executive conference room at AdventHealth's headquarters, I was immediately grateful for my decision to bring an attorney as I was met by four people -- a health system executive, a member of the legal department, outside counsel and the organization's new president of the medical staff . . . who used to be my own primary care doctor.  For a moment, I thought that this was the ultimate mindscrew, and hoped that this was just an odd coincidence. Curiously absent from this meeting were the two people I had contacted in 2018 and 2020, AdventHealth CEO, Terry Shaw, and AdventHealth Central Florida CEO, Daryl Tol.  If the priest and the Levite couldn't make the meeting, I was hoping that at least one of the people in the room would be the Good Samaritan I needed to hear from.  Beyond the kindness expressed by my old doctor, I would have no such luck. After exchanging pleasantries, I was asked to offer my perspective about what this reluctant cabal could do to help.  "I was thinking you might be able to tell me, since you called the meeting," I responded.   Silence.  For a full minute. Sensing my frustration, my attorney shot me a knowing Jedi-mind-trick glance and gave me a nod, prompting the following. "What is the business purpose for AdventHealth maintaining a relationship with Dr. Zink," I asked?   "It's complicated," they replied, followed by a longwinded explanation of the bylaws and rules governing relationships with medical staff, versus the contracts maintained with members of the medical group, the division of authority between corporate and legal and the medical staff, and medical staff credentialing. Luckily both Stephanie and I grew up in medical households and had prior work experience in healthcare philanthropy, so I had a basic understanding of this byzantine arrangement designed to protect corporate assets, doctors egos, and hopefully, a few patients along the way.  Frankly, this all sounded like bureaucratic bullshit, with no hint of common sense. "How long has Dr. Zink been on the medical staff," I asked? "Since the 1980's," they answered. "What is the average annual revenue that AdventHealth makes from a pediatric orthopedic surgeon who is credentialed and given privileges to perform surgery in one of your hospitals," I asked? "I do not know that number off hand," the president of the medical staff replied. I asked the same question of the health system executive who responded, "Well, leaving money out of it, a busy pediatric orthopedic surgeon probably performs around 400 surgeries annually.  Dr. Zink was probably performing 10 percent of that volume in the last year." 10 percent of 400.  That's 40 patients each year during the two years since I contacted Terry Shaw and Daryl Tol.  80 kids.  Statistics are that 1 in 6 of these children will be sexually assaulted before they turn eighteen years old.  That's 13 kids treated by Dr. William P. Zink between 2018 and 2020 who, statistically speaking, may be victims of sexual assault.  If I were CEO of AdventHealth, would I take a chance that 13 kids who received surgery in my hospital system would be introduced to a guy whose public reputation from a Google search would not qualify him as a volunteer for the public library or the babysitting service offered by the local church? Hell no.  But it's complicated. Before attending this meeting, I ran my questions by a few friends. Some had experience in healthcare, and others were just hardworking businesspeople with years of tough decisions under their belts.  I tested two of the observations out on the crowd. "One buddy of mine suggested his perception that this is purely about business and money.  Zink is 'damaged goods' and AdventHealth can get him to perform surgery for as little as they can and keep the spread between what they pay him and what they bill insurance," I offered. "Absolutely not," the health system executive protested. "I know Terry Shaw and Daryl Tol, and I can assure you that they are good men who would never put money before patient safety or quality."  A breathless reply before she had to excuse herself from this important meeting to go catch an airplane. "Another buddy of mine suggested his perception that this might have more to do with the organizations faith-based mission.  Perhaps they are trying to show forgiveness and give Zink a second chance," I suggested. The president of the medical staff spoke up and offered what I find to be the one noble point of view of the whole meeting.  "My number one priority is patient care and safety," he said. "While there are bylaws and rules, I can assure you that your story will be considered the next time Dr. Zink's petition for privileges is reviewed. Nothing about what you've shared aligns with our mission of extending the healing ministry of Christ."   I might have been satisfied to end there, but the outside counsel chimed in with an odd request. "Perhaps you might help us by encouraging the few people who you have heard from since publishing your story to come forward and file their own complaint?" Do you mean the busy mom whose son was injured in a weekend sporting event who Dr. Zink offered to pick up in his own car to drive to an exam on a Sunday? "While it was creepy," she said to me, "I don't think it qualifies as abuse."  No, it's called grooming. Or do you mean the childhood friend who lives out of the country and has more than a decade of recovery from alcoholism and cocaine addiction under his belt who called me on Sunday to tell me that Dr. Zink drugged and sodomized him when he was 14 years old?  "I called to tell you I am glad that you are telling your story," he said to me.  "My recovery requires that I leave that in the past. I am healing, one day at a time and all I want to put into the world is my art and love."  I respect that, my brother. I love you. Feel Whole.  It probably started as a good idea, hoping to inspire thoughts of healing body, mind and spirit while under the care of AdventHealth and its medical staff. I can picture the white-board session now, an echo chamber of adulation. A zippy video with images of healthy people doing healthy things backed by a soundtrack and a final coda call-and-response of "Tell me how you're feeling tonight." Hashtagwordcloud #feelingwhole fadetoAdventHealthlogo. Statistically speaking it is likely that there is a mom or dad in the Orlando area who saw that video on social media somewhere. It made them feel good. It evoked a sense of trust in AdventHealth. A trusted resource that mom or dad should be able to rely on for a referral to a doctor who will help them and their child feel whole. Not Feel (W)hole. NOT FEEL (W)HOLE. 

[mastcomm]

Last Call for a Beloved Fixture of the Marais District

PARIS — On a recent evening, Amar Sitayeb squeezed behind a tiny counter at the minimart that he and his older brother Ali have run for more than 35 years in the Marais district of central Paris. A plump gray tabby cat prowled the floor, and faded photos of neighborhood babies, many now grown-ups, were taped to an old cash register.

A stream of regulars filed in, grabbing potato chips, gum and soda, and lingering to exchange gossip and pleasantries. One neighbor with the sniffles bought honey and tea. Mr. Sitayeb fished mint for her from a refrigerator. “This should help,” he said.

Ten minutes later, she returned and asked for rum. “That’ll attack the cold quicker!” he laughed, pulling a bottle from the shelf.

The purchases were mainly an excuse to spend precious moments bantering with the Sitayeb brothers, known to residents around the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie, a boutique-studded Marais street, as the eyes, ears and unofficial mayors of the area.

For soon, the unthinkable is set to happen: On Jan. 31, their store, Au Marché du Marais, will close, swept away in a tide of moneyed gentrification, like nearly every other independent shop and cafe around them.

“We know everyone here, we’ve lived our lives with them and we’re sad to leave,” said Ali Sitayeb, a fatherly figure who recently turned 70, but exuded a much younger energy. In place of the daily necessities that his store offers, like toilet paper and freshly-squeezed orange juice, he announced, a Princesse Tam Tam lingerie chain would be installed.

When I first heard the news, I was stunned. I had settled near the épicerie after moving to Paris in 2000. Since then, an incursion of designer boutiques had accelerated, turning the area into an outdoor shopping arena that draws thousands of visitors.

The brothers, who originally came from Morocco, remained steady fixtures throughout, greeting me on my way to work, dispensing witticisms and advice, and peppering me with questions about a succession of American presidents.

My neighbors were in mourning. The épicerie was a rare gathering spot, and the brothers, with alert eyes and sunny mustachioed faces, kept vigil over everyone. They held people’s keys and knew all the latest news on marriages, divorces, children, thefts, rivalries, real estate deals — the list goes on.

Theirs, however, is a tale of a rapidly changing Paris. And the closure of their shop, on a street where boutiques now sell 585 euro designer sneakers, has sparked angst among residents who see a warning in how big money-backed luxury brands aimed at wealthy tourists are consuming neighborhoods and eroding cultural identity.

“This changes everything,” said Eva Beau, a doctor who has lived near the shop for 20 years. “I feel like breaking all of this — it’s too sad,” Dr. Beau added, her eyes brimming with tears as she scrutinized the luxury storefronts.

Dr. Beau used to lower a basket with a rope from her fourth-floor apartment, into which the brothers would place coffee and other orders. “The neighborhood doesn’t need more boutiques,” she said. “We need the human contact of people like Ali and Amar.”

The brothers had long debated when to retire. When an electrical fire ravaged the shop five years ago, support from neighbors was so strong that they decided to keep going. But then the lingerie chain, run by Fast Retailing, a Japanese retail giant that owns Uniqlo, Theory and Comptoir des Cotonniers, made an advantageous offer for the space.

The pattern is playing out in cities across France. From Aix-en-Provence to Reims, Tours and Strasbourg, bakeries, cafes and shops are increasingly being taken over by retail conglomerates with vast financial resources. The stores look like quaint boutiques, yet the money behind them is formidable.

Near the Sitayebs’ shop, the Sandro, Maje and Claudie Pierlot clothing chains expanded under the ownership of the American private equity firm KKR before being taken over by the Chinese textile giant Shandong Ruyi.

Lacoste and Kooples, which replaced a bakery and bookstore, belong to Maus Frères, Switzerland’s largest privately held retail group. Chanel and LVMH Moët Hennessy opened perfume and makeup stores, intensifying a surge in Marais real estate prices.

Adding to the pressure is the rise of late-night convenience stores backed by the supermarket giants Casino Groupe and Carrefour. The increased competition has shuttered scores of corner shops in Paris, many run by immigrants from North Africa.

“It’s money that makes the laws,” said Ali Sitayeb’s son, Tariq, 34, who helps run the épicerie but no longer counts on taking over.

The Sitayebs left Morocco in the 1970s as teenagers to earn a living as waiters and dishwashers in Parisian restaurants. But they found they could prosper more by operating a convenience mart well past the traditional 7 p.m. closing time of French retailers.

When the brothers opened the shop in 1984, François Mitterrand was president, prices were in French francs and the Marais, the historic Jewish quarter of Paris, was evolving from a gritty working-class textile and metal factory district. Butchers and boulangeries honeycombed the area. Yiddish was heard everywhere along the rue des Rosiers.

As cafes, bars and artisanal boutiques moved in, the Marais became the center for Paris’s L.G.B.T. community, drawing more visitors and prompting an ever more vibrant makeover.

While the Marais had already developed when I arrived, the influx of luxury storefronts has exploded since Europe’s economic and debt crisis ended in 2012, squeezing out residential and L.G.B.T. commerce, and taking over the historic Jewish center.

“This used to be a real neighborhood, with families and kids,” Amar Sitayeb said, as crowds of tourists strolled past on a recent weekend. “Now all that’s disappeared”

Jean Luc Rouillard, 67, a denizen since 1980, chimed in.

“The Marais has lost its soul,” he declared.

“That’s closing,” Mr. Rouillard said, pointing to a 45-year old antique shop being dismantled for a luxury hotel. “And that’s closing,” he added, eyeing Au Rendez-Vous des Amis, a neighborhood cafe that had just shuttered to make way for a hamburger joint.

“That too,” he continued, nodding to Les Mots à la Bouche, the oldest L.G.B.T. bookseller in the Marais, rumored to be converted soon to a Doc Martins shoe store after the lease became unaffordable. “It’s dramatic,” he concluded.

As locals contemplated the end of an era, they arranged a surprise party for the brothers on a recent weekday at Le Point Virgule, a small comedy theater next to the shop.

Neighbors filed in silently: Dr. Beau and her daughter Manon, 21; Vincent Douget, a former chef at the cafe; Henriette Delyfer, an art boutique owner who knew the brothers since she was a child; local police officers who had dropped in regularly to chat over orange juice.

At last the brothers arrived. They were speechless at the surprise. Tears misted their eyes. While they were looking forward to spending time with their families, “it’s very hard for us to go,” Amar Sitayeb said.

“They were the heart of this area,” said George Fischer, a retiree who has lived next to the shop for two decades.

Back at the épicerie, Tariq Sitayeb had prepared a potent rum punch and Moroccan pastries to welcome a growing crowd.

Ariel Weil, the mayor of Paris’s 4th arrondissement, appeared and shook Ali Sitayeb’s hand. A circle formed as neighbors lamented the Marais’ latest transformation.

“It’s just clothes, clothes, clothes,” Mr. Fischer said. “How is a bra going to replace my orange juice?”

“On a personal level I’m sad,” Mr. Weil said. “And as mayor, I’m worried that we can’t find a solution to keep small businesses from leaving.”

Ali Sitayeb looked at his watch and sighed. It was his brother’s turn to man the register, and he had to get home to rest. Tomorrow, they would continue the sobering task of winding down the store.

“People don’t want things to change,” said Tariq Sitayeb, as his father faded into the dark night.

“But a page is turning.”

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[biofunmy]

Last Call for a Beloved Fixture of the Marais District

PARIS — On a recent evening, Amar Sitayeb squeezed behind a tiny counter at the minimart that he and his older brother Ali have run for more than 35 years in the Marais district of central Paris. A plump gray tabby cat prowled the floor, and faded photos of neighborhood babies, many now grown-ups, were taped to an old cash register.

A stream of regulars filed in, grabbing potato chips, gum and soda, and lingering to exchange gossip and pleasantries. One neighbor with the sniffles bought honey and tea. Mr. Sitayeb fished mint for her from a refrigerator. “This should help,” he said.

Ten minutes later, she returned and asked for rum. “That’ll attack the cold quicker!” he laughed, pulling a bottle from the shelf.

The purchases were mainly an excuse to spend precious moments bantering with the Sitayeb brothers, known to residents around the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie, a boutique-studded Marais street, as the eyes, ears and unofficial mayors of the area.

For soon, the unthinkable is set to happen: On Jan. 31, their store, Au Marché du Marais, will close, swept away in a tide of moneyed gentrification, like nearly every other independent shop and cafe around them.

“We know everyone here, we’ve lived our lives with them and we’re sad to leave,” said Ali Sitayeb, a fatherly figure who recently turned 70, but exuded a much younger energy. In place of the daily necessities that his store offers, like toilet paper and freshly-squeezed orange juice, he announced, a Princesse Tam Tam lingerie chain would be installed.

When I first heard the news, I was stunned. I had settled near the épicerie after moving to Paris in 2000. Since then, an incursion of designer boutiques had accelerated, turning the area into an outdoor shopping arena that draws thousands of visitors.

The brothers, who originally came from Morocco, remained steady fixtures throughout, greeting me on my way to work, dispensing witticisms and advice, and peppering me with questions about a succession of American presidents.

My neighbors were in mourning. The épicerie was a rare gathering spot, and the brothers, with alert eyes and sunny mustachioed faces, kept vigil over everyone. They held people’s keys and knew all the latest news on marriages, divorces, children, thefts, rivalries, real estate deals — the list goes on.

Theirs, however, is a tale of a rapidly changing Paris. And the closure of their shop, on a street where boutiques now sell 585 euro designer sneakers, has sparked angst among residents who see a warning in how big money-backed luxury brands aimed at wealthy tourists are consuming neighborhoods and eroding cultural identity.

“This changes everything,” said Eva Beau, a doctor who has lived near the shop for 20 years. “I feel like breaking all of this — it’s too sad,” Dr. Beau added, her eyes brimming with tears as she scrutinized the luxury storefronts.

Dr. Beau used to lower a basket with a rope from her fourth-floor apartment, into which the brothers would place coffee and other orders. “The neighborhood doesn’t need more boutiques,” she said. “We need the human contact of people like Ali and Amar.”

The brothers had long debated when to retire. When an electrical fire ravaged the shop five years ago, support from neighbors was so strong that they decided to keep going. But then the lingerie chain, run by Fast Retailing, a Japanese retail giant that owns Uniqlo, Theory and Comptoir des Cotonniers, made an advantageous offer for the space.

The pattern is playing out in cities across France. From Aix-en-Provence to Reims, Tours and Strasbourg, bakeries, cafes and shops are increasingly being taken over by retail conglomerates with vast financial resources. The stores look like quaint boutiques, yet the money behind them is formidable.

Near the Sitayebs’ shop, the Sandro, Maje and Claudie Pierlot clothing chains expanded under the ownership of the American private equity firm KKR before being taken over by the Chinese textile giant Shandong Ruyi.

Lacoste and Kooples, which replaced a bakery and bookstore, belong to Maus Frères, Switzerland’s largest privately held retail group. Chanel and LVMH Moët Hennessy opened perfume and makeup stores, intensifying a surge in Marais real estate prices.

Adding to the pressure is the rise of late-night convenience stores backed by the supermarket giants Casino Groupe and Carrefour. The increased competition has shuttered scores of corner shops in Paris, many run by immigrants from North Africa.

“It’s money that makes the laws,” said Ali Sitayeb’s son, Tariq, 34, who helps run the épicerie but no longer counts on taking over.

The Sitayebs left Morocco in the 1970s as teenagers to earn a living as waiters and dishwashers in Parisian restaurants. But they found they could prosper more by operating a convenience mart well past the traditional 7 p.m. closing time of French retailers.

When the brothers opened the shop in 1984, François Mitterrand was president, prices were in French francs and the Marais, the historic Jewish quarter of Paris, was evolving from a gritty working-class textile and metal factory district. Butchers and boulangeries honeycombed the area. Yiddish was heard everywhere along the rue des Rosiers.

As cafes, bars and artisanal boutiques moved in, the Marais became the center for Paris’s L.G.B.T. community, drawing more visitors and prompting an ever more vibrant makeover.

While the Marais had already developed when I arrived, the influx of luxury storefronts has exploded since Europe’s economic and debt crisis ended in 2012, squeezing out residential and L.G.B.T. commerce, and taking over the historic Jewish center.

“This used to be a real neighborhood, with families and kids,” Amar Sitayeb said, as crowds of tourists strolled past on a recent weekend. “Now all that’s disappeared”

Jean Luc Rouillard, 67, a denizen since 1980, chimed in.

“The Marais has lost its soul,” he declared.

“That’s closing,” Mr. Rouillard said, pointing to a 45-year old antique shop being dismantled for a luxury hotel. “And that’s closing,” he added, eyeing Au Rendez-Vous des Amis, a neighborhood cafe that had just shuttered to make way for a hamburger joint.

“That too,” he continued, nodding to Les Mots à la Bouche, the oldest L.G.B.T. bookseller in the Marais, rumored to be converted soon to a Doc Martins shoe store after the lease became unaffordable. “It’s dramatic,” he concluded.

As locals contemplated the end of an era, they arranged a surprise party for the brothers on a recent weekday at Le Point Virgule, a small comedy theater next to the shop.

Neighbors filed in silently: Dr. Beau and her daughter Manon, 21; Vincent Douget, a former chef at the cafe; Henriette Delyfer, an art boutique owner who knew the brothers since she was a child; local police officers who had dropped in regularly to chat over orange juice.

At last the brothers arrived. They were speechless at the surprise. Tears misted their eyes. While they were looking forward to spending time with their families, “it’s very hard for us to go,” Amar Sitayeb said.

“They were the heart of this area,” said George Fischer, a retiree who has lived next to the shop for two decades.

Back at the épicerie, Tariq Sitayeb had prepared a potent rum punch and Moroccan pastries to welcome a growing crowd.

Ariel Weil, the mayor of Paris’s 4th arrondissement, appeared and shook Ali Sitayeb’s hand. A circle formed as neighbors lamented the Marais’ latest transformation.

“It’s just clothes, clothes, clothes,” Mr. Fischer said. “How is a bra going to replace my orange juice?”

“On a personal level I’m sad,” Mr. Weil said. “And as mayor, I’m worried that we can’t find a solution to keep small businesses from leaving.”

Ali Sitayeb looked at his watch and sighed. It was his brother’s turn to man the register, and he had to get home to rest. Tomorrow, they would continue the sobering task of winding down the store.

“People don’t want things to change,” said Tariq Sitayeb, as his father faded into the dark night.

“But a page is turning.”

Sahred From Source link Travel

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