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lazyliars · 4 years ago

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The Quackity Meta: Justice without the Blindfold

[Anonymous asks: (DSMP) Somebody talk to me about Quackity and Eret’s character. I wanna talk about what Quackity’s views on power are with what he’s planning to do with Sam along with whatever he saw in the egg. I wanna talk about why Eret thinks reviving Wilbur is the best option for the sever to lead and their views on what a leader should be with them being the king of the Dream SMP. I wanna talk about Quackity planning to create a casino for the server to rise to the top. What does it mean to be king?]

[/rp. All mentions of dream smp members should be assumed as referencing the character, not the cc, unless specifically stated otherwise.]

At the heart of every conflict, if you look closely enough, you will find a similarity. Two contrasting ideals will reveal their own likeness, in the stage they play out their war – they both fight for the same result; to be known and followed and asserted, and in this they are the same. There would be no conflict if both sides shared nothing in common.

Lets talk about Quackity.

We'll gloss over a good deal of Quackity's history to get to the meat of this discussion, which involves Technoblade. But there are a a few lesser known facts about Quackity's early days on the server that are relevant to the discussion, like that Quackity joined the server because of Tommy.

Namely, he joined for The Cartel, a short-lived organization comprised of him, Tommy, Tubbo and Jack Manifold, and their aims of obtaining power over the entire server by getting a monopoly on one object, the Phantom Membrane.

(Trivia: This is why Technoblade had to strike a deal with Tommy for the membranes – Phantoms are turned off on the Dream SMP now, so their monopoly actually ended up working. (Un)fortunately, Tommy traded nearly his whole supply for the priceless act of... making Techno scream really loud and talk in a funny voice. Worth it.)

However, Tommy's interest in the Cartel waned almost immediately, to Quackity's frustration. Tommy was constantly busy with his Vice Presidential duties in L'manberg. Quackity wasn't entirely left out, and he helped Tommy on multiple occaisions, but this was back in Wilbur's L'manberg, where non-europeans were strictly banned.

Quackity would slowly come to resent Tommy for this over time. He joined the server to be with him, took his side in nearly every conflict, including the ones that were L'manberg-oriented, and yet he wasn't allowed to be a citizen of his friend's own nation.

The resentment would reach a boiling point when Quackity discovered Wilbur's bid to consolidate power by running a sham election – with a one party system. Quackity challenged him, formed Swag 2020, and the rest is history...

The takeaway here is that from the start, Quackity has been shunted aside by people in power – Tommy, Wilbur, and then later, Schlatt. This wouldn't prevent him from executing his own immoral power grabs, but that trait – the distaste for people with power holding it over him, is one that would stick around, and become even more prominent later... Quackity has more reason than most to hate tyranny.

But “Tyranny” Is a word thrown around on the SMP often enough, that it's probably up there with “betrayal” and “pop-off” in total wordcount. But few use it more commonly, or more persuasively, than Quackity and Technoblade.

This begs the question: what is Tyranny in a M/inec/raft role play, and why do Quackity and Technoblade both detest it so much while still hating each other?

Well, after a moderate amount of research, I have discovered the following:

Tyranny is complicated.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

...No, but really. Tyranny is very old concept. The words originates in, you guessed it, Ancient Greece, but conceptually, the idea goes waaaay back.

Now, that last thing I wanna do is give anyone a history lesson. I'd suck at it and I haven't done that much research. But the takeaway here is that “Tyranny” has come to be defined in fairly vague terms. We'll look at a few different ones in reference to the SMP.

Oxford dictionary defines a Tyrant as: A cruel and oppressive ruler. / a person exercising power or control in a cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary way. / (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

Lets look at the first and last definitions: A cruel and oppressive ruler; (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

By these definitions, one could call Quackity tyrannical during his term as Tubbo's VP. He exercises the power granted to him as a government official to spearhead an operation to execute a man without trial. He violently invades the home of a citizen and then puts said man on house arrest, and to subdue the target of this operation he threatens a pet (-a vague but ostensibly severe criminal act in the terms of m/inec/raft specifically-) and then reveals to Techno that the reason he's doing this actually has nothing to do with the crime Techno was accused of, and it is instead a ploy to consolidate power.

Quackity is leveraging his position in the government to amass power, and using that power to harm individuals (Philza and Techno,) in process. As an added bonus, his position in that government came from usurping Schlatt, a legitimately elected official. Thus, Quackity is a Tyrant.

But there, in Schlatt's government is where things get complicated.

Quackity had some power in Schlatt's government. Not the same kind as he did in New L'manberg, but arguably a more unrestrained form – Quackity could basically do whatever he wanted, as long as it pleased Schlatt. In New L'manberg, Quackity needed to convince not only Tubbo, but the rest of the cabinet whenever he wanted to initiate a new project. New L'manberg, while still maintaining a ruling class, had a far more equal distribution of power than Manberg did. It was still democratic.

And while we're on the topic of Quackity as Schlatt's VP, Quackity had almost instant regret the day of the election. He was undermining Schlatt from the start, questioning him, trying to stop Tubbo from breaking the signs that read “if you break this sign, you hate your viewers” and freeing Niki when Schlatt trapped her in Jack Manifold's house and then whispering at her to run.

Quackity only fell into step with Schlatt in the aftermath of Election day, when he saw a major desire fulfilled; the tearing down of L'manberg's walls. These walls were a symbol of L'manberg's isolationist roots that prevented Quackity from joining in the first place. It was one of his biggest promises whilst campaigning.

From this point on, up until the festival, Quackity would be in support of Schlatt. The things he did try to push back on would be downplayed and ignored, if not scorned. This period of time is difficult to pick apart where Quackity's personal morals and ideals begin, and Schlatt's influence ends. The steadily worsening abusive dynamic between them doesn't help this vagueness, either.

I point this out because I've seen people conflate Quackity's abuse at the hands of Schlatt, and his willingness to participate in Schlatt's rule as being of the same root; implying that Quackity only followed Schlatt because he was in an abusive relationship with him, when the reality is far more complicated. Yes, their relationship was a major factor in Quackity's actions, but downplaying his ambition and willingness to accept Schlatt's Tyranny when it helped him realize his own goals does a disservice to the nuance of Manberg-era Quackity.

What all of this points to is an individual who has a strong, some might say defining sense of Justice, yet also a susceptibility to Temptation. Quackity’s experiences with disenfranchisement by Wilbur and Tommy, coupled with his Dark horse victory in the election paints him in a sympathetic, even heroic light. But the way he slowly relinquished more and more power to Schlatt, and ended up indulging in the fruits of tyrannical gains when they proved they could get him what he wanted.

...

So, back to the question... Is Quackity a tyrant?

The answer to that question is a solid “mmmmaaaybe??”

It comes back to what you consider Tyranny. Quackity has never held complete power – he has always, always been scrapping and struggling and fighting to get a foothold in the machinations of the truly powerful, like Dream and Wilbur. He's very much an underdog story.

On the other hand, the times that Quackity has held positions of power, he's done some questionable shit. People like to forget that, while he was deeply disturbed by it, he wasn't exactly against Tubbo's execution at the festival. Putting Phil on house arrest and executing Techno without trial also count against him.

Like most things on the SMP, it's just complicated. Quackity's motivations run deep and aren't always obvious. He doesn't seem to want to hurt people just for the sake of hurting them, or use his power in arbitrary ways, but when he can personally justify it, the sacrifice of his moral integrity gets severe sometimes.

What it looks like is that more than anything else, Quackity wants control, and to never, ever lose his own autonomy. That is also why he despises Technoblade.

...And here we are at the Technoblade part of this meta, AKA the MASSIVE BULK OF THIS ANALYSIS. Which you can read HERE, because it’s too long to fit in just this one post.

#Dream SMP #Quackity #Tommyinnit #Wilbur Soot #Jschlatt #Technoblade #Dream smp analysis #lazytext #long post

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lesserfandomappreciation · 4 years ago

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Ariadne and why the Mycenaeans can fuck right off

Warning: Includes brief mentions of r*pe, cultural destruction, ancient patriarchy reminding us why no woman would ever time-travel more than 5 years into the past if that and a great deal of spite for male historians/public education history/mythology classes.

Possible side effects may include a sudden intense rage for an ancient society equivalent to the innate rage one has for the Romans burning the library of Alexandria, a distinct hatred for ancient men not being able to let anyone have nice things, and a sudden fascination for Minoa.

Usually, I stick to writing imagines and being happy with that. It’s fun! I love it! But every now and again, in an attempt to escape the crushing forces known as reality and responsibilities I’ll put on a few cutscenes from games I’m: A) Too lazy to play B) Too broke to play C) Too unskilled to play D) All of the above

because cutscenes are free and why torture yourself with impossible levels when its free on Youtube?* *In all seriousness please support video games and video game creators, but no shame to those of us who prefer cutscenes to gameplay. A few weeks ago I added the game Hades made by Supergiant to the list because the cutscenes were bomb and the characters are so much fun! Intricate as all hell! Hella cute too but that’s unrelated! Now my pretty little simp patootie is especially a big fan of Dionysus and his gorgeous design so the cutscenes with him are my favorite.

I’m re-watching his cutscenes a few nights ago for fun as background when he has a certain line about Theseus. Don’t quote me on this since my memory is foggy at best but roughly it was: Dionysus: Good job with Theseus. Never cared much for him- what he did to that girl was just horrible.*

*I know that’s not his exact line but this is clearly a rant post fueled by spite and ADD-hyper-focused obsessions with ancient civilizations so let’s not worry too too much about the semantics here.

Now, I like mythology! Personally, I prefer the Norse mythology due to the general lack of very very gross dynamics that several other ancient mythologies seem to include, but I’m decently familiar with Greek mythos. Enough to go - “Why does the God of Wine give a single fuck about the frat bro of Greek heroes being a dick to a woman? Grossness is embedded into the very DNA of all distant relatives of Zeus, a woman being harassed by Zeus or his bastard army is a typical Tuesday in ancient Greece.”

Wikipedia confirms that Ariadne is the only woman in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, which I kinda knew already so unless Theseus did some f’ed up shit to some other princess of Minos, Dionysus could only be referring to her. Disregarding what I know about Wikipedia and how it can suck you down the rabbit hole of rabbit holes through sheer fury I stupidly clicked the link to Ariadne’s article.

By the time we get to the end of this shitstorm, I will have two separate plotlines for two separate stories based of Ariadne, 2k+ notes (and going) on an ancient civilization prior to a week ago I didn’t know existed and within me there will be a rage towards a different ancient civilization I vaguely recall learning about in high school.

Here’s how this shit went down.

First of all, apparently after Theseus abandoned Ariadne on an island to die (yep! He did that! To the one person who is the only reason he defeated the minotaur! Fuck this guy.) there are multiple storylines where Dionysus takes a single look at Ariadne and falls in love.

“A god falls in love?” you say, aware of how most love stories in Greek mythos can be summed up with Unfortunately, Zeus got horny and Hera is a firm believer in victim blaming. “This poor woman is about to go through hell!” I thought so too! And in one variation of the story, Dionysus does his daddy proud by being an absolute tool to Ariadne. In the majority though? He woos the fuck out of her, and ultimately marries her by consent!

Her consent!

In ancient Greece!

The party dude of the Greek pantheon knows more about consent then his father and modern day frat brothers!

Okay! That’s interesting, so I keep reading.

Ariadne getting hitched to Dionysus is a big deal in Olympus, to the point of getting a crown made of the Aurora Borealis from Aphrodite who is bro-fisting Dionysus, beyond glad she didn’t have to give him the talk about consent. The rest of the gods are pissy especially Hera who doesn’t like Dionysus much since he is the son of Zeus and Semele but they don’t do much. Ariadne ascends to godhood, becomes the goddess of Labyrinths with the snake and bull as her symbol and that’s that on that.

Colorin, colorado, este cuento se acabado. And they lived happily ever after. That’s the end of the post right?

NO! Because curiosity has made me their bitch and there’s more to this calling me.

Also, I was pissed! Still am! Why the fuck-a-doodle-do did I have to learn about the time Poseidon r*ped a priestess instead of the arguably healthiest relationship in the entirety of the pantheon? Why is Persephone and Hades’ story (which has improved since it was first written and I like more modern versions of it, no hate) the only healthy-ish Greek love story I had to learn when Dionysus and Ariadne were right there? The rage of having endured several grade levels of “Zeus got horny and Hera found out” stories in the nightmare of public education led me to keep looking into this.

There’s this wonderful Youtube channel called Overly Sarcastic Productions that I highly recommend that delves a lot into mythology, and I have seen their bombass video about Dionysus and how his godhood has changed since he was potentially first written in a language we comprehend.

Did ya’ll know this man is the heir apparent to Zeus? ‘Cause I didn’t know that!

YEA! Dionysus, man of parties, king of hangovers and inducer of madness, is set to inherit the throne of Olympus! Ariadne didn’t husband up the God of Wine, she husbanded up the Prince of Olympus and heir apparent to the throne! Holy shit! No wonder some of the gods were against her marriage to Dionysus - can you imagine the drama of an ex-mortal woman sitting on the Queen’s throne of Olympus? Hera must have been pissed.

BUT WAIT.

There’s more.

The reason we know Dionysus is a very important god and is possibly even more important than we think is because of a handy-dandy language known as Linear B, otherwise known as the language of the Mycenaeans!

For those of you fortunate enough to have normal hobbies and interests, the Mycenaeans were the beta version of the Greeks. Their written language of Linear B is one of, if not the first recorded instance of a written Indo-European language. This language, having been translated, gives us an interesting look at what the Greek gods were like back in their beta-stages before they fixed the coding and released the pantheon.

Interesting side facts of the Mycenaean Greek gods include:

Poseidon being the head god with an emphasis on his Earthquake aspect, and being much more of a cthonic god in general.

Take that Zeus, for being so gross.

The gods in general being more cthonic, as Mycenaeans were obsessed with cthonic gods (probably due to all the earthquakes and natural disasters in Greece and Crete at that time)

Several of the gods and goddesses that we know being listed, alongside some that we don’t consider as important (Dione)

The first mention of Kore, later Persephone, but no Hades because since a lot of gods were cthonic, there would be no need for one, specific cthonic god to represent the majority of death-related rituals.

That’s not what we’re focusing on though! What we’re focusing on is a specific translated portion of Linear B that we have. One of the translated portions of Linear B that for the life of me I can’t find (someone please help me find it and send the link so I can edit this post) says an interesting phrase. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

One more time. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

Mistress of Labyrinths.

Now wait a gosh darn minute. Isn’t there a goddess of labyrinths in the Greek mythos? Why yes! Yes there is! Ariadne!

Here’s a question for you. If Ariadne is but a minor god in the pantheon, a wife to a more predominant god, why is it that while all the other gods and goddesses are bunched together in a sentence of praise, the so-called ex-mortal gets a whole-ass sentence to herself singing praises?

And thus, we have arrived to Minoa!

What is Minoa, you ask? Minoa is to Rome what Rome is to us. An old-ass civilization either older than or younger by a hundred years to ancient Egypt. Egypt, that started in 3200 B.C-ish depending on who you ask. That’s old. Old as balls. They were contemporaries to their trading partner, Egypt until 1450 BC-ish. A 2000 year old civilization.

Minoa was founded on the island of Crete, and was by what artifacts we have found a merchant civilization with its central economy centered on the cultivation of saffron and the development of bronze/iron statues of bulls. Most of what we know about them comes from artifacts and frescoes found on Crete that managed to survive everything else I will mention later, but what matters is that we know a few things about them.

Obsessed with marine life for some time, given their pottery.

Had the first palaces in all of Europe, some of them ridiculously big.

Wrote in Linear A and Cretan Hieroglyphs, both still untranslated languages.

Had a ritual involving jumping over a bull, for some reason.

Firm believers in “Suns out, Tits out.”

You’d think I’m kidding on the last one but no! No no no! All the women apparently rocked the tits-out look in Minoa!

^^^^One of many, many Minoan works featuring women giving their titties fresh air. ^^^^

“Wait a second Pinks! What does this have to do with Ariadne being the Mistress of labyrinths?”

Well you see dear wonderful darling, while we know very little about Minoan religion because Mycenaeans (we will get to those bastards in a second), we do know this:

All the religious figures appear to be exclusively women.

The most important figures of their religion seem to be goddesses as there are few artifacts featuring male gods.

Because of the religion, the culture may have been an equal society or even a matriarchy! Historians who are male aren’t sure.

A frankly ridiculous amount of their temples, including the ones in caves in the middle of fuck-all feature labyrinths. A lot of labyrinths!

Their head god is a goddess! Whose temples have labyrinths and whose main symbols are snakes and bulls. Who do we know is a) the mistress of labyrinths and b) is symbolized a lot by snakes and bulls?

ARI-fucking-ADNE THAT’S WHO!

Ariadne didn’t upgrade by marrying the prince of Olympus! Dionysus wifed up possibly the most important goddess in all of Crete and becoming her boy-toy!

I’m not even kidding, most Minoan depictions of the goddess’ consort features a boy/man who cycles through the stages of death. Dionysus himself in several myths goes through the same cycle - life, being crushed, death, rebirth, repeat. Cycles the consort goes through in Minoan legend depictions too!

Okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with the Mycenaeans? Why do you want to single-handedly go back in time and strangle the beta-Greeks with the nearest belt?

Everything I just said about Ariadne being a Minoan goddess, the Mistress of Labyrinths being hella important on Minoa, is all theoretical. The Mycenaeans are partially to blame for making it theoretical.

Minoa thrived for 2000 years but it had a lot of issues, mostly caused by natural disasters. Towards the end of their civilization (1500 BC-ish), the nearby island of Thera, today known as Santorini, decided to blow up. The island was a hella-active volcano that when erupted, destroyed a lot.

How big was the eruption? Well when Pompeii was wasted by Mt. Vesuvius, the blast was heard from roughly 120 miles away, 200 km.

The blast on Thera was heard from 3000 miles away. 4800 km away.

Fuck me, the environmental effects of the explosion were felt in imperialistic CHINA.

Holy shit that would waste anybody! And it did! Minoa went from being a powerhouse in the Mediterranean to scrambling to recover from losing 40,000 citizens and who knows how many cities. Tsunamis may have followed the blast, further destroying ports which for a navy-powerhouse of an island nation is a bad thing and the theorized temperature drops caused by a cloud of ash lingering for a while would have destroyed crops for the year.

Minoa was fucked.

The Mycenaeans and all their bullshit made it worse.

Up until a few hundred years prior to Thera’s explosion, Minoan artifacts don’t depict much in terms of military power. Why would it? Crete is a natural defense post. Sheer cliffs, high mountains and a few semi-fortified areas would make it pointless to invade. It’s only when the Mycenaeans in all their bullshit decided to attack/compete that Minoa really needed any army to speak of.

Guess who decided to invade while Minoa was reeling from an incredibly shitty year? Mycenaea!

Guess who won?

Also Mycenaea!

Nobody knows how this shit went down though because wouldn’t you know it, the Mycenaeans in all their superiority-complex glory decided to destroy most written accounts about Minoa, a good junk of the temples and culturally eliminated most of Minoan beliefs.

Minoa isn’t even the real name of the civilization! It’s just the name Arthur Evans, the guy who re-motivate interest in Minoan archaeology, gave to the civilization because the writings that would have included the name of the civilization were destroyed.

“That sucks!” Fuck yes that sucks! “What does that have to do with Ariadne though?”

Oh ho ho. Strap in because you’re about to be pissed.

Those of us unfortunate enough to be aware of all the bullshit the Christians pulled on the European pagan belief system are familiar with the concept of cultural, religious destruction. There’s a special name for it I don’t know but if I did I would curse it to be absorbed by the horrendous will of fungi.

An example: Christianity was not the most popular of religions amongst the Vikings. A monotheistic religion that is heavily controlled did not strongly appeal to anyone with a pantheon as rad as the Norse one.

In order to appeal to the Vikings, what monks would do is they would write down traditionally Viking stories which up until that point were orally passed down. Beowulf, the story of the most Viking Viking to have every Vikinged, was one of these first stories.

However! Did these monks write Beowulf as closely to the original oral transcript as possible? Of course not! They took liberties! While Norse features such as trolls and dragons and all sorts of Norse magic occur, there is a lot of Christian features added in.

This happened across all Pagan religions that Christianity came into contact with in Europe. Stories would be altered when written down to be more Christian (this happened to the Greek Pantheon too btw), holidays that were Pagan magically lined up with ones the Vatican just happened to suddenly have. Even names of mythological figures were taken and added onto Christian figure names. Consequently, a lot of pagan religions they did this to got erased over time, with many of their traditions and details being lost forever, and the details we do know being tinted by Christianity.

The Mycenaeans were likely no different.

Minoa and Mycenaea were as culturally opposite as can be. Minoa is theorized to be a matriarchal or equal society*. Mycenaea and most of early Greece absolutely was not. In fact, during early stages of their religion where they believed in reincarnation, the Mycenaeans believed the worst thing to come back as was a woman.

Did you get that? With your options ranging from man to ever single animal on Earth, a woman was ranked as beneath literal animals in Mycenaean society.

Fuck the Mycenaeans.

* This is not to say Minoa was without fault, as a society that is matriarchal or equal can still have rampant issues such as privilege, classism, racism, sexism and more, but when history has a shortage of civilizations that didn’t treat women like shit, you find yourself rooting for them more.

What do you do then, when you take over a society that is very much the opposite of a nightmare of a patriarchy? You fold their beliefs into your own to bait them into yours. Going back to the Linear B line about “Mistress of Labyrinths” that line would/could have been an early tactic of incorporating Minoan belief into Mycenaean belief. Other goddesses and gods were made into aspects of Mycenaean gods. Bristomartis, the Minoan goddess of the hunt, would become Artmeis. Velchanos, a god of the sky, would become Zeus.

With more time, the religion shifted more into Mycenaean and eventually into ancient Greece as we know it. Through trade other gods and goddesses would continue to shift and change, some being straight up imported (Aphrodite for example). Dionysus himself changed a lot too, going from a God representing freedom and attracting slaves, women and those with limited power into his cult, to a God of parties for the wealthy.

Theseus and the Minotaur was a myth likely based on a Mycenaean myth based on a Minoan myth that changes Ariadne from an important, possibly the important goddess of an ancient religion and relegates her to a side character in a pantheon so vast that she would be lost within it.

All of this brings us to today. Today, where as soon as work ended I spent most of the day, as well as the past two days, looking up everything I can on Minoan civilization and added it to my notes. Spite is fueling me to write two possible different stories for two different fandoms where Minoa dunks of Mycenaea and it is giving me life. Expect an update within the next two weeks folks as I lose control of my writing life once more.

In summary: Ariadne deserves more respect, fuck the public education system for skipping over the good parts of Greek mythology instead of the r*pey as shit parts, the Mycenaeans can eat my shorts, and a world were Minoa became the predominant power instead of Greece would be an amazing world to live in.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Pink out.

#minoa #minoan #crete #ancient history #ariadne #mycenaea #mycenaean #I hate #HATE #HATE HATE HATE the Greeks so much #homer is a dick #So much spite and curiosity went into this #if I ever get a time machine I will travel to the first years of Mycenaea for the express purpose of burning it to the ground before #they get a chance #the opportunity #to look at Minoa wrong

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

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Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States.

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again.

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?”

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right?

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase.

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table.

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league.

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman.

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists.

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?”

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does.

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away.

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him.

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior.

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter.

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell.

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape.

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner.

“Hey, babe, ready to go?”

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips.

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat.

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart.

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups.

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes.

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust.

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words.

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.”

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem.

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing.

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.”

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.”

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this.

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments.

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.”

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.”

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum.

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties.

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress.

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile.

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship.

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away.

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other.

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually.

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years.

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke.

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd.

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.”

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her.

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss.

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television.

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

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ayuyikes · 6 years ago

Text

Hunting a Cryptid pt.1

Yeah so once upon a time I wrote a ModernCryptidAU for my ocs but lost motivation (and I recently found out that that fic is 1.5 years old) so I figured if I post a part I might have motivation to write again... So! Here comes!

There's this house standing on the very edge of the neighborhood. It is a tall, looming, dark victorian style house that had been renovated twice in the past decade. Closed off windows, torn burgundy curtains, the whole gothic horror package. And its owner never came out during the day.

Ayuya had set eyes on this house for some time, but after a bit of research, she was certain.

The guy living there had to be a vampire, no doubt.

The evidence was simple and undeniable.

First off, he never came out during the day. Which was obviously mentioned before. Vampires burn in the light of the sun, so they have to make their move at night. And who, (after having camped out for nights at his house continuously falling asleep), was only ever seen outside at night? That guy.

Secondly, the house. Why would you move if you lived there already for hundreds of years? Plus the gothic horror obsession only added to it.

Third, and this only came to light after shadowing him one night, he avoided Italian restaurants like the plague. And why? Boom. Garlic.

She could think of more but it was all pointing to the same direction: she had to be dealing with a vampire. No other way around it. The evidence was all there.

So she went for the confrontation. To get the truth out of him.

And here she was, standing on his porch, looking up to the huge mansion that no doubt was the Vampire's Lair. It was day time, so she figured he wouldn't actually come out, but she needed to prove her point. And what better strategy then to attack when the enemy (hostility not yet proven at this point, though) was at his weakest.

Just in case she had brought some garlic with her in her purse, maybe she should consider bringing some holy symbol next time too?

If there will be a next time.

The door opened, she was hastily bracing herself. What if she got dragged in, before the sunlight could actually affect him? She was standing just inside shade. She didn't think this through. Too late, here comes.

In all her panic she almost didn't register the sleepy guy who opened the door for her. Six inches taller than her, in his (probably) pajama pants with a red bedhead and tired green eyes. They looked at her with a mixture of 'what do you want' and a 'it's too early for this' but after pulling herself together and mildly convincing he wasn't going to snatch her, she straightened her back and took a breath.

"Sir, I came here for a very special reason today-"

"If you're selling girl scout cookies," he muttered with a yawn, "then please be on your way, I'm not gonna buy any."

Thrown off, she tried to argue, respectfully. "I'm not selling any cookies, sir, I just want to ask of you-"

As if he was hit with a terrible headache, he hunched over as he laid his hands on her shoulders. "Please make it quick."

With newfound determination, she took a deep breath and asked. "Sir, are you a vampire?"

It was dead silent on his side. Nothing in his form betrayed any sign of denial or even surprise. Just. Blank.

Then he removed his hands from her and shut the door.

She heard him going up the stairs, grumbling."H-hey! Come back!" She cried, banging on the wooden door.

"There's no- you can't hide from the truth!"

"I can shut the door on it," he snarked back, obviously annoyed and distant. "Don't come back, and good night."

"Wh- But- I'll-" she knew that if she wanted an answer, she wasn't going to get a straight one now. "I'll be back! Mark my words!"

She forgot to register the fact he didn't flinch away from the direct sunlight that had hit his arms not even a moment ago.

The next day, she was back again. This time more prepared. Prepping a persuasion speech and some sort of small interview in case he obliged counted as prepared. Plus the evidence will convince him to talk. No doubt about it.

Once again she knocked on his door. Was the fancy doorknob there two days ago or hadn't she noticed it before?

She went over her speech one more time in her head: how his house had gripped her curiosity and how she had spent over a week researching her suspicions. Intro. Evidence. Interview. Done.

The door was opened again, maybe because he can't see her standing here from any of his windows (thanks to the little roof right over his door), and one look he gave her before his face fell. "It's you."

Thank god he was wearing a shirt this time.

He was about to close the door on her when she grasped his arm. "Please, just hear me out for a moment-"

"Why would I even? Just leave me alone-"

He wiggled just outside of her grasp to close the door on her. Drat.

She had to think of something promising. Something to appeal to him, to keep his attention. But what?

No use for a speech, this time she thought of something else.

She skipped knocking this time."Sir? Are you home? I brought something for negotiation...?"

It was a more cloudy day and she looked up at the eery lit windows. How can it already be this dark at three in the afternoon?

He opened a window. Success.

He rubbed his eyes and groggily spoke, "Why are you back?"

"I-" her voice wavered, and she fidgeted with her blonde hair. "I brought a peace offering? Maybe then you'd be willing to talk...?"

He squinted at her and pointed to the bag she was hiding behind her bag. "Please tell me you didn't bring any dead animals as 'peace offering'."

She shrunk a little, avoiding his gaze. "... I wasn't gonna let you suck my blood..." She muttered with a volume she hoped he wouldn't catch.

He rolled his eyes. "If you're gonna do shit like that at least bring something edible. And now leave me alone for a while, I'm trying to sleep."

Her eyes lit up a little. "How long do you normally sleep? A week? ... A month?"

He let out a deep sigh. "I'm too tired to be dealing with this bullshit," he grumbled when he moved his hand to the curtain to close it.

"... Alright. I'll just come back in a week," she decided out loud.

"Are you for fu-"

"I'll bring cookies! Till then!"

She didn't give him time to object before leaving the premises.

Yeah, she had actually baked him cookies. She didn't know if he had a sweet tooth or whatever (can they even digest stuff like that?) but it's the thought that counts, right?

Most people - not sure if that included him - liked chocolate chip cookies, so she stuck with that.

And just in case vampires had a weird reaction to chocolate, she had gotten him gluten free coco cakes too. Can never be too careful.

A good fourth impression was important, right?

This time when she called, he didn't answer. Was he still asleep?

She decided to leave the cookies on the porch with a note, so he couldn't say she didn't keep her end of the bargain. A little note explaining she stopped by and after a little thinking she left her number on it as well. 'As long as a decade hadn't passed since this day, contacting me when you wake up is fine,' was about the gist of it.

She hoped she'd receive a text somewhere within the next year.

Apparently she could already get a text within a few days.

It was short and to the point, no decoration added.

[Come next friday evening. Bring more cookies.]

At least he liked the cookies?

There she was again. This time she went around dinner time instead of the early afternoon in the hope to find him in a better mood.

She had waited until friday to show up, like he asked had her to. Her end of the deal was done. Now it was time for some answers.

She had made another batch of the same types of cookies like last time. Better play it safe.

Though she wondered... He seriously invited her? After all the snark and the 'go away' and stuff?

... Were the cookies that good?

Maybe she did something that made him change his mind? But what?

Anyway, when she knocked on the door, he almost simultaneously opened it, as if he was waiting for her. He didn't speak a word, only gestured her in. He looked a lot less tired. That's good.

She let him guide her to the kitchen. The kitchen looked more modern than she had expected, especially since even the hall had been in the same gothic vibe as the house had looked like from outside. The kitchen was nice and cosy and clean (almost as if he never used it.... Suspicious...) and had a small table in the corner. She sat herself down on one of the wooden chairs and waited for him to join her. She put her bag on the table with her.

He poured both of them a cup of tea at the sink where he had already cooked some water (he seriously was waiting for her then?) and brought the mugs to the table, gesturing to the small box where he kept the flavors.

She stuck with red tea.

He picked a bag of black tea for himself and after dropping it in his mug he leaned with his chin on his hand, watching her for a moment.

"Well, here we are," he eventually blurted out.

She couldn't bring herself to speak. Did he call her here to answer her questions? Or did he just want to talk about something else?

"Listen, I know you've come here multiple times over 'vampire' business..." He started, straightening his back and running his hand through his hair. She just listened patiently. "I'm just- I was wondering why, I guess."

She found her voice again. "You mean, why I think you're a vampire?"

"I mean," he rest his elbows on the table again, "why are you so fixated on me being a vampire? Coming by for four days straight, even leaving cookies and a note - and were you honestly thinking I was gonna sleep for a /decade/?"

She took a hesitant sip. He resumed.

"I just- why are you-" he struggled with words for a second. "What are you trying to do? What do you want me to do?"

"Do you want me to tell you 'I'm a vampire' so you can just go on with your life or something? I mean," he folded his hands together, "just... Help me out here."

She looked at her glass for a moment. "I... I don't know. I mean, of course I'd wanna be right. I guess I'm just... Looking for validation here...?"

She looked him in the eye. "So, are you a vampire?"

"Short answer?" He asked before taking a sip. "No."

"But- the house-"

"Family heirloom."

"You only come out at night-"

"I'm a night guard. My sleep schedule is already royally fucked, okay."

"Haven't you like been sleeping for a few days?"

"Only for ten hours, and after that I saw your message and didn't know what to do about it for a while. So... Yeah."

"And you avoid garlic!"

"I do what now? Lady, I love garlic. I don't see how you got to that conclusion."

"But..." She hung her head right above the table. "But I was so certain..."

"Which is why I ask," he put his mug down with a thump, "whats with all the effort? The chance vampires actually exist is close to zero, you know."

"But-" she unconsciously felt herself lean forward, more towards him, "I just- I know there’s something out there- I want to believe in the extraordinary. I know there's at least something like that and I-“

She muttered something he couldn't quite catch.

"A bit louder for the people in the back, please," he ended up saying, stretching an arm while closing his eyes.

"... I just want to finally be right.”

His eyes shifted to her. Hers were trained on her mug, with her arms propped up on the table, looking pretty vulnerable. And he knew he had no real reason not to, but he felt guilty he'd been harsh the first time around.

Apparently he'd hit a nerve, damnit.

"Hey, uhh," he trailed off, not sure what to do with his arms. He was no good at this. He just patted her shoulder lightly. "Don't worry about this... Setback, okay? Sure, I wasn't exactly what you thought I'd be but... I'm sure next time will turn out better?"

He glanced at her face one more time and saw tears had started to form in her eyes. Yikes.

He was so not good at this.

"This was already my 'next time'..." She admitted before taking a sip. The way she drank that she should've been drinking tequila.

"C'mon it- it can't be that bad..." He trailed, his head running a thousand miles per hour. "You just gotta find another lead, right? Well, then we just gotta start looking."

She seemed to perk up at that. "You're gonna help me?" She asked, more surprised than anything else.

"Well, I owe you for the cookies, I guess." He shoved his chair back and dug in his drawers looking for a pen and some paper. "Okay, so who we got?"

She looked like she was in thought and mindlessly wiped her eyes. "W-well, that old man living on 11th has a weird obsession with dogs..."

He inwardly cheered when he finally found a worn notebook. "Okay, so we got a candidate for a werewolf, what else?"

He heard rustling in the back, with the soft crunching on cookies followed not long after. "Also... There's also this creep whom I always see leaving the hardware store with nothing but tape..."

He pretended to scribble while he kept searching for a pen. "So a serial kidnapper, good, and what about that doctor that got fired last week, living on whatsit uhh something avenue. You know, they had to keep him for a few days for being in 'suspicious condition' or something...?"

"I'm not sure," she said just when he had found a pen. "It could also be him not handling the situation well..."

"Yeah, but he's also a creep."

"True..."

He'd joined her at the table again, having quickly scribbled the three people down in bullet points, the doctor followed by a question mark.

"Well, that's three already and we're not even five minutes further. I'm sure you can do this. You just gotta hit it big once, you know," he said while he laid his hand on hers for a moment.

She flashed him a soft smile while his hand lingered. After a while he felt himself get more and more awkward so he cleared his throat and moved the hand through his hair. "So, uhh, got any more?"

They talked for a while about random people who seemed a little suspicious until they got totally off track and went from cars to dogs to eventually come back to vampires. By that time she had totally reverted from her previous meltdown and was now laughing to a lame snark he had made not even a moment before.

"I just-" she tried to talk through her giggles "I can't believe I thought you were a vampire. You're too much of a dork for the gloomy image."

"What," he gasped loudly, fake hurt. "Well excuse me for not being an uptight jerk!"

"Who said a vampire has to be a jerk?" She countered with laugh. "For all you know they're teddy bears."

"Oh yeah?” He snorted. “Maybe they’re not even what you think they’re like- what you’d call a vampire might not even be one at all!"

While he said it with a chuckle and a smile, after her initial laugh the question took her aback and she stared at him for a while. Her silence made him fall silent and he grabbed his mug for a drink but it was already empty.

"Uh... I mean..." the ongoing silence apparently made him nervous as he fidgeted with his cup, "I've had an ... interest in vampires some time ago and so I've read quite some stuff on them... but... I mean... the books on them are all speculation. What if they're not... What if they're completely the opposite of what you imagine them to be?"

He ended up looking her in the eye by the time he finished his last question, and every single bit of lightheartedness seemed to have evaporated from the room. He looked at her like he really wanted her to answer. So she thought about it, momentarily breaking eye contact. Would she be disappointed? No, of course not. It'll take time adjusting, sure, but...

"You know, I had envisioned you to be totally different," she started, searching for his eyes again. She flashed him a smile. "But I think like you better as you are right now."

A moment seemed to pass but when her words hit home he seemed to turn three shades of red and he coughed into his hand for diversion. She thought it was cute but her remark made the atmosphere a little tense so she added, "I think I'd be able to adapt to a not-so-regular vampire too, if one manages to show up."

They both resided in silence once more, although it was no longer awkward. It seemed to be filled with words unspoken, but it was broken just as fast as it appeared.

He had looked at the clock.

"It's already late, I'll walk you home," he said when he shoved his chair back. He took their empty cups back to the kitchen sink. "I don't think it's wise for a girl to still be out when it's this dark."

"I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much," she retorted, knowing full well he was right. She didn't know too much about this part of the neighborhood to feel completely safe.

"Well, if there really are 'vampires' roaming these streets," he said before turning around with what looks like a torn off wooden stick in his hand, "two are better than one, right?"

"What's that?"

"A stake...?" He answered sheepishly.

"Did you seriously break a wooden spoon for this," she asked with a hint of mockery in her voice.

"It was already broken, take it or leave it." He deadpanned.

"I don't think it's the right type of wood," she muttered.

"Welp," he threw it over his shoulder against the bin. "I'm still walking you home, I don't think refusing is a good idea."

He had already walked back into the hall, towards the coatrack and started putting on an army green jacket. She followed him into the hall, fumbling for the light switch and turning off the lights in the kitchen.

She then turned to him again. "I don't think we've actually introduced ourselves. I sure don't know your name."

He paused, then stuck out a hand. "Well, I'm Tiro. Not sure if I caught your name."

"Ayuya." She shook it. "I guess we did get a rough start."

"Well, don't ask me to 'start over', though. I won't forget you turning up at my door at my equivalent of 3 AM."

"In my defense, trying to make contact with a 'vampire' when he was at his weakest sounded like a good strategy to me."

"What kinda vampire would open his door with the sun all ablaze?"

"... Fair point."

He handed her an umbrella. "If the weather report is right, it's gonna rain sometime soon. You didn't bring a coat, so use it."

She eyed the umbrella, dumbfounded. "I uh... Thanks."

He slipped his keys in his pocket and proceeded to the door. Looking out, it was dark and cloudy like it would rain soon. He opened the door.

"Well, where to?"

She gave him short directions to her apartment complex and they started walking.

"So, uh," he tried to start a conversation after a while of silence, "How long have you lived here?"

"About..." she took a while to think, finger to her lip, "... six months now? I came here as soon as I found a job here. I had an apartment here already, but started actually living here when I transferred jobs."

"Then what do you do?"

"Oh I'm uhh," she seemed a bit abashed. "I'm a barista at the moment. It doesn't pay that bad, and the coworkers are nice," she rambled, missing his surprised look, "and, well, free coffee for me, I guess?"

"What place."

"Huh?"

"At which place you work?"

"At Hipster's Paradise, it's not that good-"

"No kidding! A friend of mine works there!"

"Really?" Her mind browsed through her colleagues' faces. "Who is it?"

"He's a blond guy named Lucas," he grinned with a fond look. "He's been my best friend since, what, middle school?"

"Oh!" Like a slot machine, her mind hit the guys portrait and a jingle played in her head. "Lucas! I know him! He's so nice! I always look forward to shifts with him!"

She eyed him for a little before saying, "Though... you were not exactly the image I had when Lucas talked about his 'friends'..."

She silently referred to his get-up. Lucas was a friendly and gentle guy, radiant smile, kind to even the rudest customers. Then there was mister red with his hair combed back, leather bracelet, army jacket and gothic horror house. Not to mention his moody first impression and vampire suspicions that were only cleared today. Kind of the prime example of what not to expect.

"And what exactly is wrong with me then?" He eyed her skeptically, stopping in his tracks.

"Nothing wrong, but you're just very different. At first glance, I mean."

He snorted and made a gesture to keep walking. "I guess I am."

"Well," she resumed, trying to make it sound a little better, "I guess as a person you would be one of the people he'd talk about. So which one are you, the moody workaholic or the stoic crossword puzzle solving man-child?"

She got a hearty laugh out of him. "Neither, but I do know who they are. They’re old friends of us. Lucas still talks with them over Skype."

She pouted when he said, "Well, next time he talks about me, don't worry, you'll know. Once you've seen me at my worst, I'm fairly easy to detect in stories."

"And your worst is...?" She asked, having a vague idea what it was.

"My morning mood."

"Noted," she said with a nod. She recognized the neighborhood; they were already close to her home.

"Wait, are you the coffee disaster guy?"

"Coffee disa- honestly, how did he tell that story? All I did was come in for coffee, and slightly tripped over the janitor on my way out. Big deal."

"You were holding like five liters of coffee."

"I had to bring for my coworkers too; lost a bet."

"You literally got coffee everywhere; even the ceiling."

"Well I'm sorry for existing. I had literally woken up five minutes before that alright cut me some slack."

She stifled a laugh. "I can't believe I thought the coffee disaster guy was a vampire."

"It's a small town; the odds were there," he said as if it was the biggest truth of the world.

"I can't believe I’m friends with the coffee disaster guy."

"Well excuse me for- friends?"

He stopped in his tracks, coincidentally just outside of her place. She turned more towards him, didn't bother hiding her confused look.

"Well, yes? I mean, this counts as friends, right? I had fun tonight, I believe you did too, so we're friends, right?"

He remained silent for a while. It felt off.

"... Did you have fun tonight?"

"Of course I did. Wouldn't've put up with you if I hadn't."

"Then... would you hate it to hang out again in the near future?"

"Don't think so."

"Then we're friends, right? We can hang out with Lucas and do something with the three of us. It sounds like it should be fun. I think Lucas would like it too."

He seemed like he had doubts. In what, exactly?

"You've already got my number. You're not obligated to anything; just hit me up when you feel like it, alright?"

She handed the umbrella back to him. "Thanks for walking me home, I think you'll need this one more than I will. And a good night."

She started heading for the stairs, feeling a little insecure. Were they not on the same page? Did she miss something?

Halfway up the stairs she felt her phone vibrate.

She went to look at the text she got on pretty much auto pilot.

[I'll be talking to you soon then.]

She read the contact’s name and she spun around, almost surprised to see him still at the bottom of the stairs, phone in hand. She read something playful on his face, with half a smirk he said, "No take backs."

She snorted. "It seems a little too late for that, doesn't it?"

They waved each other a good night and she headed inside, soon finding her apartment door and keys and making herself ready for a good night's sleep.

Tiro on the other hand was still outside her apartment building. Not exactly looking at it, just talking to himself.

"Hmmm alright. Not my smartest move. What am I gonna do now?"

He ruffled his own hair as to banish a thought. "Did I finally convince her I was nothing, and now we’re friends. Why couldn’t I just let myself get off the hook?!"

He just deeply sighed.

"Maybe it's alright. I mean, I think I can trust her. She seems alright."

He started walking in the opposite direction. "Well," he muttered, "out of everyone questioning my humanity she's the one I'd actually considered revealing myself to but..."

He furiously shook his head. "Oh, I don’t think she’d take kindly on me lying about it. Though I wasn't exactly wrong..."

He spotted an alley and after throwing glances around he headed in. He laid the umbrella on the ground. "Let's just hope she won't find out."

He took a deep breath and focussed. Focussed on the wind for a bit. Closed his eyes for a second. Then took his umbrella and took off, like a bat into gathering mists.

#my ocs #cait writes #tiro #ayuya #vampire au #honestly all i do is write aus on my own ocs :):):)

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miggy-figgy · 6 years ago

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A Five Day Diary on Magic By Miguel Figueroa

Thursday, March 1st, 2018. Full Moon in Virgo. San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Words. The beginning, the end. The life giver and its killer. A word can make you or break you. Yes, the pen is mightier than the sword; but, are you aware of the power of your words? Your words are the first key to magic. Yes, to your magic. It all begins with you. How do you talk to yourself? How would you describe your life? How do you feel about life? How do you talk to other people? Did you know that your words are the key to unlocking your wildest desires? Words have the power to bring you what you want or the force to drive out what you don’t really need.

The first step is the intention you put to your words. Like the saying goes, you need to mean what you say. Go back and think of that first thing you wrote that was filled with desire? No, I’m not talking about a love letter. Your first declarations of magic were probably your letters to Santa Claus or the Three Kings. Remember them? I do! Remember wishing, and wishing, and wishing and wishing for toys, Nintendos, cassette tapes (if you’re an 80s kid), CD’s (if you’re a 90s kid), radios, computers, clothes, shoes, backpacks, trips - anything that you could dream of! And then, on that 24th or 25th of December or 5th or 6th of January, voila! Magic! Most of your first dreams came true. Well, your first materialistic dreams. But see, from the time you were a kid, your words were creating magic.

As you grew or grow older your words will start to take another on another shape - the reality is that they, due to life’s situations, will become jaded, bitter, sarcastic and downright depressing through time. You may start to think, “magic? Please…” You must know - and this is crucial as you purposely decide to dim your light - that your words are like magical seeds. Would you like white seeds for light or black seeds to feed your dark side? How do you want your crop to look like? Lush or barren? It all comes down to the words you say. Seriously! If your life is not 100% then you probably weren’t the best farmer of words. I’m not saying that you now need to start talking as if you were in a Disney movie, oh no. White seeds of word light also protect you, make you stand for yourself and open pathways that those pesky little black seeds were blocking from you. But, if you feel satisfied, loved, in tune with life and on an abundant right track - and I don’t just mean economical abundance - consider yourself a skillful wordsmith.

If you’re not in the best moment of your life, you may be asking yourself; “but, how am I going to find the right words to manifest what I want?” Look no further than to silence. Yes. Quiet. Hush. Zip it. Shush. Cállate. Tais-toi! Are you acquainted with that little voice inside of you that says: “I shouldn’t be doing this… I don’t think this is right… I think I should stop pursuing this or that person… I’m miserable at this job… If only I followed my dreams…” Listen to it!! Don’t ignore it! Your intuition is one of your best friends. This one has your back before anyone else does. You will find your answers in silence.

So, I encourage you to grab a pen (preferably red) and start writing what you want and do it from your heart! Not from your ego! You don’t need any Gucci sneakers to impress anyone. Whoever loves you, will like you for who you are, not what’s in your closet (although I think that’s not the best advice to give in a fashion magazine, but, what the hell…) Write down your dream job. Make plans. Write letters to people but don’t necessarily send them. Heal. Words are the basics of magic. But never forget… be careful what you wish for.

Friday, March 2nd, 2018

Life, as well as words, is the other most important component of your magic. To live is a magical experience. This is a planet that’s filled with magic and you are worthy to receive it and also give your magic back into the world.

Let’s take it all the way back. Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start: your birth. The fact that you, those who around you and I are here in this moment of time is the most magical thing that can ever be. Walking is magic. Breathing is magic. Blinking your eyes is magic. The ability to read, recognize words, symbols, places and things are secret magic tricks of the universe that no one really takes time to think about. But, really… think about it, even if you’re just another cynical magazine reader, don’t you think all of that is magic? You may be thinking, “Oh, that’s all physiological and there are logical, scientific facts to all of that.” Yes, you are right. But, if you don’t sometimes see life through magical colored specs you really are going to miss out on all the opportunities that life is giving you at even this single moment to manifest your magic. Haven’t you ever had one of those days that you find money in an old jacket? Or that you run into a dear friend you haven’t seen in years? You land the job? You move somewhere you’ve always wanted to? Someone pays for your lunch just because? Or even, you’re in a long cue and someone says ‘oh please, go ahead, I can wait.” Luck! Serendipity! Casualties! All magic.

But, sometimes we may feel that there is no magic in our lives. You may think, “What does this person know about life? My life is a nightmare and I detest it.” Guess what? I’ve been there, probably everyone has and a pity party won’t get you very far. One of the key elements to having a magical life is to trust. If life doesn’t seem very magical to you at this moment, the universe is testing and pushing you to get a hold of your magic wand and start turning your life around. We all have the opportunity and power to do so. If you’re in a rut, a place of discomfort can seem as a comfortable, familiar and safe place to be. Leading a life like that will only suck the magic out of you.

So, what can you do to start making your life magical? Pen and paper. Red pen! Don’t forget. Your magic means something and it’s worth more than anything from the Louis Vuitton Supreme Collection. And believe me, I want a couple of things from it. Who doesn’t? If you’re content with life - you feel pleased, accomplished and you can look back and say, “Wow! My eight year old self would have never believed that I would be here now!” then you are part of the magic of life. I’m very pleased to have you on this journey with me.

It’s been a long day and I really should be getting to sleep, but don’t worry, I’ll tell you some of my magic secrets on the next entry.

Sunday, March 4th, 2018

In order to lead a life filled with magic, there are some things you will need to assist the process of creating the good kind of magic. It is my pleasure to share with you some of the helpers that I’ve found along the way. If you try at least one of them, you are in the path to magic. Enjoy.

1. The first thing you need in order to create magic is silence. Silence is key. It’s the place you go to when you need to sort out difficult questions about life and find the answers that go along the way. If possible, spend at least five minutes a day in silence. If you can make it up to an hour, even better. No, don’t worry about deadlines, looking at how many likes your latest Instagram post has. All of that can wait. You won’t find any answers there.

2. Meditation. Life changing. Magic at its purest form and one of the best ways to use silence to your advantage. Look it up - meditation works. Its been proven to alter the brain and nourish you so you can become a better version of yourself. I was introduced to meditation in 2013 by one of my magical sisters and five years later I’m still on it on almost a daily basis. There are many ways to meditate. One of the basics if you’ve never done it is to sit in the same place or chair each day for five to fifteen minutes and let thoughts pass along the way. At first it will be difficult, you will fidget (a lot), you will peep your eyes open to look at the clock and your head may tell you “this is stupid, get up, carry on with your day.” Don’t listen to it! Well, yes, do, accept the thought and let it pass by like any stranger on the street.

My path in meditation began with the Silva Method, a groundbreaking meditation from the 60s that uses alpha beats to help you connect, it’s main mantra is that we are here to make the world a better place so that when we’re no longer here, the world will be a better place for those who come after us will benefit from it. Powerful shit. Then there are numerous buddhist mantras to help calm the mind including from Om mani paddle hum to purify your ego, your jealousy, passion, ignorance, greed and aggression. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo to win over suffering, protect you from difficulties as you help yourself and others reveal their happiness. Ganesh’s mantra, Om gam ganapataye namaha to clear your path and Laksmi’s mantra for prosperity and feeling yourself (it makes you feel really sexy!). There are just so many. Find the one that’s right for you. I’ve also heard great reviews from the Headspace app and during Hurricane Irma I discovered Yogaglo - a fantastic portal for yoga and meditations. I’m currently riding the Kundalini meditation wave.

In Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving, he recommends that you meditate twice, for 10 minutes each time when you wake up and before going to sleep. Close your eyes and visualize a blank movie screen. Another of my magical girlfriends and Kia Miller, my favorite Kundalini yoga teacher at the moment, recommend that you meditate in a space called “tween time” right during dawn or dusk. It is the moment when the Earth’s electromagnetic field is at its most powerful and you will be able to sink deeper into your meditation. How do you know that meditation is working? A good example is that something or someone who used to bother you doesn’t anymore. You’ll see.

3. Your intuition. Trust it. Really, really do. Your intuition is your body’s radar. We are all satellites. Even if it turns out wrong (like, for example, a lover you’ve been stalking for way too long and you finally have the guts to ask the uncomfortable questions and hear no) your intuition will help you clear shit that you’ve been dragging on for way too long, opening paths to better horizons. Don’t fear it! Listen to your solar plexus!

4. Repetition. Sometimes, in order for something to work, we need to do it again and again and again. Through repetition is how we learn our craft as magicians. Nothing that is good for you will come easily. And if you’ve been asking, “why does he keep repeating himself?” it’s because this is the only way to learn and grow! Practice makes perfect!

5. Speaking of repetition, notebooks are of extreme importance when it comes to magic. You NEED to put things in paper. No, not on your iPhone notepad or your super efficient planning app. A notebook is where things go down, where you plot, plan and organize. Notebooks are is the place where you plant your magical seeds. My recommendation is that you have different notebooks - one for daily planning, one for work, another for creative ideas/projects and a diary. A diary is sooooo important. It’s like visiting the shrink. No, it’s not stupid to be a 35 year old man who keeps a diary; oh no, honey, that’s where you go and release your demons and become a better person along the way. Wake up and jot down three pages daily. You’ll see results quicker than a ray of light. And don’t think, “four notebooks?! Is he crazy?” You probably have 30 half used bottles of moisturizer lying around in your bathroom. Now, that’s nuts! Start writing. As soon as you finish reading me or tomorrow morning just get to it. PS: It’s a great way to meditate!

Time for the Oscar’s! See you tomorrow!

Monday, March 5th, 2018.

Let’s continue. 6-7-8-9. Your space is crucial for the creation of magic. In order to get things going you first must declutter, clean, cleanse and organize your room, apartment or home. Clean it from the inside out. Do it in silence (meditate!), this is a great way to gather and organize ideas. Once you’re done, take a shower, drink two glasses of water, room temperature to control your mile a minute mind, eat oranges and nuts to gather strength. A nourished body is always important. Once you’re done then maybe you can indulge a little. Don’t forget that your body is your spirit’s home. An unkempt temple will only gather dust. Clean it out. This is your magic’s headquarter.

Also, practice some sort of sport. You must keep your brain balanced. If you’re sluggish, try a dance class. If you’re on the firecracker side, go to your nearest yoga studio to come down. Do these at least three times a week. If you can combine them with a personal trainer, this will be even better for your mind’s control and organization. Plus, you’ll get hotter in the process. Who doesn’t like a sexy wizard?

10. I also must stress that you start going to a shrink. Finding the right one is sort of going on a date, but when you find the one, you will know. No, you are not crazy for going to one. You are actually a few steps ahead once you start opening up to a shrink. He or she will give you unbiased opinions to any topic or situation that is bugging your mind. Don’t forget that you need to declutter everything. Ask around, I’m sure you know a friend who has one. Mental health is great for magic. I’m currently in an open relationship with two shrinks - one for when I need to be more spiritual, another for when I need to be logical. Taking care of my mental health has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You won’t regret it.

11. By now you may be thinking - but what about objects? Knickknacks? Magic trinkets? Why hasn’t he written about what we see in movies or witchy Tumblrs? Start by getting some candles. White ones for protection and to pay respect for your ancestors, they are watching over you. Keep white flowers next to it. Pink candles are great for love. Green for prosperity. Red for more serious protection - they act as bodyguards to your spirit. If you’d like to know which candle works best for you, investigate and keep it to yourself. Magic is private.

12-13. Get your hands on some palo santo and/or sage to clear any space from negative vibes or sadness. They open pathways and help you on your course. If you’ve been in a situation where there are too many negative people around, as soon as you get home, take off your clothes and sage your body from the head on down. Call on your guardian angels for support. Bad vibes be gone!

14-15. Quartz and stones. Also very private. Don’t let anyone touch them! White quartz is the OG stone. They are pain healers, mood stabilizers and overall protectors of your space. Keep it next to your bed. Rose quartz bring love and balance - keep one under your pillow when your head is going into crazytown. If you find Lapis Lazuli it means that you are ready to open the door to your universe, taking you to your true destiny and life focus. Malachite absorb past negative energy and clear you of it. Eye of the Tiger protects you when you go out into the street (it was used by Roman soldiers when they went into battle) and I’ve heard that pyrite is quite powerful for visualization. Charge your stones during the full moon and set an intention - please, be in a good mood when doing so, otherwise your stone will absorb you bad energy!! Compose yourself (meditate!) and get to work. Some need to be washed in salt water, others in fresh water. If you have access to the ocean, sea or river even better. Bathe nude, hold your stones near your chakra points and recharge. Power!

16. If you happen to be in a bookstore and a tarot deck call your attention, purchase it immediately. The tarot is a great guide. Follow its instructions and begin to learn how to read them. Give yourself a reading when the going gets tough, on full moons and before important events. Write down the reading in your magic journal. Some people say that you should draw a card each day to see how the day will be, but I, as an obsessive person chose not to. Offer readings to your friends. Don’t take it personal if they decline. Also, don’t ask the same question over and over. Tarot don’t play. Also, learn about the iChing. I suggest you follow Bobby Klein’s, it’s a great guide to your week.

17. Invest in any or all of these books: The Art of Loving, Erich Fromm Zen in the Art of Archery, Eugen Herrigel The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz The Mastery of Love, Don Miguel Ruiz The Master Key System, Charles Haanel A Lotus Grows in the Mud, Goldie Hawn Reconciliation. Healing the Inner Child, Thich Nhat Hanh The Alchemist, Paulo Cohelo The Ethical Slut, Janet Hardy Whatever You Think Think the Opposite, Paul Arden Light on Yoga, B.K.S Iyengar The Invisible Actor, Yoshi Oida Any book by Alejandro Jodorowksy Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian Weiss The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

18. Drugs. I haven’t touched anything in over a year and barely drink anymore but I recommend - in moderation - sativa strains of marihuana (I loved edibles) and shrooms.

19. The word “No”. You have no idea how much magic that one word has.

20. Time. You may be thinking, “I don’t have time for all of this! I have a life.” I hate to break it to you, but there is no life without magic. Once you start taking the time to do some of these things, your life’s schedule will organize based on your self-love, self-care needs. Trust me.

21. And last, but not least… all the magical people you will find along the way. Don’t take them for granted. You’ll know who they are.

But please, beware. Don’t take your magic lightly. The seventh rule in the Eleven Satanic Rules of the Earth, written by Anton Szandor LaVey in 1967 states, “Acknowledge the power of magic if you have employed it successfully to obtain your desires. If you deny the power of magic after calling upon it with success you will lose all you have obtained.” Magic can become powerful beyond measure. No, forget I said that. Magic is powerful beyond measure and you must use it to your best advantage. I truly recommend that you do not engage in black magic. Love spells won’t last long and you will suffer the consequences. But, as in anything in life, it will all be a cycle. Things go up, they go down, they’ll calm down for a while and before you know it, they will be up again. Use your words carefully. Always speak from the heart. Never say something you don’t mean. Magic can’t be fooled. As in anything in life, magic is a constant learning experience. You will learn from your mistakes and eventually and hopefully you will do better. Trust your instinct around those who will try to steal your magic. If something doesn’t click, don’t push it. All of us have the power to create and destroy. Don’t dull your magic recurring to hard drugs for inspiration. Yes, cocaine and amphetamines have created some of the best songs in history, but you’ll have to pay a price. You must destroy unhealthy patterns of addiction and thinking habits in order to create and bring forth the light. Rest and recharge are required. Magic is like a gas tank - from full to empty and ready to go once refilled. As your magic grows, your ego will try to inflate - keep it checked. Magic is a humbling, compassionate, fulfilling and rewarding experience of love.

Wednesday, March 7th, 2018. Boquerón Beach.

I’ve always been a wildflower. Even as a kid, I could never stick to one clique. It just felt strange. Why are you going to stick to the same group of people all the time? How am I supposed to discover new things? Honest, trustworthy friendships will be of utmost importance during your quest and creation of magic. Friendships will come and go. As you grow older they will evolve as your mind, feelings and lifestyle develop. Don’t be afraid to lose friends along the way. Maybe from your childhood, teens and early adulthood you will keep a handful of friends who will know you so well that it will feel like coming home. True friendships don’t reprimand, get jealous nor make you feel guilty because you have decided to expand your circle. In fact, they will most likely celebrate it as you celebrate their evolution as well. Sometimes it will take years for your roads to re-converge but the best part will be that you will pick right where you left off.

Once you start defining yourself as an adult you will start to make friends serendipitously through your tastes, work ethics and places you usually run into. In an age where people are looking down into their screens basically all day, take some time to look around and notice people. Maybe you won’t see anyone on a specific day, but if you do, you’ll feel it and that person will probably do as well. Say hello, compliment them. “Nice hat/jacket/shoes/hair… whatever.” Do this specifically if you live in a big city. One day, one of my magical friends gave me a big lesson as we rode the subway somewhere in New York. There was this gorgeous older black woman with fantastic style. He went up to her and said, “I love your look.” Her face lit up, she said thank you and complimented us. As the three of us reassumed our trips, he turned to me and softly said, “This is a lonely city, filled with people who probably haven’t spoken to anyone in days or even weeks. If you see someone who calls your attention, compliment them. Don’t think twice.” For the next three years while living in New York, I did this at least once a day, even on days when I felt miserable. It feels good, human and magical. I was never refused the compliment and usually I got a genuine compliment back. I happily share this with you. By the way, you look good!

Work with your friends. Share your hard earned money with them. Purchase their art, their products and services. Magic is energy and money is energetic magic. Upon starting a project for the first time, reach out to the people you know and admire the most according to what they do. This will birth another magical chapter in your friendship. If they are busy, decline or forget about it, don’t fret, you have the right to do this as well. But please, do not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever abuse or let anyone abuse you or them with your or their power. Their magic or your magic will start to fade and, I feel, that no one wants that.

Sometimes, you will go through rocky moments with your friends. You’ll disagree, fight and separate. It’s alright. Both your energetic fields are drifting somewhere else and you need to accept this. It won’t be easy at first but eventually you will start to forgive them. As you begin to make peace with what happened, you will begin to compose a letter to them in your thoughts, maybe you’ll send it and/or have the guts to say “I’m sorry.” It’s not easy but it’s magic at its purest form. Your thoughts will have magically reached your friend and their most likely response will be “Oh, I forgave you a long time ago!!” Start re-building this friendship slowly. If they never write back it means they love and forgive you but don’t have the strength to say sorry yet. If they lash out in anger, forgive them and walk away. This person was never your friend. Take your time to forgive and don’t do it right away. By the way, this applies to intimate relationships as well.

There will also be times of personal retreat and silence where all you want is to be with yourself. Go to the movies, take yourself out on dinner dates, go to a museum, walk and walk and walk around. Read books, listen to your favorite music, watch porn and masturbate - but don’t go on dating apps for too long. After my last heartbreak, I found myself spending a lot of time alone. One day, during my usual walks along the park, I came across a beautiful tree which I was able to climb and was strong enough to hold me in its branches. I spent hours looking up at its leaves and one day I started to notice how the branches branched out and thought about myself and my friendships - some were longer, sturdier while others were starting to grow and branch out on to other places as well. The tree let me cry, sheltered and held me. I could go and eat, read books or write with him in silence and even let me go on a date on top of him. This tree became my new best friend. As I write this, I can’t help but remember him fondly. I hope I get to see him again during this lifetime.

Never forget that you are your source of magic and that you are your original best friend. Love and forgive yourself. It may take years of practice, but that’s when magic begins to grow. Now go on and do your thing.

#magic #astrology #fuuuckingyoung #life #spirituality #tarot #energy #chaman #self love #love #respect #light

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thedramafilesblog-blog · 7 years ago

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We’re not a blog that is dedicated to reviewing music (including Kpop), but because we absolutely adore BTS and their music, we decided to do a memo-style review of the Music Video (MV) for their Japanese Version “Blood, Sweat & Tears” (血、汗、涙 -Japanese Ver.-).

***Note: If this is your first time browsing the Drama Files, please read The Rules on how our Memo-style reviews work.***

***Note: We really wanted to analyze the Blood, Sweat, Tears Korean MV before, but we missed out on the opportunity. We thought this MV was very interesting as well, so we were really eager to share our theories about what they could possibly signify. There are definitely many theories, so we thought we’d propose ours. Our views are simply theories and purely speculative.***

Memo

Dear Reader,

There have been some questions regarding the recent release of BTS’s 血、汗、涙 -Japanese Ver.- (“BST”), particularly:

(1) Who/What does each member represent?

(2) How is the ending clip that is reminiscient of the “I Need U” MV connected to BST?

Conclusion

(1.1) J-Hope acts as a guide. J-Hope is Archangel Michael and Frau Eva from Demian.

(1.2) V is Max Demian (“Demian”) from Demian and the Devil/Lucifer/the Fallen Angel (“the Devil”) .

(1.3) Suga is Pistorius and the Old Wise Man (archetype).

(1.4) Jimin is Sinclair from Demian and Adam from the Bible.

(1.5) Jungkook is Icarus and Sinclair from Demian.

(2) This will be answered in a subsequent Memo.

Background

Please read the first post to understand how this MV fits in with the other MVs and the different types of reality in this MV.

Please read the second post for more information on Demian and other important concepts.

Please read the third post for a detailed analysis of Suga’s role.

Please read the fourth post to understand Jimin’s role.

Analysis

(1.1) J-Hope acts as a guide. J-Hope is Archangel Michael and Frau Eva from Demian.

Please read the first post to see this analysis.

(1.2) V is Max Demian (“Demian”) from Demian and the Devil/Lucifer/the Fallen Angel (“the Devil”) .

Please read the second post to see this analysis.

(1.3) Suga is Pistorius and the Old Wise Man (archetype).

Please read the third post to see this analysis.

(1.4) Jimin is Sinclair from Demian and Adam from the Bible.

Please see the fourth post for this analysis.

(1.5) Jungkook is Icarus and Sinclair from Demian.

(i) Jungkook is Icarus.

Jungkook swinging on the swing

We see signs in the Korean “BST” MV that show Jungkook as Icarus. We see the painting behind Jungkook, which is “Lament of Icarus” by Herbert James Derper. To the right is another painting about Icarus, “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” by Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

Look at Jungkook flying back/falling. Behind him is the painting, “Lament of Icarus” by Herbert James Derper and to his right, you see the painting, “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” by Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

The myth is that King Minos hired Daedalus to build a palace and a maze (Labyrinth)to imprison Minos’ son, the Minotaur. Minos also imprisoned Daedalus in the Labyrinth because Daedalus gave Minos’ daughter, a clew, to help Minos’ enemy, Theseus, to defeat the Minotaur and beat the Labyrinth. Daedalus’ plan to escape was to build wings out of wax and feathers to fly away. He fashioned wings for both himself and his son, Icarus. He warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sea or the sun and to follow Daedalus’ flight path. However, Icarus did not listen.

Jungkook first starts off swinging on the swings in the Korean “BST” MV and then leaning back like he’s flying. After, he fully falls back and the swing is gone, meaning that he is like Icarus who chose not to listen to his father and flew too close to the sea. There are bits of what seem like white feathers floating in the air to represent the melted wax and feathers from the myth.

The paintings are even clearer and damn that move must have been exhausting for JK!

Remember how in the older BTS MVs like “Run” and “I Need U”, RM is shown with a lollipop in his mouth. Here, we see Jungkook with a blue lollipop in his hand. The lollipop, in a sense, is like our desires that we know aren’t good yet we still consume them. Lollipops can also mean a new adventure starting, which is true in Jungkook’s case as he is going through a transformation. After we see Jungkook suck on the lollipop, we get a scene of RM showing a dropping sign with his fist and then we get transported down a level of a building to meet Suga and RM.

Look at the blue lollipop!

Eats lollipop then . . . tumbles down . . .

Drop down! (RM is in the same room as JK who was swinging on the swing there)

RM is also going through a big transformation as he drinks the green liquid, which is likely absinthe. I’m going over RM’s part and Suga’s part a bit here because RM and JK are closely connected in both the “BST” MVs. I won’t go into extreme detail with the two other members as this post focuses on Jungkook, but it’s still important to recall how Jungkook is linked with these two members. Here’s a little chart I’ve made, which has been used in a previous post.

RM influences Jungkook (see the black arrow leading from RM to JK) and in turn Jungkook and Suga both influence each other. I’d say Suga is more like Daedalus than RM because Suga in the “BST” MV tries to pull Jungkook away from temptation, whereas RM leads Jungkook to temptation.

In the “BST” MV, we still see signs that prove that Jungkook represents Icarus. In the beginning of the MV, Jungkook is lying on this white plastic sheet. The walls are all painted in bright neon colours, which represents the psychological reality. Then, he gets up from his spot and looks back to see a pair of red wings behind him. Icarus, as mentioned before, flew with wings made of feathers and wax. The red colour likely symbolizes that Jungkook has fallen and has been “tainted”.

(Remember to focus on Jungkook’s clothing in this “BST” MV. Jungkook here is wearing a plaid jacket. He also later wears a hoodie with the writing “Thirteen”.)

(ii) Jungkook is Sinclair from Demian.

I think it’s interesting to note that the whole BST is really a matter of perspective. From one member’s POV, another member is a certain character. However, when you view it from a different member’s POV, then one member can represent another character. Let’s try to apply it in this case.

Jungkook, in the Korean “BST” MV, succumbs to RM’s temptation. Jungkook is Sinclair and RM is Demian in that view. However, from RM’s POV, RM is Sinclair and Jin is Demian (This will be explained further in the next post).

In the external reality, Suga is still Pistorius to Jungkook who is Sinclair. Remember that Suga is the one trying to pull Jungkook away from the toilet like how Pistorius is instilling the standard biblical beliefs to Sinclair.

Also, Jungkook here is wearing a “Thirteen” hoodie. The number “thirteen” is normally seen as an unlucky number like Friday the thirteenth and receives a darker form of symbolism. Often, apartments or hotels will also not have a button for the 13th floor. In Norse mythology, the 12 Norse gods hold a party; however, Loki, the trickster, was an uninvited guest and was the 13th to arrive. Later, we learn that Hoor slayed Baldur, using a magical spear given by Loki. We also see from the Bible that the Last Supper comprised of 13 attendees (12 disciples and the Christ). Thirteen is seen as an omen as Christ suffers from a tragic fate.

Look at his hoodie’s word: “Thirteen”.

However, thirteen can have a brighter interpretation. For example, Christ and Baldur can be considered the enlightened guests. Therefore, the number, thirteen, can be said to be associated with enlightenment, ascension, and resurrection. We also see from an Egyptian tale that Osiris, the Egyptian God of life and death, was killed by Typhon, his brother. Typhon then stole Osiris’ body and chopped it into 14 pieces. Meanwhile, Isis, Osiris’ wife, could only find 13 parts of his body. Therefore, thirteen can be said to be the precursor of completion. (See here for more info about the number, 13.)

Here, since the word “thirteen” is written in a font that looks like it’s burning, there seems to be more of an interpretation of resurrection. Phoenixes are known to be reborn upon burning in flames. Therefore, Jungkook can be said to be experiencing a rebirth after succumbing to temptation. I wouldn’t say that going to a “dark” side is necessarily bad, as I’ve suggested in my previous posts based on Demian‘s interpretation of events.

Going back to how Demian applies to the relationship between Jungkook and Suga, recall that in Suga’s post, Sinclair eventually says a lot of harsh words to Pistorius and Sinclair’s friendship with Pistorius comes to an end. Similarly, the toilet scene is like Jungkook pushing his “master” away and surpassing his mentor. Jungkook’s relationship with Pistorius ends and rejects the standard biblical ideas.

Jungkook is also tempted by RM, who acts as Demian, once he enters the psychological reality. RM brings the absinthe to Jungkook. Jungkook has taken a seat, which seems to imply that he has accepted RM’s offer. RM then makes Jungkook drink the absinthe and Jungkook goes through an interesting experience. Notice that Jungkook is wearing the “thirteen” hoodie when he’s in the psychological reality world. He gets transported on a truck that Jin has been driving since the older MVs and at the very end of this “BST” MV. Jin, at this stage, is already Demian, so it’s interesting to see that Jungkook, a variant of Sinclair, is being taken away by Demian to experience a different world.

Once Jungkook has experienced this mental change and transformation, he is brought back to the external reality where there is a black cloud hovering around Jungkook with the hoodie. The Jungkook wearing the plaid blazer is transported back to the external reality. At the end, Jungkook is a changed person.

Another evidence that Jungkook is Sinclair from his short clip. We see him lying on this bed, which is similar to his situation in the beginning of the “BST” MV. He is tossing and turning in this bed. Then we see him closing his eyes and there’s a burning piano, which has been mentioned in a previous post as being linked to Suga as Pistorius.

We see a narration of a quotation from Demian and Jungkook, in a white button-up with a sparrow hawk on his heart. This quotation “because it’s darkest at dawn right before the sun rises” is from BTS’ song “Tomorrow” and then the next one is “The fifteen year old me who didn’t have anything” comes from his song, “Begin”. Here, Jungkook is like Sinclair who starts off in a very sheltered, structured family. I think it’s interesting that this quotation was picked because “Tomorrow” is about following your dreams and struggling with these. It makes sense that that particular line of “Begin” was used because it sets the tone that Jungkook was young then.

Then Jungkook has this painting in his hand of a young boy. After, he starts painting this larger portrait of another boy and as he is painting, the scene of a piano burning is seen through his eye. The painting then bursts into flames. Jungkook becomes very distressed upon viewing the portrait more. The portrait’s young boy seems to change in its appearance.

The changing painting is reflected in Demian as well. At first, Sinclair is inspired by Beatrice, a woman he meets after walking in a park, to paint. He tries to reproduce her face, but fails. This is like that scene in Jungkook’s short film where he first sees a picture of a person and then proceeds to paint it.

After Sinclair lets his imagination do its work and he paints again. When the painting is complete, it looks half-masculine and half-feminine, ageless, and mask-like. When he wakes up from another dream, he believes that the face knows him and calls to him. Sinclair notices this weird brightness at the painting’s forehead and its eyes and recognizes it as Demian. However, after placing the painting to his window and letting the light shine through it, he realizes that the painting is actually a reflection of himself, his daemon, and his inner self. This whole scene happens in a dream-like state, so whether he actually puts the painting to the window is up for debate.

This part of the scene in Jungkook’s short film has also been portrayed when he watches the painting burn and turn into another painting. Jungkook is struggling to believe what he is seeing and is crying a bit too. It first looks like Taehyung, who we’ve said is Demian to Jin, but then if you look carefully, it also seems to look like Jungkook. Jungkook realizes that the painting is actually himself, which is just like what we’ve seen in Demian.

In Demian, Sinclair then starts recalling his last meeting with Demian. Demian and Sinclair talk about Sinclair’s rebellious stage. Demian notices that Sinclair has been drinking and frowns upon that habit; however, Demian points out that sometimes a life of hedonism is a precursor to sainthood and refers to St. Augustine as an example of this concept. In his youth, St. Augustine lived a hedonistic lifestyle where he was related to several young men who bragged about their sexual adventures. He also had an affair with a young woman. It wasn’t until he was 31 did he convert to Christianity and wrote extensively in the areas of theology, sociology, and philosophy. He developed many ideas related to Christianity as well. Sinclair identifies with this example that Demian has given and believes that Sinclair’s life is headed in a similar direction as that of St. Augustine.

On the night of this flashback, Sinclair has a nightmare where Demian forces him to swallow this coat of arms above this doorway. He senses that this bird is bursting into life within himself and starts to eat his insides. After this dream, Sinclair begins to paint this bird.

After Sinclair finishes the painting, we see that he has painted a sparrow hawk. The sparrow hawk is trying to break free from this dark globe; it’s like it is hatching from an egg. However, this sparrow hawk is fully grown, and so this means that this painting is about rebirth.

Here, the egg is an archetype, formed through Sinclair’s collective consciousness. The egg has its origins to the Roman times where Bachofen, a late anthropologist, claims that it represents the two poles of the world. Therefore, the sparrow hawk, which is breaking out of the egg to be reborn, is breaking the world of false polarities, unreal, and the arbitrary.

Going back to the short film, we see that Jungkook is holding onto this picture of a sparrow hawk and staring at it. The final scene ends with Jungkook standing in the middle of the room and his shadow has grown wings. These scenes are similar to those of Sinclair. Though we don’t see Jungkook going through a memory recall of a meeting with Demian, we have seen him waking up from nightmares before. We aren’t sure whether he has actually painted the sparrow hawk, but that sparrow hawk is just like the one described in Demian. Moreover, the fact that Jungkook has grown wings shows that he is going through a rebirth like in Demian. This also indicates that Jungkook has activated the part of himself that wants to be broken free.

It’s interesting to note that Jungkook is also wearing a “sparrow hawk” button-up shirt. That’s a signal that supports the notion that he wants to be free from his past views. That’s why his eyes show the burning piano–a remnant of the old principles.

Memo: “Blood, Sweat & Tears” (Japanese Version) Music Video Analysis Part 5 We're not a blog that is dedicated to reviewing music (including Kpop), but because we…

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