#that women are just made to be victims and oh its our natural state

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

hi! could you possibly share the intercept new report about gay men and their misogyny? i know this isn't really about br politics, and im not even sure if it is in English, but i think it is really important to be shared

I hope it's not too late 😅

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Gay men and misogyny: no more ignoring this problem

'Don't talk about vaginas around me': for a long time, we ignored the disqualifications of women and the feminine made by gay men. No more.

"If I liked women, I would have become a gynecologist."

"The law of gravity is a crime against women."

“Funny” gay guys, usually white and showing a certain hatred towards females, are a very common social type in contemporary pop culture. The character Felix “Bicha Má” ["Evil Fag"], played by Mateus Solano, from the Brazilian soap opera “Amor à Vida” [Love For Life], is an easy example in Brazilian lands – the sentences that open this text are his. But this sharp-tongued young man who directs much of his bitterness towards women, including friends and relatives, has never only lived on screens: he is a common presence in our daily lives.

"Oh, don't mention a vagina around me, I get all messed up."

"My goodness, this singer was beautiful, but she got old and ugly."

"Get out of here, I don't even like cracks."

I can't say how many times I've heard phrases like that from fellow gay men. For a long time, these ways of disqualifying women – despite the certain discomfort felt by every person who is repeatedly the target of prejudice – were endorsed and reflected by women ourselves. Offenses dressed as “I was just joking” have largely naturalized these forms of disqualification, but the good news is that, in an environment in which feminism has gained ground, what seemed to be just a joke is now named by the right word: misogyny.

This is a delicate subject, since we are talking about people – mostly cisgender gay men – who have been and still are victims of a series of violence, whether at home, at work, on the streets. Perhaps it was precisely this that made us, cisgender or transgender women, leave the discomfort of being made fun of in the background. After all, confronting homophobia in a sexist country like Brazil is no simple task. But if this machismo affects homosexual men, what can we say about its presence in women's daily lives? And what can we also say about the homophobia directed at cis/trans homosexual and bisexual women, especially invisible and also targets of “jokes” by gay men?

“I had a very close gay friend, like a brother. We went out to parties together and often slept in the same bed, at my house or his. Several times, as if he were joking, he said that he was terrified of vaginas, that he was born through a cesarean section so he wouldn't have to go through one. He'd gesture the sign of the Cross and said ‘God forbid’, smiling,” says Adriana Conceição, 47 years old, a telemarketing operator from Recife who, like several other women, took a while to classify the guy's actions with the right word.

Game developer Renata Gomes, also 47 years old, found herself at the center of a virtual outrage after questioning a post by a gay Brazilian film critic living in the United States. In the post, he talked about missing Brazil, since people worked a lot more in the USA. Faced with the possibility of his speech being reductive and stereotypical, he began to treat Renata as “ugly”, “militant”, “frustrated”. Furthermore, several of the critic's friends entered the comments to reiterate the delegitimization of Renata's speech.

Younger people also identify the problem: aware of the issue, Curitiba university student Nicoly Grevetti, aged 24, listened to several people who circulate in LGBTQIA+ spaces about the subject and wrote a text about it. In it, she also identifies how pop and queer cultures, supposedly safer and “modern”, also present misogynistic elements.

One example is the use of the term “fishy”, constantly evoked to define drag queens who closely resemble cisgender women (that is, who have a high degree of “passability”). The expression refers to the smell that these women's vaginas supposedly have. “[Cisgender] women grow up believing that their private parts are disgusting and spend their entire lives using products to reduce their natural odors, which can lead to various diseases. Having female genitalia as something disgusting is so common for this group, that you can find countless reports of women talking about it on the internet,” she wrote. The topic was the subject of discussion in the famous series RuPaul’s Drag Race, generating academic works like this one. Cisgender drag queen Victoria Scone, a former participant in the show, also spoke on the topic.

A few months ago, I experienced a significant episode of this machismo and misogyny that had been attenuated for a long time in relation to gay men. I was in a doctor's office very close to a shopping center in the south of Recife. After the end of the consultation, the dermatologist – homosexual, white, in his late thirties, and anti-Bolsonaro in the last elections – lightly tapped my hand and said: “Okay, now you can go for a walk in the mall.”

Especially on that day, I was rushing to finish presenting a lecture that I would give the following day, online, at the University of Coimbra. Obviously, if I wanted to window shop or spend the afternoon reading celebrity magazines, it wouldn't be a problem (in fact, I love it). The point here was the doctor's obvious intention to fit me into the cliché of the futile and consumerist woman, a sexist and anachronistic way of disqualifying the female gender. Icing on the cake: while I was leaving, the gay boy warned me not to forget to take “the boss” to my next appointment. He was referring to my romantic partner.

If it's feminine, it's smaller

The misogyny present in the practices of part of this population is so evident that it goes beyond the boundaries of gender and occurs between equals: it is common to see it operating even among gay men themselves. Research I carried out in partnership with Professor Ricardo Sabóia, from the Federal University of Pernambuco, analyzed the relationship between body and celebrity on the Grindr app. I was astonished by both the hatred towards what is socially seen as feminine and the extremely high level of normativity, standardization, and even elitism. “'I'm not into effeminate guys” is a constant, as is “I'm not into fat guys”.

In this environment of extremely high value for toned biceps and abs, being masculine – and looking very masculine – is the strongest currency. Thus, men seen as “little women” are disqualified. This is what researcher Carlos Alberto de Carvalho calls “misogynistic heteronormativity”, in which the masculine and masculinities are placed as positive – on the other hand, femininities and the feminine are valued negatively. It is, therefore, an environment of hegemonic masculinity and subaltern masculinities.

The global soap opera “Terra e Paixão” [Land & Passion] currently features an illustration that refers to this scenario, with the character Kelvin (actor Diego Martins), an “effeminate” gay man in love with Ramiro (Amaury Lorenzo), the masculine man, self-declared heterosexual, who desires the other person, but still doesn't know how to deal with the situation. What diminishes the power of the first is precisely its proximity to what is considered “womanly”. But, looking at Grindr, even the desirable “brucutu” [Brazilian slang for a brute and rude man] has his limits: issues such as level of education have weight in the app used mostly by gay and bisexual men, where it is common to read “no illiterates”.

The LGBTQIA+ culture, in which rich and middle-class white homosexual men repeatedly appear to discriminate against other peers from the same community, is a central sociological issue for discussing social inequalities not only in Brazil, but throughout the world. “Queer cultural production has helped to reproduce class distinctions based on the hegemony of representations of middle-class gays”, writes Lisa Henderson in the article “I’m not/I'm not into: circulating meanings in the presentation speeches of the Grindr app”, by Rafael Grohmann. In the same text, Juan Marsiaj summarizes: “Such a strategy can lead to the acceptance of a type of gay (white, middle class), seen as a model of citizen-consumer, and a greater marginalization of all other 'debauches' who do not fit this way. In more Brazilian terms: there is a risk of accepting rich gays and further marginalizing poor queers.”

Discrimination on the part of this part of the queer community was evidenced in a historic episode in the 1970s, in super liberal New York. In June 1973, the Christopher Street Liberation Day Rally took place in the city, a demonstration held in favor of the rights of the queer population – which, at that time, as we will see, in fact was basically limited to white, middle-class gay women and men.

But, among the public, was the activist Sylvia Rivera, a transvestite who in 1971 had created the Revolutionary Action of Street Transvestites, STAR. Rivera had been trying to get on stage for some time, but Jean O’Leary, a lesbian white radical feminist, acted to prevent her from participating. A sample of how, many times, cisgender homosexual/bisexual women also enact the same discrimination as homosexual/bisexual men.

When he finally managed to grab the microphone, Rivera took aim at the hundreds of mostly white gay men and women present. Her speech is a synthesis of the violence experienced by queers who are too effeminate, too poor, too black, or too latine.

“I've tried to speak out here all day for your gay brothers and sisters in jail. They write to me every damn week asking for help – and you don't do a damn thing for them. I lost my job and my apartment for gay liberation… and you guys treat me this way?” she screamed.

The anger had yet another weight and meaning: alongside another important name, the transvestite Marsha P. Johnson, Rivera went down in history as one of the first to face police repression at the New York bar Stonewall Inn, on June 28, 1969. The conflict was the trigger for a fundamental civil movement for human rights – so much so that the date ended up becoming what was then called International LGBT+ Pride Day.

The question remained: how could that engaged audience repudiate the person who, at just 18 years old, spoke out against violence that was not directed just at her? How could they recriminate someone who pulled the trigger that would benefit precisely that white homosexual population?

Rivera and Johnson, who lived in a shelter, were profoundly different from the majority of the public who would return to their comfortable homes after the demonstration. Unlike Rivera, the daughter of a Venezuelan mother and a Puerto Rican father, most had not spent nights in jail or suffered police rape. The activist died homeless, alone, without the care she should have received. Marsha P. Johnson, the decorated, made-up, smiling, super queer transvestite, was murdered and her body thrown into a river.

Thinking historically and humanly about both is a central issue in the debate on hatred of “feminine” and other diverse discriminations present among the LGBTQIA+ population. The right-wing has long opened a war against women, and the rise of red pill assholes is just one of the phenomena of this reality. It still includes names like former federal deputy Daniel Silveira, who broke the plaque with Marielle's name alongside Rodrigo Amorim. [Note from the translator: Marielle Franco was a black bisexual favela-born leftist councilwoman who was assassinated by militias.]

But, as it turns out, misogyny is not exclusive to right-wing radicals and conservatives. And if Sylvia and Marsha were on the front line to guarantee the rights of millions of people, without distinction of creeds, race, genders, and degrees of “femininity”, it is worth asking: when will cisgender gay men, mostly white and middle class, join, with emphasis and strength, debates such as the right to abortion, employment, and wages, issues of life and death for the majority of black Brazilian women? When will the majority of this same group take a stand on the thousands of rapes that mainly victimize girls and teenagers? What collectivities, after all, are we talking about? As Jorge Ben would say in the song Zumbi: I want to see. We're here.

Source, translated by the blogger.

[hazel2468]

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[advocaado]

Fiction does not exist in a vacuum and absolutely can and does affect reality.

HOWEVER

Before you pin on your thought police badge and march off to start attacking people on the internet for the media they consume and create, let’s take a minute to talk about nuance and identify some actual problematic trends in media which have real life consequences.

The big question you need to ask yourself before you decry a person or piece of media is: Is that person/piece of media promoting, validating, and normalizing trends or acts that hurt real people? Or is that person/piece of media exploring a dark theme in fiction/harmlessly indulging in a kink?

Below are some examples of cases where “problematic” content in fiction is a danger to real life people, and many where it isn’t. This will not be an exhaustive list. I don’t have endless amounts of time to sit here and talk about every problem in fictional media, and even if I did, I wouldn’t, because there are many more things I’d rather do with my time.

Disclaimer: No media is 100% problem free. No human is 100% problem free. Engaging with others online to discuss problems in media is totally fine. If you don’t like something, it’s your god given right to bitch about it. Bitch to your heart’s content. Just don’t be an absolute ass cloak about it.

Example 1: Huckleberry Finn

This book famously contains racism. Is this a problem? No, not really. Listen. This book is literally about how racism is bad. The message is to not be a racist piece of shit. That’s the takeaway. If you got any other message from this book you need to work on your reading comprehension. Books that teach lessons are good things and impact society in positive ways. This book does literally the opposite of normalizing, promoting, and validating racism. It’s taught in schools for this exact reason. It’s not sugarcoated and that’s exactly what makes it powerful.

Example 2: Fairy Tail

The famous complaint about this and other works by Hiro Mashima is that the women are overly sexualized. Over sexualization of women is a big problem in media across the globe, but particularly in the media that comes out of Japan. It’s a problem that absolutely does affect real women. More on that later. But is Mashima really the big perpetuater of the kind of gross male reader voyeurism that has such a fierce grip on the anime industry? Actually, no. Not really. Yes, almost all the female characters in Fairy Tail are hot and have big boobs in a way that appeals to men. However, the lens through which Mashima tells his stories is not voyeuristic. He doesn’t go out of his way to draw panty shots or sexualize female characters nonconsensually. 9 times out of 10 the women are sexy because they want to be and do it in a way that is empowering for them. There are occasional exceptions, but by and large Fairy Tail is not the big offender of female objectification in anime. Moreover, almost all its male characters are hot and have six packs and idol hair in a way that appeals to women. Everyone is hot. There is no deeper meaning here. Enjoy this series if you like to watch hot people having fun and going on adventures together.

Example 3: Goblin Slayer

Oh, boy, Goblin Slayer. Now here’s a can of worms. Many upon many have decried GS for its inclusion of rape scenes and mentions. The goblins in GS have no females of their own species so they must impregnate human women to continue their race. This sounds utterly awful and it is. But is this finally our shining example of a dark theme in fiction that is problematic in a way that is dangerous to real people? Sorry, but no. Firstly, the concept of a fantasy creature who needs to use humans to reproduce was not invented by Kumo Kagyu and is in fact common in folklore around the world. He didn’t make it up as a way to condone rape. Could he have? Sure. But that’s not the reality of the series. The assault by goblins on human women is not treated as a good thing by Kagyu. It is shocking and horrific and has big consequences within the narrative for both the goblins and their victims. It isn’t treated lightly and does not serve to normalize, validate, or promote rape in real life. The reader/viewer is meant to be disgusted by the goblins, and these scenes, which are few and brief, serve their intended purpose. Nobody is going out and assaulting women in real life because they thought it was cool when the goblins did it in GS.

Oh, but Goblin Slayer, I’m not done with you just yet. Because while it would be a huge stretch to label the inclusion of rape in the series a danger to real life people, there’s something else that you don’t need to stretch nearly so much to identify as such. Remember when I talked about the voyeuristic male gaze being a concerning trend in anime? Well, GS has that in spades. The normalization of sexually objectifying women in non sexual situations is very much present in the series. Describing in loving detail the chest size/shape of every female character often and with gusto is a big part of the light novels. Kagyu loves to describe what a girl’s boobs are doing while she’s sitting at a table eating or doing any other mundane thing for no reason other than to sexualize her for the reader. He made the intentional decision to make Sword Maiden, a rape victim, very overtly sexual for the male gaze without the character having any agency in it. Sword maiden isn’t trying to be sexy. She doesn’t own her sexuality. Hell, she’s blind. Being sexy doesn’t empower her. She’s just fap fodder for the male reader. These things normalize objectifying women and are part of a longtime trend in anime which have real world consequences for both women and men. The sexualization of nonconsenting women is a huge problem in Japan and very much promoted through their media. Anime and light novels continue to send and perpetuate the message that objectifying women is okay and natural for boys to do, and while Kagyu certainly isn’t the worst offender, he’s happily hopped aboard that trolly because he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. And he can’t, because it’s been SO normalized.

Example 4: The Birth of a Nation.

This movie, while entirely fictional, is straight up anti-black propaganda intentionally made to spread hate and fear of black people. Obviously this is incredibly problematic and harmful to real black people. This movie was designed to be that way. The message is very clear. It’s a movie meant to rally whites against blacks, and it did. Horrifically so. Typically media containing hateful messages is less overt about it today, but abusing stereotypes and caricatures of real groups of people and otherwise intentionally perpetuating harmful ideas through fiction is a shitty thing to do and should be wholeheartedly condemned. (Note the keyword “intentionally”. If an author does this out of ignorance, which is all too common, rather than condemn we should seek to educate. People are capable of learning and growing and canceling them for mistakes made in ignorance is every bit as shitty as the mistake they made in the first place.)

Example 5: Fanfiction and shipping

At last, we come to fan media. This is where “don’t like don’t read” becomes the golden rule. Indulging in a kink or exploring dark themes in fanfiction is harmless 99.9% of the time. Fanfiction simply doesn’t have the reach, and thereby the influence, that mainstream media has. If someone wants to write something really fucked up, that’s their choice and nobody is making you read it. Unless the author is outright condoning harming real people, it’s really not your business what they choose to write about. Furthermore, deciding to read fucked up fanfiction does NOT make you a bad person. As stated before, the human psyche is messy and the world is not squeaky clean or a safe place. People are drawn to dark things and there’s really nothing wrong with that so long as real people aren’t being harmed. If something makes you uncomfortable, don’t engage. Protect yourself. You’re not making the world a better place by harassing people online. You’re just being a jerk and honestly doing far more harm to real ass people than that 20 year old writer on AO3 who wanted to write a story about Sasuke having sex with Naruto’s son because of 10 years of repressed sexual impulses toward Naruto.

I could say more but I’m tired and ready to celebrate my Friday by getting drunk. Feel free to interact if you want, just do everyone a favor and don’t be a dick.

TLDR

Things that make you a bad person:

Murdering people

Sexually assaulting/harassing people

Having sex with children

Creating or indulging in porn of real minors

Harassing and sending death threats to real people over the fictional media they create and consume

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward marginalized peoples

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward anyone tbh

Using fiction as a vehicle to promote, validate, and normalize causing harm to real people

Generally being an ass cloak

Things that DON’T make you a bad person

Consuming media that contains problematic elements

Creating media that contains problematic elements so long as you aren’t promoting, validating, and normalizing harmful acts toward real people

Writing fanfiction

Reading fanfiction

Shipping whatever you goddamn want to ship

[supertweetycherry]

DIE HARD || [iii. Feeling Helpless]

—Pairings: BTS x OC

—Genre: BTS Mafia Au, Slight Fluff, Angst (a lot of it), Heartbreak, Thriller

—Ratings: 18+ | MA Content | R

—Warnings: Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Alcohol, Mentions of Prostitution, Bad boy behaviour, a bit of Abuse and lot of angry screaming.

—Summary: She belong to them. They belong to her. It’s simple as that. Period.

—Word Count: 4.9k

 Navigations -> Masterlist || MASTERPOST <<Part 1 || Part 3>>

 Chapter 2 - Feeling Helpless

Ring. Ring.

A loud ringing noise echoed in the room as Yoona slept blissfully on her bed. Her dark hair sprawled all over her pillow, and her limbs carelessly spread across the bed. Her comforter was nearly off the edges while her body was bent in an odd angle.

Ring. Ring.

There it was again. That sound. It was followed by a buzz of vibration that shook her tummy.

“Ughh... stop!” She groaned out, but to her dismay, the sound continued to disturb her peaceful slumber.

Slowly opening one of her eyes, she looked at her surroundings and blinked. The room was flooded with the strong sunlight coming from her tall windows. She had to squint her eyes a bit, to see where she was. An empty alcohol bottle was digging into her side as she moved her heavy limbs around, trying to get some stretch in. Luckily, the bottle managed to roll away only to find her hand collide with something squashy.

“Wha—” She looked at her fingers to see a thin layer of white icing. Suddenly, her head swung to her right to see a squashed cupcake, coating the right side of her bed.

She groaned, again. It was sticking flat against her bedsheet, spreading its creamy substance all over her bed.

How the fuck did this even get here?

“This is why I should stop bringing alcohol in this house.” She muttered to herself, before pulling her body up to a sitting position. Her head was buzzing with a strong migraine and her tummy felt like she was gonna hurl any second now.

Ring. Ring.

That sound was back. Still in her dazed state, she reached out to the source of the ringing. It was lying on her tummy, vibrating in full speed. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind it. The thing was giving her a massage, who is she to complain?

“Hello?” Her own voice sounded scratchy and hoarse. Exactly how much of the crying did she do last night?

“Yuri!” Yoona flinched as the loud voice of the person nearly damaged her ear drums. It boosted up her oncoming migraine.

“Suzy?”

“Where the hell are you?! It’s 10am in the morning! Ji-Soo is going crazy with all of us. Do you have any idea what’s going on? Everything is—”

Yoona blinked blankly at the phone. Her colleague slash friend was still barking into the phone continuously without stopping. Yoona had already stopped listening when Ji-Soo was mentioned. After wasting away her birthday night in alcohol, Lee Ji-Soo was the last person that Yoona would expect to pop up. But, apparently she did... only in two minutes of waking up.

“—you were supposed to be here! Now, I’m overloaded with all the extra work. The news has also been—”

The 26 year old wondered if she should cut the phone or let her friend talk. The words stopped making sense to her a long time ago.

“—been raining down on us. You need to check the news and come straight to the building now! Something serious is happening. The whole building is in—”

“Suzy!” Yoona finally exclaimed, cutting her friend off. “I’m coming. Just please, stop shouting.”

The plea itself sounded like a strained groan.

“But—Fine! Check the news before you reach here. It’s chaos up here.”

“Okay.”

Yoona didn’t wait for a goodbye. She cut the call before her head could explode from her friend’s loud voice.

Suzy Bae. The only cutest ball but yet, the most reactive girl in Yoona’s life. She has been the only good thing in Yoona’s life for the past 4 years. The girl was only two years younger than her but still quite competitive. She reminded Yoona of her youngest lover, Jungkook. They both were quite reactive to situations and annoyed the hell out of her most of the time.

‘Aigoo... my chubby little princess looks so cute and fluffy in her poofy dress.’

Yoona shook her head. There’s no way she’s going down that memory lane again. Her resistance level is very close to zero. She needs to build her walls back up to their previous glory so they won’t get smashed down by her uncle’s family again.

Still cursing her growing headache, she quickly cleaned the spoiled bed and got herself ready for work. Her bruises were still raw which just made her day even more worst than any other day she has ever had.

“Alright..” She said as she stared at her screwed up reflection in the giant mirror. Her eyes are definitely puffy and red from all that crying she did last night. There are dark circles under her eyes but nothing major. Makeup could fix that in a second. And her skin colour looked dull, but again, that’s how it is on her bad days.

“Okay, Day 1 of being a 26 year old... I can do this.”

And with that, she did. Within a span of one hour, she was done and ready to head off to work. Quickly pressing over her fine, collared white shirt and black skinny pants, she left the room. Turning on the stove for some breakfast, she let the TV play on a news channel. Suzy’s demands were still ringing in her head.

‘Watch the news.’

She wondered what was so important on the news that made Suzy turn into such as hyper-screaming mess.

“—Now, with the recent reports coming in, the infamous notorious criminal gang ‘Bangtan’ has struck again in South Korea—”

Hold up. Her hands stopped in mid-air, the egg only inches away from being cracked open. Did she hear it correctly? They said ‘Bangtan’ right? As in the ‘Bangtan’ gang that has been terrorizing the world ever since they have surfaced two years ago?

Turning the stove off, she headed to her living room where a middle aged women gave out the latest news on the screen. She turned up the volume so she could hear more clearly.

“—A women named Jung Jae-hee, the acting executive director of Lee Enterprise in South Korea, was recently found dead in her house. It has been only few hours since her discovery and already, the reports indicates that the women was tortured and brutally beaten to death before a close family member discovered her corpse. The local law enforcements ruled out the death to be a vengeful murder by the notorious gang ‘Bangtan’. Clear evidence haven’t been identified to support this claim yet but an inside source reported the similar markings on the women’s body has been seen before in other victims that comes under the wrath of Bangtan—”

Yoona narrowed her eyes at the name. Bangtan. The name itself sounded familiar to her but also at the same time, foreign. The gang is a notorious group of killers that have been dominating the world ever since they surfaced two years. They weren’t just a terror in Korea, their gang name has been a widely known name around the whole of Asia and up here in the states too. Their activities goes deeper than just normal drug smuggling, money laundering or loan sharking.

Yoona didn’t know much about them but, she knew enough to stay away from their paths.

She was just about to shake it off is when a thought struck her.

Jung Jae-Hee. Why does that name sound so familiar? Wait—Isn’t she the... Shit!

She gasped. Oh boy, no wonder Suzy was a screaming mess. Forget the food, she needs to get to the office. Now!

                                                       ********

“This doesn’t seem good.” Yoona said aloud as they stared at the chaos in the office. Every employee was scrambling into different directions with no regards to each other.

“Ya think?!” Her friend retorted from beside her. “Our old boss just got killed in her home country. It’s obvious everyone will be in a panicking state.”

Yoona glanced back at Suzy in worry. Her beautiful friend was glaring at everything in sight. With her long, silky black hair up in a loose pony tail and long strands of bangs covering her forehead, the girl looked livid and cute all at the same time. She was dressed in a proper pristine full sleeve blouse with a black pencil skirt, complimenting her petite figure. Pretty different to what Yoona was wearing.

A small sigh escaped Yoona’s lips. “I don’t know what to say...”

“Well, I know one thing. I don’t think I’m ever going back to South Korea again.” Suzy declared, her lips pouting in sadness. “Too many murders for my poor heart to take on. I’m a heart patient you people!”

Yoona chuckled at her friend’s antics.

“YURI!”

Yoona jumped at the new voice, her head already ringing with the high octanes in the voice.

‘Yuri’ was her mother’s maiden name that she adopted when her real identity as ‘Lee Yoona’ was erased. She joined the family of ‘Kim’, making her ‘Kim Yuri’, and became the orphaned, petty, poor girl who used her cunning ways in bed to get a job at Lee Enterprise. It was horrifying and disgusting that people actually believed this kind of shit these days.

“That is not good.” Suzy commented as Yoona peeked at the person who has called her out.

Daniel. Fucking Daniel.

“Shit, it’s him. Run!” And so they did.

But like they say that trouble finds you at every corner, Yoona’s worst trouble found her too.

Lee Ji-Soo.

The ultimate prodigy of the wicked witch of the west. And also, her little cousin.

The girl was the second child of Lee Sung Woo and one of the biggest tormentor in Yoona’s life. She was only few years younger than Yoona, almost at Suzy’s age, and already has a wicked ego. She was tall and naturally pretty. Her mind was sharp but also at the same she was easily influenced and angered which causes her emotions to take over her hazy mind. Yoona had tried to connect with Ji-Soo on so many different levels, but the bossy, obnoxious girl was never interested.

“Ji-Soo...” The girl was standing near Yoona’s desk. She was dressed in the most whitest clothes Yoona has ever seen on her. It spilled with fake purity. Even the Chanel earring in her left ear couldn’t match to it.

Suzy, who had already seen a storm brewing in Yoona’s cousin’s eyes, had already ducked out of sight to avoid the hissing serpent. Daniel, the person they were running from, had stopped too and had turned back around to the way he came from.

Ji-soo’s anger is known to be a legend in this building. No-one was a match for her. Anyone who dares to come across Ji-soo’s wrath, is burned alive. And right now, Yoona seems to be right in the middle of it.

“Where are the files?!” She demanded, face contorting into anger as everyone else around them stopped and stared. Why wouldn’t they? The young girl was one of their bosses.

It’s ironic how Yoona is treated as a mere servant in her own father’s company. It was named after her family name. The Lee Enterprise. It wasn’t just a business. It was an empire built by her great grandfather through blood, sweat and tears. It was passed along to her own father who pulled the company to new heights with strong alliances and strong values. But after his death, it was now run by her uncle.

Since, she’s practically dead to the world, she could never inherit her father’s company again. It’s something she regrets now.

“Answer me!”

Yoona looked at her cousin in confusion. Did something happen?

“What files?”

“Files for Aria, Yuri!”

Yoona wacked her brain at the familiar name. Aria... Aria... ARIA Resort & Casino!

“You mean... the casino?”

“Yes!” She was being impatient.

“I don’t know where the files are.” Yoona shrugged. It wasn’t under her job to take care of such important files. She was just a mere personnel support in the office. A little servant trying to find her way in this building. Even though she has a high-class business degree and masters under her name, she will always be treated as Kim Yuri, the little spawn of a dead whore.

“They were on your desk!” She screeched.

“No, they weren’t.”

“Lier!”

“Honestly Ji-Soo, I have the lowest clearance in this building. Do you really think I will have such important files in my grip? Aren’t they supposed to be in your father’s office?”

ARIA Resort & Casino is a luxury building dedicated to its given name and located in Las Vegas, Nevada. Its only an hour away from here by plane. The huge, mega complex building was originally owned by an American entertainment industry which turned out to be another counterpart of Kim Industries. But after that tragic night, and the death of all Kim’s heirs, the ownership was lost. Not only for the casino but also for many other assets that Kim industries had owned. In the end, the casino was passed around in many different hands before landing into the hands of Lee Enterprise. And for the past six years, it has been her uncle’s play baby.

“They’re not in his office.” This time, Ji-Soo’s voice was laced with worry. But then, the anger returned. “I know you have them.”

Yoona sighed. She rubbed her head in irritation.

“No. I don’t have them.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yuri!” The younger screeched, grabbing Yoona’s arm in the process. The older winced at the sudden pain that came from the bruises on her arm. “You don’t want me to tell Omma about this, do you?” She threatened with small wild smile.

Yoona glared at the younger women. That girl knew how much her mother despises Yoona and would love to beat her up at any given chance.

“Ji-Soo...” another voice interrupted them.

Both of them turned to the new voice and gulped. The voice belonged to a tall boy with dark golden brown hair locks, and a piercing look that instantly broke the skin-to-skin contact they had with each other.

Yoona had to ball up her hands into little fists to avoid feeling scared. The tall boy was her older cousin. He was dressed in a tight blue suit that covered every inch of his body. The expensive Goldmark watch on his right wrist was sparkling as the long scarf in his neck complimented his looks.

To others he might seem ethereal, but to her, he was pure evil.

“Tae-min oppa...” Ji-Soo called out to her older brother.

Yoona avoided looking at the man. She unconsciously covered her right arm, where the result of his tight grip on her from two days ago showed.

“Leave her.” He said, flicking his hair to the side. His slightly bulky body looked lean and relaxed. “Come. We have somewhere important to be.”

The man’s voice was laced with sweetness and seemed calm. That’s what scared Yoona the most. His calm demeanour that could change into something completely different in a simple second.

“But—”Ji-Soo didn’t dare to continue. Her brother’s eyes had slightly narrowed. She gulped and glanced at Yoona in fury before stalking after her older brother.

The only thing Yoona could do was sigh and thank the gods for saving her again from the endless pain.

                                                      ********

Lee Sung-Woo, the current head of Lee Enterprise, sighed as he rested his head back against the soft, leather chair. He could hear his kids entering the room but he didn’t bother acknowledging them. They were mature enough to understand that their father was stressed.

Being the head of Lee Enterprise is a hard, challenging job. Not only the company was one of the top companies in the world, it was also the foundation of a large empire built in the underworld. The main family line within the circle of the best of the best. A circle that was broken and re-formed again with new masters. But now, something new was challenging the empire. Something that is ready to topple them off. And he didn’t like that one bit.

“Dad..” he heard his eldest speak. “We can still fix this. You don’t have to take on stress.”

Sung-Woo hummed at his son’s words. The boy was always the calm one. The one who stayed patient till the end before loosing his shit and letting his demons out to rule. “I have put my best men on this. We will know who actually killed Jae-Hee.”

“I know, Tae-min.” The older man spoke. “You would never disappoint me. But I’m not worried about the girl’s death. She’s an easy replacement.”

Something twitched in the golden haired boy. Jae-Hee wasn’t just any girl to him. She was special, but he didn’t dare go against his father.

“Is it the ARIA files then?” Ji-Soo spoke up, nervousness seeping into her tone.

Sung-woo’s anger flared at the mention of his play baby. Those files were important. They were the property papers for ARIA.

“Have you found them yet?”

Ji-Soo shivered at her father’s hard tone. She pursed her lips and shook her head. She didn’t need to say anything because he can see her.

“You better hope they are just misplaced. If something happens to ARIA, I will not forgive you for this, Ji-Soo.” The older man warned his daughter.

Ji-Soo felt her body freeze. Her eyes widening at the implications of his words. He wouldn’t hurt his own daughter, right?

“It’s not her fault, dad.” His son spoke up, defending his little sister. “I think they have been stolen.”

A stab of fear hit Sung-Woo. What kind of force was he dealing with? This building is under strict security 24/7. There were guards everywhere. There were high-tech cameras in every part and corner of this building. It’s impossible for someone to steal the files. He really hoped that his daughter has just misplaced them.

“We’ll talk about them later. Right now, I have to introduce you both to some people.”

They looked at each other in confusion.

“Who?”

Sung-Woo didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a button underneath his table and the back wall opened up into a series of giant screens covering every inch of the wall space. A loud click was heard as the room’s door locked itself electronically and the windows turned into a smokey grey colour, completely cutting off the view inside the office.

“It’s time for you both to meet The Circle.”

                                                      ********

The city of Los Angeles was buzzing with life. With it being one of the most populous city in all of California, the nightlife here was tremendously as lavish and expensive as they say. Having so many of entertainment industries under its boundaries and one of the best-class casinos, hotels and clubs, it is no-wonder that the heart of this city was completely submerged into the gambling and dealings of the underworld.

“Welcome to Dream Glow. Please enjoy your stay here.”

Kim Minseok smiled as he entered the large lavish building. Dream Glow. He chuckled. The name itself was grand and majestic as its owner.

“Wow. She really did turn this place around, didn’t she?” His little brother, Kim Jongin, commented as the younger male’s eyes travelled up to the outstanding classic decor. Minseok was also a little impressed. She really did a great job on this place. No wonder it’s brimming with customers.

Nodding his head in acceptance, he proceeded to go deeper into the building to find the egoistical, self-loving cousin of his that he hasn’t seen for a while. The visit itself was quite a surprise to him. Not to mention, the task he was given raised few red flags in his head.

“You sure he’s here?” Jongin asked beside him. The younger boy was eyeing the large room they had just entered in.

It was decorated in the most dark and vibrant colours he has ever seen. The Neon lights from above were giving it an extra glow, just like its name.

“Absolutely.” Minseok replied as they further stepped into the room.

The room was filled with rich men gambling, dancing, laughing and spilling their guts over the little female candies that sat beside them. These females were personally hired to pleasure these people in every way possible.

“Well, Well, well, look who it is...” a voice sang behind them.

“Hello, Charlie.” Minseok called out, not even needing to face the women that has appeared in the most darkest shade of red. Her hair were curled up into the most elegant beach waves ever seen, long diamond earrings complimenting her dress, and the perfect dark, smokey makeup that covered all of her flaws, seemingly making her look flawless.

The women looked at him with her strong gaze. She gasped mockingly.

“The big bad Xiumin? Here in my club? Oh heavens, my death has finally come upon me.”

Minseok rolled his eyes at the women. She was always so dramatic.

“Where is he?” He demanded. The women chuckled, her dark orbs glistening in the neon lights.

“Impatient are we?” She mocked with a little pout. “Come on, we just met after such a long time. Let’s have a little fun.”

A perfectly manicured hand slithered up-to his upper chest, caressing the hard muscles beneath it and rubbing over the hard abs that can be felt with one soft touch. He didn’t react. He could feel his younger brother’s muffled laughter from behind him.

“Charlie, where is Jin?” The tone was hard and clear this time. It made the women pout harder.

“Oh bummer. You’re such a party pooper. Jin was right. You will never change.”

And with that she unlatched her hand from his body and proceeded to the younger Kim who looked a bit shocked at the sudden changeover. “He’s in the private booths to the far corner, away from everyone else.” Minseok looked at the direction she pointed at. “You should go darling, he wants you alone. And don’t worry about your brother, I will play with him.” She said as she worked her magic on Jongin who was always a sucker for a little touch-n-touch anytime and anywhere.

Minseok groaned as a small purr came out from her lips. He shook his head and left the two to their mechanisms. Dream Glow Casino was a trusted place. His brother will be fine.

                                                     ********

As soon as Minseok reached the booth, he was greeted by a familiar looking blonde boy who was dressed into the most simplest but custom made pink shirt and fancy white pants. His neck held a thin simple silver chain while his right hand was adorned with various rings. One in particular standing out. The dark red ruby.

His handsome face was a true fairytale beauty and way too alluring to the female candies that sat either side of him. They were all over him, being shameless from every angle while the beautiful blonde boy himself stared hungrily at them. His soft, pink, plump lips already working their way against their necks.

“Jin.”

The boy stopped and looked up. He then beamed a bright smile at Minseok.

“Hyung... come, come. Sit with us.” The boy invited, gesturing to the vacant seat in front of him. “We were just talking about you.”

The elder raised an eye brow in question. But none the less, he took a seat with his cousin.

“Did you bring what I asked for, hyung?” The boy asked innocently, lightly tapping his slender fingers on the girl’s shoulders on his right. The hired candy just purred in satisfaction as she bathed in the attention she was receiving from the fairytale prince. Who thought a man like him could ever exist in this world?

Minseok pulled out a small stack of papers all stapled together. He slided them across the table to his cousin.

“It’s yours now.” Minseok smiled as he pointed to the transfer papers. “You are the new owner of ARIA Resort & Casino. Congrats, Jin. You finally got what you wanted.”

A small smirk appeared on his cousin’s face. The boy looked at the papers in total awe. His dark brown eyes scanning over every bit of the papers that now rested in his grip safely. One of his candies tried to grab his attention again but he smacked her off lightly, scolding her with his eyes.

Minseok felt a bit uncomfortable with his cousin and his female companions. He had never gotten used to this personality change in his younger cousin since that night.

Heartbreak is such a cruel thing that can happen to a person.

“You are lucky that I didn’t have to do much.” Minseok continued. “It was an easy grab in. No strings attached.”

His cousin smiled.

“Thank you, hyung. I own you one.” The boy said happily, passing the document to his guard that had appeared out of nowhere. “How’s little kai?”

“Little Kai is enjoying his time with Charlie.”

“Oh...”

A set of giggles erupted from the two ladies. His cousin was really doing wonders on them.

“Jin?”

“Hmm..”

Minseok contemplated if he should ask the question. Would the boy get angry?

“Why are you doing this? Why go after Lee Enterprise now?”

The reaction was instant. The boy who was just flirting and nose booping the candy beside him, stopped instantly. A thin line appeared on his lips while his orbs shifted. His hand wavered at the girl’s face before retracing back to the table.

Minseok didn’t feel anything when his cousin’s dark brown orbs glided to his face. He was not afraid of Kim Seokjin. They were family. Although, he was afraid of the crazy, maniac glint that had appeared in the younger’s eyes.

“It’s simple.” The boy replied, pinning his elder with his steely gaze. “I want my investment back.”

Minseok shook his head in denial. There was something that his cousin wasn’t telling him.

“No... I don’t believe you.” He countered, crossing his arms over his chest. His cousin’s head tilted in question. “Jin, I know you since you were little. All these years, even before that night, you refused to touch the company. You never tried to take over it. Not even the boys could change your mind. Infact, you helped it grow, stuffing its body with heaps of money, connections, assets and power. It has been your very own giant teddy bear for the past ten years. And now suddenly, you decided that you want your teddy back?”

A flicker of smile appeared on his younger cousin’s face. The blonde boy stretched his lips wider and wider, until he was laughing. There was a dark undertone to his windshield laugh.

“Oh hyung... you’re so observant.” The man spoke. “Is it too bad to have my teddy back in my arms again?” He asked, cuddling to the Candies beside him. But this time, his touch was a little rough and the girls felt it. But they still continued to smile.

“Jin, I’m serious.” Minseok warned. “What the hell are you planning?”

“You make me seem like a bad guy, hyung.”

“You are the bad guy, Jin.”

Minseok was truly worried for the golden company. The boy infront of him wasn’t the same boy anymore. He was being selfish. Lee Enterprise was the last thing that remained of Yoona. He can’t let the boy destroy it just like that. Atleast, not without a valid reason.

The grip on the two girls’s shoulders was increasing in strength. Their smiles were faltering with every passing second. Soon, they were squirming in his grip.

“Jin, you are hurting them.” Minseok warned, noticing the two girls’s discomfort.

The blonde boy instantly loosened his grip on them. He looked shockingly at his two candies and then at his elder cousin.

“I’m sorry, Hyung.” He apologised. “I didn’t realise what I was doing.” He then looked at his two candies with a mocking pout gracing his lips. “I’m sorry, girls. Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean too. I’m not the bad guy. I just got lost there for a second.”

The female companions were spooked by his suddenly weird behaviour. But none-the-less they nodded and continued to snuggle up to him.

However, the guard behind them looked depressed. He shook his head in defeat before walking off to make a quick call to the owner of ‘Dream Glow’ for a very heart-filled apology and the scene that’s about to be happened.

“Jin...” Minseok called out. He was not going to give up.

“Hyung...” The boy looked up.

“Please Jin, whatever you are planning, just drop it. Yoona will not be happy.”

A sudden chill dropped around them. At the mention of the dead girl, his cousin’s features changed. The dark brown eyes turned moist and a broken, pained look appeared in them. Minseok regretted saying the name.

“I think you should leave, hyung.” The boy spoke, biting his bottom lip. “And again, I apologise for the rude behaviour.”

“But jin—” the elder stopped. He didn’t dare to go against the evil glint that has appeared in his cousin’s eyes.

“Go enjoy with Kai.”

And he did. Not the enjoying part, but he did leave the booth, ignoring the loud cries of pain from the girls that followed after.

God bless their souls.

 Tag List: @demonic-meatball​ , @youtube-obsessed-duh​ , @trinityautumn​

[chocoluckchipz]

A Bride for the Prince - 12

A03  ~  < Previous  ~  Next >

He felt it in his gut. Adrien had always been good at sensing people’s true nature, and while he couldn’t really place his finger on it, there was definitely something wrong with that Luka guy. There was a history between Marinette and him. He broke her heart!

Um… no.

Marinette said she was the one to refuse his proposal…

But there had to be a reason for her to do so, right? She said she loved him, so why would she reject the guy? Maybe this Luka had a dark side? Hidden skeletons in his chest?

But then…

Why did she look so flustered after coming back? Why did she run after him in the first place? Was she attracted to men with a darker side? Was it the reason why Theo was lurking around her? Did that bastard somehow sense it and was allured by it?

Adrien shifted in his bed.

No. That couldn’t be it. Marinette was sincere and kind. She was light and warmth. She was everything good there was, and she attracted the same kind of people.

Then why?

Why did she run after Luka, and why in the world did it bother Adrien so much?

Wait a minute…

Didn’t Marinette say something about Luka being on the road more than staying home? Did she run after him to ask if that had changed? Was she still… did she want to know if she still had a chance? If he’d be able to stay with her now?

What did he reply?

Why was she flustered?

Throwing the sheets off himself, Adrien sat up, his breathing ragged and fast. His heart raced, drops of sweat crowning his forehead.

The room was hot.

Hellishly hot.

That’s why he couldn’t sleep.

He walked to the window and opened it. The sun was peeking from behind the horizon. Morning breeze swept by, and Adrien inhaled.

Refreshing.

He took a few moments to calm down and got back in his bed, begging all deities known for at least an hour of sleep. He was heard. Partly.

His morning hadn’t gone any better. The sun was too bright. The dining hall - too empty. His usually delicious meals tasted horrendous today. His father was insufferable as well. Question after question after question. Usually, Gabriel was the one to keep quiet. Why couldn’t he stop bothering Adrien this morning? Hadn’t he seen Adrien wasn’t in the mood?

“I see you don’t have your appetite,” his father had finally noticed. “Why is the sullen look?”

“Nothing. Just tired of all this crap.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you all riled up first thing in the morning?”

“Lack of sleep,” Adrien said, getting up. “Now, if you excuse me, Father, I’d better get going. I have the last bunch of interviews today.”

“Be nice to them,” his father had to lecture.

Adrien grumbled but didn’t answer, walking out. His mind focused on the perfect solution he’d just come up with: he’d ask her. Why should Adrien agonize over it himself when he could just ask Marinette what happened between Luka and her yesterday? His heart clenched at the thought, but it could be Marinette’s chance for happiness. If she still loved Luka, and if Luka still loved her… then maybe they still had…

He’d be happy for her. Adrien swore he would. She was his friend, and he should be happy for her…

So why did this chest pain so much at the thought then?

He found her pretty quickly. Her and that Barbot bastard. Adrien growled. That guy couldn’t get a clue, now could he? And from the looks of it, he didn’t care even if he knew everything because Theo completely ignored Marinette's rather uncomfortable state as she was trying to get away from the jerk cornering her against the bench.

Well, this time Adrien wouldn’t stand around and wait for Marinette to shove Theo away. He was in his princely attire. He could interfere.

“Good morning, Lady Bug,” Adrien greeted, walking closer. Glaring at Duke Barbot, he took Marinette’s hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Theo.”

The other man pressed his lips in a thin line. “Your Highness.”

“I’ve been told you keep harassing this lovely lady.” Adrien didn’t beat around the bush. “I must ask you to stop that.”

“Who would tell you such lies?” Theo frowned in a fake offence. “I was all but telling the lovely maiden how beautiful she looks today.”

“From where I stood, she looked rather uncomfortable to hear that.”

“I would disagree, my Prince. She seemed fine to me—”

“Should we ask countless of your previous victims how appreciative they were with your advances?”

Theo’s face went crimson, but he had the nerve to fake ignorance. “Surely my Prince doesn’t believe the gossip of jealous women.”

“Your Prince wishes for you to leave Lady Bug alone.”

“I’m afraid my Prince doesn’t have the power to ask me of such things,” Theo countered. “Not unless he’s planning to propose to her himself.”

Adrien’s glare turned murderous, a low growl rumbling in his throat. That bastard!

“And since I assume that isn’t the case,” Theo sneered. “I’m afraid Your Highness cannot forbid me trying my luck in wooing this charming maiden.”

“She’s still one of the candidates to become my bride, Theo,” Adrien said, his voice low and threatening. “You can’t court her until that’s over.”

Theo smirked, leaning forward. “We both know, Adrien, she isn’t qualified.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette. Her posture rigid; she clutched her arms on her chest. They seemed to tremor, as did her lips. Her face flushed; she stared at the ground. Adrien pressed his teeth together. His heart pounding, he tightened his fists. He promised he’d protect her. So far, he’d done nothing but caused her trouble. Well, it was about time for that to change.

“Then you leave me no choice,” Adrien seethed through his teeth, stepping closer to Theo. “You’ve insulted my honour by courting one of the official candidates to become my bride before I made my choice. You’ve been repeatedly insulting Lady Bug’s honour coming after her when she clearly doesn’t welcome your advances.” Adrien straightened, looking Theo straight into his eyes. “I challenge you to a duel, Duke Barbot. First blood. If I win, you shall never approach Lady Bug again in your life. Even after she leaves this castle.”

Theo quirked his eyebrow in amusement. “You’re taking it too seriously, my Prince.”

“Are you declining?”

The Duke pressed his lips together, staring at Adrien. “No,” he barked. “I’m not a coward. If I win, Lady Bug will become my bride.”

Adrien’s blood boiled. He jerked his arm to his sword, seething, “Never.”

“Then I say we let the swords decide.”

“Please, don’t,” Marinette had finally spoken, stepping between the two. She faced Adrien. “My Prince, I beg of you to call off this nonsense. I’m not worth it.”

Adrien glared at Theo above her shoulder, his breathing laboured. “You’re worth more than you think, my Lady, and unless Duke Barbot apologizes and vows to never approach you again, I’m afraid I cannot oblige your wish.”

“Then we’d better find our seconds and get to it,” Theo said. “But let me tell you I’ve been practicing my skills—”  

“So have I,” Adrien cut in and looked around. “Those two guards. Pick the one you want.”

Theo picked Kim. Adrien went with Max. They settled details, and ten minutes later two men bared their swords at a sparring court.

The battle was short. Too much bad blood had gone between Adrien and Theo. Too hot was the rage that boiled inside Adrien’s veins. Too serious Theo’s final insult had been. And most importantly, too precious of a prize had been appointed. Adrien couldn’t hold back even if he’d wanted to because it wasn’t his honour at stake here; it was Marinette’s future. He couldn’t let that perverse bastard have his Marinette. Not in this life, not ever! An ugly slash across Theo’s chest only ten minutes after the duel had begun was the best proof of that.

“Don’t take another step in her direction,” Adrien growled, towering over Theo. “Don’t even look her way, or the next time it won’t be a first-blood battle. I’ll finish you.”

Theo pressed his lips together, holding his hands to his wound to stop the blood flow. Saying nothing, he let Adrien take a step away before grunting. “Why do you care about her so much? She’s a commoner.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Adrien replied, turning back. “You told me so yourself.”

“Oh, yes, I do now.” Theo scoffed. “I had my people find out. This woman is a former maid of Lady Bug, who’d eloped and presently known as Lady Stoneheart.”

“Well, since you’re so smart.” Adrien leaned down to Theo’s level. “Then let me ask you why do you care so much for a maid? Don’t you have enough noble women around?”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I fell in love with her?”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow and laughed, darkly.

“Maybe I’ve finally decided to settle down and get married,” Theo hissed. “Marinette is the one for me. She’s the one to make me a better man.”

Adrien shook his head, trying to subdue his maniacal laughter. “You aren’t fooling anyone, Theo.”

“I don’t care who she is!” Theo insisted. “I love her. I’ll make her my duchess, want you that or not.”

Adrien stilled. Getting down, he took Theo by his collar. His hands shook, rage coursing through every part of his body, as he growled. “Don’t you dare to even pronounce her name, you scumbag. You can’t have her.”

“And why is that?”

Because she is mine!

Adrien’s eyes widened. His heart racing, he pulled back for a split second, but shook his head and replied, “Because she is my friend, and she deserves better than your perverted, fickle ‘love’. Stay away, Theo, or you’ll regret it.”

Letting the wounded man go, Adrien stood up and put his sword back into its scabbard. Theo stared back for a moment before erupting with a burst of chilling laughter. Adrien ignored him, walking away. He grabbed Marinette’s hand and headed out when Theo yelled, “How unfortunate for you, my Prince, that Royalty doesn’t marry commoners, isn't it? You can’t have her either, Adrien!”

Adrien quickened his steps, taking Marinette as fast and as away from the scene as possible, hoping to escape the random thought that zoomed through his mind and somehow put everything in perspective. He let Marinette go only once they’d reached the part of the castle she’d been living at.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Adrien said, looking everywhere but her. “Duke Barbot shouldn’t bother you anymore, but if he does, let either Adrien, Nino, or me know. But for now, I should go—”

“Thank you.” Marinette’s voice trembled, and Adrien couldn’t look away anymore. The moment their eyes met, Adrien knew.

He was a fool.

The biggest idiot in the history of this world. Nino was probably laughing so hard right now, and when he’d stop, he’d kill Adrien for ignoring him all this time. Nino and his father. They both would murder him in cold blood and never regret it. Because morons like Adrien shouldn’t exist.

“Don’t mention it,” Adrien whispered and after a farewell bow ran away as fast as he could. As soon as the door of his bedroom closed behind him, Adrien slid down onto the floor and dropped his head into his hands, a pitiful moan escaping his lips.

It couldn’t be. He must be wrong. It wasn’t—because if it was… That would be too cruel of a joke.

Adrien swallowed, further curling in on himself. There was no way—He should’ve listened to Nino—

A knock ripped through the silence of the room.

“Damn it, Adrien! Open up! I know you are in there!”

“Nino?” Adrien shifted to a side barely enough for his friend to open the door and squeeze in.

“What the hell, Adrien? A duel? What’s gotten into you?”

Adrien raised his head and looked at Nino, saying nothing.

His friend frowned. “What’s wrong? You won, didn’t you? You look a little—”

“I am an idiot, Nino.”

“That’s hardly common knowledge by now,” Nino deadpanned sarcastically. “What else is new?”

“I’ve fallen in love.”

Closing his eyes, Nino sighed and sat down on the floor beside Adrien with a heavy sigh. “Let’s start with the duel first.”

“He kept bothering her, and when I confronted him, he said he was in love and wanted to marry her.”

Nino laughed.

“Exactly,” Adrien said. “Only the bastard was dead serious. I had to do something.”

“You could’ve chosen a better way to explain the issue to him than a duel. You’re lucky your father’s away, but I can’t keep it from him once he’s back. He won’t be happy.”

Adrien shook his head. “No, he won’t.”

“And you’ve landed Marinette in the centre of attention, again.”

Adrien groaned, his head falling back into his hands. “I did.”

“And it’s not like you can marry her—”

Adrien swore under his breath. “I forgot to ask her about Luka.”

Nino frowned. “Luka? Who’s Luka?”

“He’s a guy who used to court Marinette,” Adrien said, concentrating on his hands. “Tall, black hair, blue eyes, handsome. The lead singer of Couffaine Troupe. Marinette… She rejected his proposal some time ago, but not because she didn’t love him. There were other factors and yesterday we bumped into him in the town. They exchanged a few words and he left and then she ran after him and told me to stay behind and when she came back, she was blushing. So… I was going to ask her about that.”

Nino silently stared at Adrien for a short while. Then whistled. “Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

Adrien dropped his head back into his hands. “I know.”

“I don’t think you realize the depth, though.” Nino chuckled. “Say, if I understand correctly, ‘Chat Noir’ Adrien met this Luka guy yesterday, right?”

Adrien looked at Nino and nodded. “What are you getting at?”

Nino pointed to his outfit. “Then why would ‘Prince’ Adrien inquire Marinette about him?”

Adrien groaned, leaning his head against the door behind him. “I didn’t sleep much. Stop picking on me, Nino.”

“You were jealous, dude, and Theo was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Theo got what he deserved.”  

Nino chuckled. “I won’t argue with you there, but—”

Adrien stirred up. “Hey. Do you think there is a chance she likes me back? I mean, she ran after him, but she came back to me and spent the rest of the evening with me. She even apologized for running off, so maybe—do you think I have a chance? Like even a tiny one? I’ll take it even if it’s minuscule.”

Nino quirked an eyebrow. “Dude, of all the problems you’ve landed yourself in, this is the one you are most concerned about?”

“Well, yes,” Adrien said. “Because eligible or not, she is a part of the group from which I can choose a bride, and if she likes me back, I’ll fight for us. I’ll find a loophole in the law. I’ll confront my father—I don’t know. I’ll denounce my birthright, but whatever I do, it will all be for nothing if she doesn’t like me back.”

“You aren’t serious—”  

Adrien straightened, his eyes filling with fire. “Maybe I should confess. I’ll ask her myself—or maybe a kiss? I’ll kiss her and see her reaction and—”

“No, dude. No.” Nino took him by the shoulders. “Let me stop you right there. You aren’t confessing, and you aren’t kissing anyone.”

“But—”

“No buts. Neither confessing nor kissing will do anyone any good if you aren’t allowed to marry her.”

“I can find a solution. I swear—”  

“Then you focus on that, and I’ll ask Alya to find out if Marinette likes you or not. Okay? You know Alya. She probably already knows your answer.”

Adrien’s eyes could barely contain the excitement. “Please, ask her. Anything she wants.”

“You don’t want to promise her that.” Nino chuckled. “She might demand half of your kingdom.”

“And I’ll be willing to give it to her. As soon as it becomes mine, that is.”

Nino laughed. “You’ve got it worse than I thought.”

A lopsided smile split Adrien’s lips. “She’s worth it. Marinette’s worth a dozen kingdoms.”

Nino puffed, shaking his head.

Adrien jumped up. “No time to waste. I’m off to research the law for any loopholes. You go to Alya—”

“Not so fast, lover boy,” Nino said, standing up. “You still have a few interviews left, and if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for the first one.”

Adrien whined. “Do I have to?”

“You absolutely do. Now make yourself presentable and off you go.”

“Fine.” Adrien groaned. “But I’m off to the library right after that, and you talk to Alya.”

“I will.” Nino chuckled. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear the news.”

***

There were a lot more rules and regulations concerning marriage than Adrien had remembered. Which meant that Marinette would have to forgive him for not showing up tonight, or tomorrow, and perhaps even the night after that because he’d need at least a few days to go over everything. A few days Adrien scarcely had. Delaying was not an option, so he’d have to sacrifice their time together and a portion of his sleep.

As soon as the meetings were over, Adrien occupied the library. He hadn’t been there for long, though, before the door swung open and his father barged in.

“You’d better have a good explanation for this,” Gabriel fumed, slamming his hands on the table. His breathing heavy, his face red, he yelled, “A duel? Have you lost your mind, Adrien? Royals hadn’t been involved in duels for decades now! What’s gotten into you?”

“He provoked me,” Adrien said calmly yet sternly.

“By what? Calling you names? It’s the Barbot idiot! We’ve talked about it, Adrien! You can’t react to every insult of his. He’s a classless baboon with a title. You are the Prince of this kingdom. People look up to you.”

“Are you saying I should’ve turned a blind eye on him repeatedly harassing one of the ladies who are in the running to be my bride?”

Gabriel frowned. “What?”

“He wanted her for himself. She was the prize he demanded.”

Gabriel straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bastard,” he seethed through his teeth, frowning. “He can’t do that before you make your choice. He’s gone too far this time.”

“I thought so too.”

Gabriel hummed another insult. “Who did he bother?”

“Lady Bug.”

Gabriel’s quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Adrien. “The one that almost fainted in your arms at the ball?”

“The one who’d danced with Theo before me and who was so shaken by his actions, it proved to be too much for her. I just happened to be the next one to ask her for a dance. She’d faint in anyone’s arms after being subjected to Theo’s insults.”

Gabriel watched Adrien for a few moments before settling down in a chair. “I seem to recall her name on your request for an additional meeting list. Someone promising?”

Adrien hesitated. To say yes, he’d win his father’s approval for the duel instantly. If she was on Adrien’s shortlist of potential brides, no one could try to court Marinette before this whole thing was over and walk away unpunished. Especially not Theo. It was the matter of the King’s honour. However, admitting that would also guarantee Marinette unwanted attention from his father, and he couldn’t do that just yet.

“I’m not sure,” Adrien said, looking away. “I requested to see a few.”

“Lady Volpina and Lady Bourgeois were purely a distraction for the outsider’s eyes. That much I know for sure.” Gabriel hummed. “So, that’s between Lady Riposte and Lady Bug, right?”

“As I said, Father, I’m not sure of anything yet.”

“Well, you still have time to make your mind,” Gabriel said, smirking. The knowing glint in his eyes worried Adrien, but he couldn’t ask. Luckily, his father looked at the books on the table and changed the subject. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Updating myself on marriage traditions. I’ll be proposing soon, so I’d better do it right.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched. He stood up. “I won’t keep you then. I’ll take care of this duel business, but next time, please, be more reasonable: scratch his cheek or something instead of slashing the whole chest. That won’t leave a scar.”

“That also won’t make him remember the lesson?” Adrien puffed.

Gabriel muffled a snort. “Good point. Alright. Good night, Adrien. Prepare well.”

“Good night, Father,” Adrien replied, standing up. His gut stirred. Something was off. His usually strict, taking-no-nonsense father was way more accepting and understanding about this whole ordeal than Adrien had expected. Why?

As Gabriel left, Adrien sat down and leaned back in his chair, trying to think. Father had hardly interfered with this whole “choosing a bride” business thus far. He was more of an outside observer with occasional step-ins. However, when it came to appropriate behaviour and traditions, his father was unbendable. The King’s reputation was everything to him. So then why was he willing to let go of his son’s rather serious misstep so easily this time?

Adrien groaned, dropping his head on a table. He was too tired for this. The previous, sleepless night was getting to him, so whatever it was, he’d had to ponder on it some other time. Right now, even the words in the book stopped making sense, sleep quickly overtaking him. He’d better get to his bed before succumbing to its embrace. That was the last thing Adrien was capable of today. The rest would have to wait.

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Searching My Dreams for a Lifetime; Chapter One (Criminal Minds)

                “A soul mate is… someone whose way of viewing life is not necessarily the same as yours but complements yours… there is not a compromise, there is a complement.”                 –Paul Robear

◊

        Another day, another case, and this one seemed to be particularly bad. JJ had dropped the file in Hotch’s office, and when he took one look at the pictures of the victims, he knew they needed help. Before she could leave, he had her calling the list of people he knew could consult on the case. Given the late hour, they’d brief the team in the morning, and be able to get where they needed to go before the end of the day.

        Something about the case had Hotch thinking that it was going to be different from the rest, but he could only wait until morning before they knew anything.

        Morning came, and he was again one of the first people in the office. JJ had beat him there and was setting up at the round table for the briefing.

        “I put in the call, and our consultant should be here not too long after the rest of the team,” she told her boss by way of greeting “I think she’ll need to come with us on this one.”

        “I agree,” Hotch nodded “who on the list was available?”

        “First one I called,” she replied “Dr. Amell from the University of Virginia. She’s the best in the country, in this field, and she readily agreed to help us. It’s between semesters, anyway, so she didn’t have any scheduling conflicts.”

        “Good,” he took a look at the file again “here’s hoping she can help.”

        The name, title, and mention of a teaching position, as well as her reputation, it invoked the mental image of an older woman. Someone who would be seasoned enough to handle the gruesome nature of the murders. Thankfully there was a decent enough amount of time between kills that they could examine each crime scene without worrying about another body dropping just yet.

        As the rest of the team was filing in, Hotch prepared for their reactions to what they were going to see. They dealt with gruesome deaths all the time, but this one was definitely on the list of some of the worst they’d see.

        “The police in Grand Rapids, Minnesota need our help,” JJ started “over the last three months, six victims have been found, all dumped in the surrounding state forests.”

        “Due to the nature of how they were found and what the M.E. determined to be their cause of death, we’ve had to call in a little extra help with this case.” Hotch told them, seeing the team grow confused “I should warn you, this is pretty gruesome, even for us.”

        With that, the images of their latest victim appeared on the screen.

        “Oh my god,” Emily gasped, and the expressions of each other member of the team matched her sentiment “what the hell happened?”

        “Something highly ritualized,” a new voice rang out from the doorway “and incredibly specific. Whoever did this believed she did something to deserve it.”

        Everyone turned to see a young woman, early thirties, standing in the doorway with a bag in one hand and cane in the other. Dark brown hair and light blue eyes hidden behind glasses, the visitors badge showed she wasn’t from the Bureau.

        “Dr. Amell, thank you for coming so soon,” JJ walked over to greet the woman, shaking her hand before turning to make introductions “Everyone, this is Doctor Shira Amell, the country’s top expert on occult history and symbols.”

        “This M.O. is something you recognize, Doctor?” Rossi asked, watching as she studied the screen intently, cane tapping as she walked closer.

        “Would recognize it instantly,” she nodded, turning to JJ and the rest of the team “is there an image of the victim from straight above?”

        “What is it?” Emily wondered as JJ found the right picture.

        “This is an old method of execution from Norway,” Shira explained “from the time of the Vikings. It’s called the ‘blood eagle’, and you can see why here.” With the image up on screen, the entire team could see that it looked as though the victim had sprouted wings.

        “How is this done?” Reid asked.

        “They would restrain the victim, face down, and carve the shape of an eagle with its wings extended into their back.” Shira explained as best she could “Then, they’d hack the ribs until they detached from the spine. The ribs would be pulled out to create the illusion of protruding wings. While still alive and in agony, the victim’s lungs would be pulled from the gaping hole and set over their ‘wings.’  This would cause their wings to ‘flutter’ as they took their final breaths and died.”

        “This is done while the victim is still alive?” Derek’s face was schooled in mostly neutrality, but the shock of the moment was still evident in his eyes “what makes you think the unsub thinks their victims deserved this?”

        “It’s a form of execution, a sacrifice to the god Odin,” Shira explained “while they might be bastardizing it for their own means, execution is execution. These women have to either be doing something that your unsub sees as unforgivable and worthy of the death penalty, or they represent someone who the unsub thinks deserves punishment.”

        “You know something of profiling.” Rossi mused.

        “It was once my goal to join the FBI,” Shira replied, a small smile tugging at her lips “and as a historian, profiling is a tool we also use to figure out motivations for things we find at dig sites and in texts we find.”

        “We’ll go over victimology on the plane,” Hotch declared, speaking up for the first time since Shira entered the room “Doctor Amell will be coming with us, to see evidence at the crime scene and help in any way she can. Wheels up in thirty.”

        Shira watched as the rest of the team stood and gathered their things, going out the door. Clearly ‘wheels up in thirty’ was the sign they were done briefing. Agent Hotchner was the first to leave, but he stopped not too far from her.

        “You can ride with Agents Prentiss and Morgan, Doctor,” he told her “we’ll see you on the plane.”

        Just like that, he left, leaving Shira and some of the other agents looking surprised.

        “Well, that was interesting,” Rossi mused, before going over to the young woman and offering his hand to her “thank you for agreeing to help us, Doctor. We could use it.”

        “Glad to help,” she replied, shaking the older agent’s hand “just…quick question before we get started; is Agent Hotchner always so purposefully distant?”

        “It’s just how he gets when it’s such a violent case,” Rossi promised “don’t let it get to you. Once we get on the ground and get to work, it’ll get easier.”

        She nodded, concerned, but deciding to go along with it.

~

        The entire ride to the airport, Hotch played over and over in his head what had happened, analyzing it from all angles. Why had seeing her set something off in him?

        The instant that Shira Amell had walked into the conference room, something went….’ping’, in him. A small part of him waking up, recognizing her, even though he knew he’d never seen her before. It was like the tales he’d once heard, about what it was like to see your soulmate for the first time, even when you didn’t know it was them.

        Hayley hadn’t been gone that long, only a year, and he was working a case that was extremely violent. He had no time for this.

        So why was it that every time he was looking at Shira, he felt like he was home?

~

        The flight was only two and a half hours, but there was a lot to go through in that time. Shira stayed tucked away, in her corner, going over every bit of evidence that they had that she could look at. She was still a civilian, after all.

        Which was why she was surprised when Agent Rossi, he insisted she call him David, called over to her.

        “Doctor Amell,” he spoke up “in your professional opinion, what sort of person would use this method to kill someone?”

        Looking up and seeing all the agents staring at her, Shira stood and walked over, settling in the seat next to Hotch.

        “Well, I’m not as versed in profiling as you all,” she started “but from what I know of what I was seeing, whoever this is? He’s angry, and has been for a long time.  It takes a lot of strength to be able to do something like this and rage to want the victim to suffer so much, but also a clear head and planning in order to abduct his victims and do something so complicated.”

        Whatever Shira had said, she could see it had made sense to them.

        “Who would have access to information about it?” Derek asked.

        “Anyone with an internet connection, really,” Shira replied, shrugging “but it really isn’t something you just stumble across by accident. You’d have to be looking for something involving Norse rituals or sacrifices.”

        “Makes sense, given that Minnesota has one of the larger populations of Norwegian-Americans in the country.” Reid declared.

        “It’s one of the reasons the Minnesota NFL team is called the Vikings,” she agreed “it’s a major part of life in the state, that heritage. So, your unsub is likely someone intensely dedicated to researching it.”

        “Doesn’t exactly narrow down the pool of suspects.” Emily mused.

        “It’s still a start,” Hotch declared, still looking at his papers before looking up at his team “Dave, you take Reid and JJ to the station, I’ll go with Morgan and Prentiss to the latest crime scene.”

        There was silence for a moment as Shira looked to the other members of the team, missing the ‘look’ that Rossi gave Derek before subtly nodding at Hotch.

        “Doctor Amell, you should join us,” Derek spoke up, earning her and Hotch’s attention “if there’s something there that’s significant to the ritual, you’d spot it before we could.”

        “Or anything else specific to Viking rituals,” Emily added “you’d said earlier there was a possibility the unsub was using the blood eagle method for his own uses and not because of the historical significance, so any other things he might have cherry-picked might say something about him.”

        “It’d do some good to see the site first-hand,” Shira nodded “something’s bothering me about the runes that I can’t quite put my finger on, so seeing it in person might help figure it out.”

        With the plan in place, everyone settled back into what they were doing, so they could hit the ground running once they landed. In order to concentrate, taking a cue from Derek, Shira popped in her own headphones and turned on music.

~

        With half an hour left in the flight, Rossi decided it was as good a time as any to try and see what the hell Hotch’s problem was. Now, the older FBI agent wasn’t a blind man, he knew that Doctor Amell was a lovely young woman, but there was more to it than that, as far as Hotch and his attitude was concerned.

        “Okay, kid, be honest with me here,” Rossi quietly demanded, straight out of the gate and safely on the other side of the plane from the woman in question “what the hell’s going on?”

        “What are you talking about?” Hotch replied, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at his friend and coworker.

        “How you’re treating Doctor Amell,” the other man explained “like a damn teenager ignoring his crush or something. She IS here to help us, you know.”

        “I know that,” the younger agent snapped, immediately slightly glaring “I’m trying to keep things professional on a very violent case.”

        “And that involves not talking to her?” Rossi questioned, quirking an eyebrow before his tone softened “kid, what’s going on with you?”

        “I have no idea,” Hotch sighed, glancing over Rossi’s shoulder to where Shira was sitting, absorbed in music and the photos from each crime scene “I saw her come in and just….”

        “Okay, just try treating her like the lead detective on a case,” Rossi offered “or a new agent. Somewhat distant, but still in a way that she knows you don’t hate her?”

        Hotch didn’t say anything in reply, and Rossi wondered whether or not….no, did it actually happen? Had Hotch finally found his soul-mate in the young historian? It would explain everything. He’d have to observe and see how Hotch and Shira interacted, see what the chemistry between them was like.

        The rest of the team saw it, too, so maybe a betting pool to keep their minds off how bad the case was would come up. He’d have to suggest it.

        Though if Hotch found out about it, he’d kick all of their asses.

~

        The ride to the latest crime scene was, to say the least, one of the more awkward ones that Emily and Derek had been on. With Doctor Amell in the front with Hotch, both of them in the back, both Derek and Emily could feel the slight tension. They had a while before they’d reach the state park, and had agreed that the tension couldn’t last that long.

        “So, what got you interested in studying history, Doctor?” Emily asked, to break the silence “hell of a career you’ve made for yourself with it.”

        “I was a pretty active kid until my late teens,” Shira replied, looking in the rearview mirror to watch Emily “that’s when my hip, sight, and hypermobility problems started in earnest, and I knew I needed to change my career plans. History was always my best subject in school, so my teacher helped me plan out my studies, and how to pick a focus.”

        “No small feat, to get your doctorate before your thirties,” Derek declared, smiling at Shira’s grateful smile “lot of late nights?”

        “I think I’m still not caught up after all the all-nighters,” Shira laughed “it helps that I had a great mentor during my doctorate work. Going to digs wasn’t easy, but that just provided more motivation. I wasn’t going to let myself fall into the rut of thinking I couldn’t do anything an able-bodied person could.”

        “Did your doctors find the cause of your health problems?” Hotch asked, surprising Emily and Derek. Shira turned and gave Hotch a look of surprise, yet not in a negative fashion.

        “Not until I was in grad school, sadly,” she answered “I have EDS, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Brittle Cornea Syndrome subset.”

        “Genetic disorder affecting your joints and, with BCS, your sight,” he mused, giving her a glance “pretty rare. Explains why it took so long.”

        “Had to run quite a few tests,” Shira nodded “first in my family.”

        “No hypotonia reactions?” Hotch questioned, just to be sure.

        “Thankfully not unless I push myself too far,” she replied “which I’ve learned how to avoid.”

        “Hypotonia?” Emily asked, finally finding her voice and a moment to butt in.

        “Muscle weakness,” Shira explained “it means I lack muscle tone. I can’t do much exercise or exertion of any kind for long periods of time. Though I can go for a good while, walking or standing, now that I know how to operate within my limits.”

        “That’s damn impressive,” Derek added, surprise finally leaving his face “We’re lucky to have you.”

        “I’m just glad to help.” Shira replied, turning and giving him a small smile, before looking out to the road ahead.

        When silence fell on the car again, Emily and Derek looked at each other in wordless amazement. That conversation was the most that Hotch had spoken to Shira in the entire time she had been with them. Maybe there was something to what Rossi had told them, after all.

        There wasn’t time to dwell on it, though, as they found themselves at the state park soon enough. The dump site wasn’t too far from the entrance, but it was enough of a hike. As they all got out, Derek lingered behind to make sure that Shira was steady on her feet.

        “You gonna be alright with the hike?” he asked, earning an amused and exasperated glance.

        “I’ll be fine,” she replied, smiling “it’s not that far. I’ve walked further on campus getting from my office to my car. Thank you for the concern, though, Agent Morgan. It’s sweet of you.”

        Throwing her hair up in a quick half-bun for the hike and work ahead, she gave Derek another smile before walking over to join Hotch, and be introduced to the local PD.

        “There’s definitely something between them,” Emily mused quietly, walking up to stand next to Derek “can tell by their body language.”

        “She definitely became more comfortable around him when Hotch showed he knew about her condition,” Derek agreed, seeing just how close their boss was standing next to Shira “must be rare to find anyone who knows about it outside the medical community.”

        “Yet another tick in the ‘Rossi might be right’ box.” Emily teased, before they joined Hotch and Shira, and all started the hike to the dump site. It was short, compared to most others, and Emily and Derek hung back as Hotch spoke to the detective. Mainly listening, they also watched Hotch and Shira work together. As Hotch spoke, Shira walking beside him, they could see Hotch seem to hover closer to her, though resisting the urge to touch. Maybe he was resisting the urge to help her, with the revelation of her chronic illness. Maybe it was something else.

        As they arrived on scene, everyone split up to do their respective jobs, with Shira staying close to a detective. As the agents did their own work, she walked the perimeter, observing each tree that sigils had been painted onto. Having been given permission to take photos with a police camera, Shira became absorbed in her own investigation. Looking at the way the sigils were painted, trying to find how the strokes were done. she focused on everything as though she was looking at a dig site.

        “Look at spacing, details,” she muttered, side-stepping officers and evidence markers, making sure to note the distance between the center and each tree “nothing’s too small…”

        Looking closely at one of the sigils, Shira noticed something that seemed off. On closer examination, she could see that the tree itself was carved with the same shape before being painted over. Taking close-up shots immediately, her brain going through the different reasons it could happen, she turned while looking down at the camera. Looking up at the sound of footsteps, she narrowly avoided collision with an evidence technician.

        Twist, pivot, and the familiar sensation of a joint out of socket.

        She nearly went down, wincing in pain, before the technician caught her.

~

        The sound of a cane clattering on stone had Hotch whipping around. Seeing Shira in the hands of a technician, wincing in pain, he was over like a shot. Knowing what he did about her condition, he could only assume one of her joints started to act up.

        “Doctor Amell?” He asked, tone showing his concern as he took over offering her support.

        “Just get me somewhere where I’m sitting, please,” she muttered, one hand clutching the camera tight as the other went to her hip “I can take care of this.”

        A bit doubtful, Hotch did as she asked anyway, bringing her over to a tree stump and helping her sit down. As Derek and Emily came over to check on the situation, Shira was quick to adjust herself, hands coming to her thigh and hip as she got a hold of them.

        “Next part isn’t for the easily squeamish,” she warned, offering a wry smile as she stared at an unseen horizon point “though I know you guys aren’t, with what you see every day.”

        Derek was about to ask what she meant when, with a swift motion and grunt of pain, she put her femur joint back into her hip socket.

        “Okay, what the hell?” Derek muttered, watching Shira put her head between her knees and take some deep breaths “how often do you have to do that?”

        “Depends on the day,” she replied, relaxing a bit more as she felt a comforting hand on her back “or what happens. I’ll be okay. Got enough while walking around that I can sit and try to organize my thoughts.”

        Looking up, she saw that Hotch had been the one to put his hand on her back, and she offered him a small smile.

        “My hero,” she muttered after Derek and Emily had turned away “thanks for your help.”

        “Wasn’t about to let you hop over by yourself, though I’m sure you could have,” he replied, giving a small, wry smile “take your time. We’ll be here for a while.”

        Shira nodded, watching Hotch stand as he walked back over to where he had been. She thanked the technician who brought her cane over, before starting to look through the camera. 

        From a distance, Hotch watched her, marveling at the strength of the woman helping them. Smart, unfazed by violence, high tolerance for pain, and somehow able to get under his skin with even the smallest moments and words. Shira Amell was an awe-inspiring woman all her own, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated, and impressed.

        There was the case to focus on, but he knew he’d keep getting distracted, so he came to a decision.

        Stand by Shira, work with her, get to know her. With this case, she was the key to helping solve it. Yet she matched the victimology almost to the letter.

        She needed to be protected.

◊

                “I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star.”                 – Emery Allen

∞

[angelsandacceptance]

Wishful Thinking

“It just doesn't make any sense, Dean. I mean, why would Uriel tell me you remembered Hell if you didn't?” Sam asks for what seems like the thousandth time.

The girls roll their eyes in synch at the boys’ antics. They all sit at a table in a bar, drinking various things, as well as picking apart a plate of fries. 

Dean downs another shot. “Maybe because he's a dick. Might have something to do with it.”

“Maybe, but he’s still an angel.”

“Yeah, an angel who was ready to level a whole town. Look, I don’t know what-” “Radical,” The waiter says, coming up to their table right at that moment. “What else can I get for you?”

“Uh, I think we’re good,” Sam says. 

“Speak for yourself,” Chase says. “I’d like whatever dessert you’d recommend, unless pie is an option. Pie is life. And I’ll take another few rounds of these,” she finishes, pushing a couple of now empty shot glasses towards him. 

“A few more meaning?”

“Six.”

The waiter, looking slightly startled, walks away. 

“Sam, honestly, I have no idea why Uriel told you what he did, okay?” Dean says, finishing what he was trying to say earlier. 

“Right,” Sam says, unconvinced. 

“What?” Dean asks. 

“You gotta see it from our point of view, Dean,” Chase says. “You’re not sounding very believable. Right, Harley?”

“I think if Dean isn’t ready to talk about it we shouldn’t pry.” Harley answers.

“I’m fine talking,” Dean says gruffly. “I just don’t remember anything.”

“Okay. Fine. Then look me in the eye and tell me you don't remember a thing from your time down under,” Sam says, continuing to grill him despite Harley’s efforts.

“I don't remember a thing from my time down under. I don't remember, Sam!”

“Look, Dean, we just want to help.”

“You guys know everything I do, okay? That’s all there is.”

“Outstanding!” The waiter exclaims, coming back over with a tray. “Here’s your dessert and drinks, and is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Dude,” Dean says, looking at the waiter.

“Look, bros, you’ve got to try our ice cream extreme. It’s extreme.”

“Uh, no, no extremities please. Just the-”

“Check? Awesome, alright!”

Sam huffs, causing Chase to smile. He’s always hated getting interrupted. “Thanks.”

“Alright, so where do we go from here?” Harley asks once the waiter has disappeared. 

“I'm not sure. Uh, looks like it's been pretty quiet lately. No signs of demon activity, no omens or portents I can see,” Sam says.

“Hey, some good news for once!” Chase says, throwing back the second shot already.

“Yeah, just the typical smattering of crank UFO sightings and one possible vengeful spirit. Here, check this out. Uh... Up in Concrete, Washington, eyewitness reports of a ghost that's been haunting the showers of a women's health facility.” Dean chokes on his drink. “The victim claims that the ghost threw her down a flight of stairs. I can see you're very interested.”

“Women, showers,” Dean says. “We got to save these people.”

“Really, Dean?” Chase asks in disgust. “At least be better at pretending you want to actually just help.”

“What?” Dean asks in feign innocence. “We gotta help ‘em.”

***

“I'm not surprised the spirit world chose to make contact with me. I'm something of a... natural sensitive.” Candace, the victim, says.

“I can sense that about you, Candace, that whole... sensitive thing.” Sam responds.

“So, what did you say you're calling your book?”

“Oh, well, um... Well, the working title is... ‘Supernatural.’ Yeah, We've been crossing the country, gathering stories like yours. But, anyways, you were telling us about your encounter.”

“Yes. Well…” Candace sighs, “Once I saw the apparition, that's when I started to run.”

Sam and Chase notice a peculiar couple making out across the divider. Peculiar in the sense that the woman was way out of the man’s league. Sam keeps staring confused while Chase quickly adverts her gaze and scrunches her nose, a habit of hers whenever she’s uncomfortable. Chase elbows Sam because despite being weird, there isn’t anything paranormal about the couple.

“So the ghost chased you?” Chase asks.

“Not just that. It knew my name. It kept yelling, "Mrs. Armstrong! Mrs. Armstrong!" And that's when I hit the stairs and fell.” Candace responded.

“You fell?” Sam asks. “It didn’t push you?.”

“Oh, I don't – I don't know. I mean, I think it did. Maybe?”

Chase rolls her eyes. ‘Great.’

“Did you feel like it meant to hurt you, like it was violent, or anything like that?” Chases questions.

               “It was a ghost. I'm lucky to be alive. Anyway, I was at the bottom of the stairs, and that's when it got weird. It helped me up.” Candace says slightly chuckling.

               “Say again?” Sam asks.

               “Yeah. It helped me up. And it kept saying over and over, ‘Please, don't tell my mom.’”

Chase snorts at this, earning a look from Candace. “Sorry, that’s just an odd thing for it to say.”

“It is weird,” she agrees. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Weird.”

***

“You take the stairwell and I’ll take the showers.” Harley says, getting out of the Impala.

“Come on, why can’t I take the showers?” Dean asks, getting out as well.

“Um… I don’t know because you’re you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, slightly offended.

“Look Dean. It’s not happening, period.”

“You know you’re hot when you know what you want,” Dean says, sneaking up and hugging her from behind.

“No amount of flattery or affection is going to get you into those showers.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Dean relents, letting go of Harley, pouting.

***

Harley and Dean sat on the steps of the fitness center waiting for Sam and Chase. Dean had found a newspaper and was looking through it. The headline said that a local man had won the lottery.

“Well, you pick up anything?” Sam asks them.

“Nada,” Harley sighs.

“Yeah. I'm not surprised. I kind of got the feeling back there that crazy pushed Mrs. Armstrong down the stairs.” 

“I got to tell you, I'm pretty disappointed.” Dean adds.

“Of course you are,” Chase says rolling her eyes.

Dean and Harley got up and the four began making their way back to their respective cars. A kid ran by followed by three others.

“Come on, guys, get him!” One of the presumably bullies says.

“I got him! I got him!” Another yells.

Dean being Dean has to make a reference and calls after the kid running from the others, “Run, Forrest, run!”

“I don't think anything's going on around here,” Chase says. “Maybe for once we get a break?”

“When do we ever get breaks?” Harley asks.

“Never,” Chase sighs dramatically.

The hunters overhear a man arguing with a cop on the pier, “How the hell was I supposed to get a look at it? It grabbed me from behind and threw me into a tree!”

“Something's going on,” Dean comments.

“Yeah, okay, Gus. I understand you got shook up. Anyone would be. But don't you think it – Don't you think it had to be a bear?” The cop asks.

“I know a damn bear track when I see one! This thing didn't leave bear tracks! Its feet were huge!” Gus answers.

“Now, Gus…”

“It was Bigfoot, Hal – The Bigfoot!”

At this the group started walking towards Gus and Hal.

“Gus, you're not talking sense here.”

“There's a Bigfoot out there, damn it, and he's a son of a bitch!”

“Excuse us, FBI,” Sam says, breaking the ice as they all pull out their badges.

“What?” Hal, the cop, responds.

“We’re here about Bigfoot,” Harley states matter-of-factly.

“About Bigfoot?”

“Yes.” Harley promptly turns towards Gus. “Can you tell me exactly where this happened?”

“Why, yes, I can,” Gus says, shooting a victorious look to the cop

***

“What the hell's going on in this town? First there's a ghost that's not real, and now a Bigfoot sighting?” Dean asks. 

The four hunters wander through the forest, near where Gus said he’d spotted Bigfoot. Mosquitos swarm around them, trees densely surrounding the few miles around. Chase, already sick of being in the woods, was already bitten several times by the annoying bugs. 

“Well, every hunter who’s worth their salt knows Bigfoot’s a hoax,” Sam says.

“Chase, didn’t you used to actually believe in Bigfoot?” Dean asks.

“Only because you told me he did!” Chase retorts. “Everything else is real, so I’m sorry if my seven-year-old self decided to believe her older brother.”

“In all fairness, he could just be really good at staying under the radar. I mean we didn’t think angels were real. Now we’ve met Cas and that asshole brother of his.” Harley adds.

“Well, maybe someone’s pumping LSD into the town water supply,” Dean jokes. 

“Then what made those?” Chase asks, stopping suddenly, pointing at large tracks, which couldn’t possibly have been made by a bear.

“That, uh... is a big foot.” Sam says hesitantly.

“Well, okay then,” Chase says. 

“Bigfoot isn’t looking so crazy all of the sudden,” Harley states.

The hunters begin following the tracks to a liquor store. Upon entering they notice that no one else is there and that the place is ransacked.

“So, what – Bigfoot breaks into a liquor store, jonesing for some hooch?” Dean says, before leaning down to inspect a few broken bottles, “Amaretto and Irish cream. He's a girl-drink drunk.”

Harley rolls her eyes at the comment.

“Dean, as a female, you should be and definitely are fully aware that I can match you in alcohol consumption. And Harley could probably outdrink all of us if she actually drank.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Chase raises an eyebrow. “Choose your next words very, very carefully, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he simply turns around to keep investigating. “Seriously? He took the whole porno rack? I will repeat myself. What is going on in this town?”

After one final sweep of the place, they found some fur and decided to sit outside, pondering what this all meant.

“I got nothing,” Dean says, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

“It’s got to be a joke, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah,” Chase agrees. “Maybe a big-ass motherfucker in a gorilla suit?”

“Probably,” Harley agrees.

“Or it's a Bigfoot. You know, and he's some kind of a alcoholo-porno addict. Kind of like a deep-woods Duchovny.” Dean adds.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Bigfoot,” Harley teases.

Dean gives her a pointed look. “Yeah, well, it seems everything’s getting weirder by the day, so what else am I supposed to believe?” He frowns, looking past Harley, to see a little girl on a bike, riding past. A porno magazine falls out of the basket attached to her bike, causing all four of the hunters to pause. “A little young for Busty Asian Beauties.”

“I don’t think she’s our Bigfoot, but she might know him. I say we follow her.”

***

“What's this, like a ‘Harry and the Hendersons’ deal?” Dean asks when they arrive at the little girl’s house.

They knock on the door and the little girl answers, “Hello?”

“Hello! Um, could we... You know what? Are your parents home?” Sam asks.

“Nope.”

“No,” Chase repeats in dejection. 

“Look, we just want to know if you’ve seen anyone really furry with big feet?” Harley says, probably a little too sharply. She’s never been particularly great with kids.

“Is he in trouble?” The little girl asks worriedly.

“No, of course not,” Chase says, kneeling down to the girl’s height. “We just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Exactly!” Dean says.

“He’s my teddy bear,” she says. “I think he’s sick.”

“That’s perfect!” Chase says enthusiastically. “Because, we are… teddy bear doctors!” She bluffs, shooting a look back to have the others cover her ass.

“That’s us, teddy bear doctors, so if we could see your teddy bear we might be able to make him better,” Harley quickly says.

“Really?” The little girl asks.

“Really,” Chase says.

***

“He's in my bedroom. He's pretty grumpy,” Audrey says, knocking on the door. “Teddy? There's some nice doctors here to see you.” She opens the door to show a giant stuffed bear turn to them. 

“Close the fucking door!” the bear explains, causing Chase’s eyes to widen. She glances quickly at Audrey, hoping she wasn’t taking note of the language being used. Audrey quickly closes the door and turns back to the hunters with a shrug.

“See what I mean?” she asks. 

The four hunters, disguised as teddy bear doctors, turn to each other skeptically. They follow Audrey into the living room, allowing them to sit and talk to her. 

“All I ever wanted was a teddy which was big, real, and talked. But now he's sad all the time – not "ouch" sad, but ouch-in-the-head sad – says weird stuff, and smells like the bus,” Audrey explains to the four, who all watch her carefully. 

Chase snorts, “I understand that feeling.”

“Little girl,” Dean starts.

“Audrey!” Audrey exclaims, chastising Dean again for not using her name. 

“Audrey,” Dean corrects, “How exactly did your teddy bear become real?”

“I wished for it,” she says simply, as though it would be obvious.

“You wished for it?” Harley asks hesitantly.

“At the wishing well,” Audrey says, further explaining. 

They stand awkwardly outside the bedroom door, looking to each other nervously. Dean opens the door slightly, allowing all four to peer in. A large teddy bear sits on the bed, facing a loud tv, displaying the news. 

“Look at this,” the bear says, gesturing to the propaganda being spewed to the viewers. “You believe this crap?”

Dean raises his brows, pursing his lips slightly. “Not really.”

“It is a terrible world,” the bear continues to moan. “Why am I here?”

“For tea parties!” Audrey exclaims expectantly and excitedly. 

“Tea parties? Is that all there is?” he demands, gunfire on the tv momentarily distracting him enough for Dean to close the door and turn to Audrey. 

“Audrey,” Sam asks. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Okay,” she says, skipping off to the other room. 

“Okay,” Sam repeats, turning back to others. “Should-should we kill this bear?”

“I think it might kill itself,” Harley says, grimacing.

“I hate to agree, but I agree,” Chase sighs. 

“So what? We leave it alone?” Dean asks.

“I mean I don’t know,” Harley says.

“What would we even do? Shoot it? Burn it?” Chase asks sarcastically. 

“How do we even know that's gonna work? I don't want some giant, flaming, pissed-off teddy on our hands,” Dean says. 

“Yeah. Besides, I get the feeling that the bear isn't really the, you know, core problem here,” Sam sighs. They quickly make their way to Audrey. “Audrey. Where are your parents?”

She pauses a moment. “My mom wished they were in Bali, so I think they're in Bali.”

Chase’s eyes widen. “I wish I could do that.”

“Okay, well... I'm really sorry to have to break this to you, but... your bear is sick. Yeah, he's – he's got…” Sam pauses, shooting a look to all the other

“Depre-” Harley starts. Chase smacks a palm over her best friend’s mouth, her eyes cursing at her, as she has to improvise. 

“Lollipop...disease,” Chase forces out, thinking of the most innocent seeming idea. 

“Yeah!” Sam says, jumping on board. “Lollipop disease.”

“It's not uncommon for a bear his size. But, see, it's – it’s really contagious,” Dean explains. 

“Yeah, so, is there – is there someone, maybe a grown-up, that you can stay with while we treat him?” Sam asks. 

“Mrs. Hurley lives down the street,” Audrey says. 

Chase shoots Harley a disgusted  look, only now tearing her hand away, because Harley licked it. Chase wipes it on Harley’s shoulder, earning an eye roll from the boys as Harley tries to contain her laughter. 

“Perfect,” Dean says. 

“Good, yeah, good. Uh, we'd like you to stay there for a few days, okay?” Sam requests. 

Audrey shrugs, nonplussed. “Okay.”

“Oh, and, Audrey? Where is this wishing well?” Chase asks. 

***

The four hunters stare up at the sign, reading Lucky Chin's Chinese Restaurant, wordlessly sending each other furtive glances, not wishing to go inside. Eventually, the girls wander over to the door and pull it open, allowing the boys to step in, just as a child exits. 

“I know what I’m wishing for,” Harley says as soon as they step in making a beeline to the fountain.

“What are you going to wish for?” Sam asks as the other three follow Harley.

“I can’t tell you until after I make my wish.” She rolls her eyes and throws a coin in.

They wait a minute.

“Did it work?” Dean asks.

“Dunno? I don’t really feel any different.” Harley says, “I guess it did?”

“What did you wish for?” Sam asks.

“To be human.”

The three  Winchesters stare at her in shock. 

“Are you sure that was smart? All these wishes seem to be going awry, and you don’t know the kind of repercussions that could result from you wanting that-” Chase rambles in worry, concern filling her brown eyes as she stares at her best friend. Harley interrupts her, holding a hand up. “Sorry.”

“Well, my turn then,” Dean says, stepping forward. 

“What’re you wishing for?” Sam asks, curious. 

“Shh,” Dean holds up a hand. “Not supposed to tell.”

He tosses a coin in and not even a second later, a man walks in, “Somebody order a footlong Italian with jalapeño?”

Dean grins at the others, before holding his hand up slightly. “That’d be me.”

“Why don’t you wish for something?” Harley asks Chase. 

Chase shrugs. “I dunno what to wish for.”

“How about like, a book, or cat ears, or something.”

“Sure, let me just ask for a headband,” Chase laughs, fishing a coin out of her pocket.

Pulling out a quarter, she approaches the wishing well. Tossing in the coin silently, she waits with bated breath, a hand outstretched, awaiting her cat ears. She frowns, turning around. 

“I guess they don’t all work,” she shrugs. 

Harley snickers, pointing at her head. “They’re right there.”

Chase reaches up, and pulls off a headband, cat ears that match her hair -dark brown with red streaks. She smiles before resituating them on her head. “Okay, cool, so what do we do about this?”

“I don’t know. Stopping people’s wishes from coming true sounds like a dick move.”

The four went to sit in a booth and talk things over.

“I’m guessing this is also a result,” Chase says, gesturing to the headlines in the newspaper.

“And that,” Sam agrees, pointing to a couple over at a different table. 

“Unless he’s got a really great personality or he’s rich, definitely,” Harley adds.

“Yeah, ‘personality’,” Dean says.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Dean winks at Harley from across the booth. Chase snorts. Dean turns his look to Chase, a frown settling across his face as he glares at her playfully. Chase shrugs in defense, reaching a hand up to readjust her cat ears. 

Dean takes a bite of his sandwich, moaning slightly. He points to it with a full mouth and a wide grin. “Thish ish good.”

“Ew,” Chase says. “Close your mouth, swallow, and then say something. God, Dean.”

Dean just grins at her wider. 

Sam rolls his eyes and interrupts. “So, you’re right, it seems like a dick move, but come on, man. When has something like this ever come without a price tag? And usually a deadly one.”

“Sam’s got a point,” Harley says.

“I don't know. It's a damn good sandwich. All right. Fine. We'll put a hold on the wishing till we figure out what's going on,” Dean sighs. 

“Uh, sir, sir, I’m sorry,” a worker comes over to their table. “We don’t allow people to eat outside food here.”

“Well, I am certainly not gonna eat the inside food here. Health department. You, my friend, have a rat infestation. We're gonna have to shut this place down under emergency hazard code 56C.”

Chase raises a brow, but then nods solemnly, trying to play along. 

“Rats?” The man exclaims in shock. 

***

The four hunters stand side by side, looking into the now-drained fountain. The buddha is plaster, paint peeling from its old, wearied edges, the smile thoroughly creeping out Chase. She looks away from it, scanning the bottom of the fountain, but nothing seems out of place. 

“Typical fountain, plaster Buddha. Nothing I can see,” Dean says.

“Yes,” the chinese worker says, agreeing enthusiastically. “Nothing. We keep a clean place here.”

“Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave during the preliminary investigation, okay? Thank you,” Sam says. The man leaves, though a sour look adorns his face. 

“Oh, come on. Aren't you a little bit tempted?” Dean asks, flipping a coin to Sam. 

Sam chuckles lightly, handing the coin back to Dean. “No. Wouldn’t be real. I wouldn’t trust it.”

“I don’t know, that bear seemed pretty real,” Chase says. 

“Wasn’t the bear a depressed drunk?” Harley asks. 

Chase waves her off. “No matter.”

“Come on, if you could wish yourself back, you know, before it all started... Think about it. You'd be some big yuppie lawyer with a nice car and a white picket fence,” Dean says, ignoring the girls’ deliberation. 

“Not what I’d wish for,” Sam says. 

“Seriously?” Dean looks at Sam, surprised. 

“It's too late to go back to our old lives, Dean. I'm not that guy anymore,” Sam deadpans. 

“All right, well, what, then? Hmm? What would little, baby Sammy wish for?” Chase asks, teasing her younger brother.

He looks at her, a serious expression on his face. It causes Chase to pause. “Lilith’s head on a plate. Bloody.”

Harley attempts to whistle lowly, forgetting she can’t whistle at all. “Shit, I’d like that too.”

“Also,” Sam says, lightening up slightly, “You’re by far, much smaller than me.”

Chase rolls her eyes, pouting slightly. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks, pointing to an old coin at the bottom of the fountain. 

The three others turn to look at it closely, unsure of what it is. 

“Some kind of old coin. I don't recognize the markings,” Sam says. 

“Neither do I,” Harley adds. 

Dean bends over and goes to grab it, but can’t seem to pull it off the fountain floor. “Damn,” he grunts, unable to move it at all.

“Lift with your legs,” Sam jokes. 

“That little fucker really is welded on there,” Dean says. 

“Let me try,” Harley says, attempting to pick up the coin. It didn’t even budge. “Noted, I’m not freakishly strong anymore. Guess I really am human.”

The boys left to grab a crowbar and a mallet. The worker attempted to stop them once he saw the tools, but the boys brushed past him.

“Let me see that. I got an idea,” Dean says referring to the mallet, he already had the crowbar. He wedged the end of the crowbar between the coin and the fountain, and hit the mallet against the crowbar. The head of the mallet flew off almost hitting Harley in the face.

“That was close. Too close,” Harley says once the mallet head lands.

“Coin's magical,” Sam says.

“I’d say,” Chase agrees.

“I think it’s hoodoo that keeps it protected,” Dean adds. “We can’t destroy it.”

Sam apparently keeps a pencil and paper on him and takes a frottage of the coin handing it to Dean as he was closest to Sam.

“All right, here. Y’all got to look into this.” Sam adds.

“Where you going?” Dean asks.

“Something just occurred to me.”

***

Chase sits, leaning against the wall of her and Harley’s motel room as she waits for her best friend. For some reason, Harley is sick. She’s sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting until she gets sick again, her head resting against the cabinet door, next to the toilet. 

Chase herself didn’t feel the greatest. Her head pounded and her ears were ringing. A click lets her know that Harley is exiting the bathroom and Chase sits up straighter, trying to ignore how sensitive to the light her eyes are. 

“Feeling any better?”

Harley shakes her head. “Not really.”

“Any idea what it could be?”

Harley shakes her head again, sighing deeply. “It could be something bloodborne. Something I picked up from a bad blood bag?”

“Yep, no superhuman strength, no immunities, and you’re probably not going to get any better soon.”

Harley looks up, a retort on her lips, but it dies upon her eyes landing on Chase. She stares, eyes wide, at her best friend. “Chase, you-your ears.”

Chase frowns. “What about them?” She asks, reaching up to readjust them. However, when she feels her fingertips meet them, she freezes. Her ears twitch, and a strangled cry escapes her lips as she bolts up, running into the bathroom. She stares at her reflection with wide, horrified eyes.

“I have cat ears!”

“Well, that is what you wished for,” Harley says, obviously trying to keep herself from laughing.

“No wonder my head hurts! These ears are just super sensitive to everything.”

Chase exits the bathroom, and upon Harley meeting her gaze, eyes flicking up to her ears, before meeting her eyes once more, Harley can no longer contain herself. 

Harley bursts into laughter, wincing as her sides begin to ache, abdominal pain starting up, causing her to clutch her sides.

“You okay?” Chase asks.

“No, but I’ll manage.” Harley says, pulling out her phone and dialing Dean’s number, “I found something on the coin though, before I puked my guts out.”

“The wishes turn bad,” Dean says as soon as he picks up.

“Trust me. We know,” Harley sighs, putting Dean on speakerphone.

“What happened to you two?”

“Chase is a neko, and we think I have some bloodborne illness. You?’

“That sandwich made me sick.”

“Anyway the reason I called you is because I found out the coin is Babylonian. It’s of the goddess Tiamat.”

“At least we have a starting point now,” Chase says.

***

The four hunters arrived at Wesley Mondale’s house. Sam had figured out he was the first to make a wish last night. Harley rang the doorbell and Hope, Wesley’s fiancée, opened the door. 

“Hi! Hope right? We’re the florists.” Harley says flashing her best fake smile and pepping up her attitude.

“Of course! Come in!” Hope says ushering the group inside, “Wes! You didn't tell me that you called the florists for the wedding.” 

“Huh?” Wesley says looking as if he just woke up.

“You're the best! Mmm! Ah! I'm gonna go get my folders.” Hope says rushing off.

“Uh? Okay.”

“Wesley, how's it going?” Dean asks.

“It’s ‘Wes’ Aren't you the guys from the health department?”

“Yeah. And florists on the side,” Sam says.

“Plus FBI,” Dean adds.

“And on Thursdays, we're teddy bear doctors,” Chase says.

“And sometimes I’m a vampire. We’re kind of Jacks of all trades,” Harley finishes.

“Huh? Why does she have cat ears?” Wesley asks, pointing at Chase.

Chase frowns, feigning offense. “It’s a medical condition.”

Wesley turns slightly pink, but looks confused still. “Sorry,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes glued to anything except Chase’s “condition”. 

“Look, Wes, it doesn’t matter who we are. It matters what we know about you,” Harley says pointedly.

“So, coin collector, huh, Wes?” Sam asks.

“Oh. Yeah. My... grandfather gave them to me,” Wes says.

“Did you happen to lose one of those coins lately? And by ‘lose,’ I mean drop into a wishing well at Lucky Chin's and make a wish on it?” Dean asks.

“No, I – I don't know what you're, uh, talking about.”

Hope comes back with folders overflowing with papers.

“Okay, now. I have a lot of ideas, but, you know, we don't have all the money in the world. Wes is between jobs right now. Means more time for me. You know, I'm thinking a Japanese-y ikebana kind of thing,” Hope says, pulling a picture out of one of the folders.

“Yeah. I can see it,” Dean says trying to get rid of her.

“Yeah. So, Hope, uh, tell us how you two lovebirds met,” Chase suggests.

“Oh, best day of my life,” Hope says.

“I bet,” Harley says, trying her best to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Yeah! It's the funniest thing. We both grew up here, but I never really knew who he was. Not by name anyway. Until one day last month, it was like I just I just saw him for the first time. He was just... glowing. Oh, just glowing.”

“Uh, babe, can you – can you get us some coffee?” Wes asks.

“Yes. Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. Okay. Mm-Hmm. Okay. Oh, okay. Oh. Mm-mmm, okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay,” Wes says amidst the many many kisses Hope is giving him. Chase looks away, slightly disgusted and feeling awkward.

“Yeah.”

“Wes, we know. So tell us the truth,” Harley says. 

“My – my grandfather found the coin in north Africa, you know, World War II. And, uh, he brought it back. He, um, he said it was a real wish-granting coin, but that nobody should ever use it. Um... It was all I had, and when he died, I thought, "Well, you know what? Why not give the coin a shot?” Wesley explains.

“Yeah, well, now you're gonna wish it back,” Sam demands.

“Oh,” he laughs, “Oh. Ha ha, no, I'm not.”

“If you don’t do something about it, something bad’s gonna happen,” Dean says.

“Something like us,” Chase adds, crossing her arms. 

“We really wish you'd come with us,” Dean says, pulling out his gun, then putting it away again.

***

“I don’t get how anyone could wish for love,” Harley says, starting the flow of conversation.

Chase pauses, momentarily thinking of her answer. “To be honest, I don’t either. I don’t believe in love really, outside of family, so I’m not quite sure it’s something I’d ever think of. I’d probably wish for books.”

“Didn’t you already have a wish?”

“Oh. Right. Man, really wasted that opportunity.”

“Any specific books?”

“All of them?” Chase suggests jokingly. “I don’t think I’d be able to choose. Watch, the bad thing that happens is I get all the books, but I get a panic attack because I know I could never read them all so I die. Or they fall on top of me and crush me. That would be bad too.”

“I mean that’s one way to go. Suck that these wishes go bad though. It would’ve been nice to just have one good one.”

“I understand what you mean,” Chase replies, her ears twitching at the sound of another passing car. 

Harley laughs at the twitching ears, but soon regrets it as her stomach flares up again, “Ow! Okay being human kind of sucks.”

“Wow,” Chase says sarcastically. “Because I’ve never told you that before or anything. Because I’ve never expressed dissatisfaction with being human ever.”

“Okay fair, but like all I’ve ever wanted was to be human.”

“That’s also fair, but in the words of my favorite jamaican crustacean, ‘the seaweed is always greener in somebody else’s lake’,” Chase half-sings the quote.

“I was in a production of The Little Mermaid once. I was the little seahorse that follows Triton around.”

“That’s adorable!” Chase exclaims. “How have you never told me that before? We’ve talked about our theatre experiences so many times.”

“I guess I forgot about it amidst the nightmare that was Theatre Arts.”

Chase fake shudders, “Tech week, am I right?”

“I never had a tech week. Sounds exhausting though.”

Chase’s eyes widen as she turns slightly to peer at Harley. “How in the world have you not had tech week, but you’ve been in theatre? Tech week is the bane of my entire existence. It’s the last week of practice right before the show, where you’ve got costumes, lights, sounds, and all the makeup. You run through every scene like fifty times each night, and oh my God, don’t get me started on the backstage stress because your director, no matter how chill normally, is absolutely insane.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was called tech week. And those were my favourite practices.”

Chase shoots Harley a look of concern. “You really aren’t human, man.”

“Well, I am now. So deal with it.”

Chase smiles slightly. “Oh, right.”

The car jerks to the left suddenly as Chase hits something. “What the fuck?” She cries out, looking around wildly to see what she’d hit. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Chase mumbles, turning back around in her seat. “Did you?”

“Nah,” Harley shakes her head. “It was probably nothing. Just a speedbump.”

***

Chase and Harley come to a stop in front of Lucky Chin’s. They step out of the vehicle, heading inside to see Wesley and Sam getting out of the Impala, but no Dean.

“Sammy, where’s Dean?”

“Dealing with a runaway child with super strength.”

Chase raises a brow. “Are you… being… facetious?”

Sam shakes his head. “Sadly, no. Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

“Why can’t we get what we want?” Wes practically whines.

“Because life sucks?” Harley answers unsure.

“Yeah, Wes, this is life. And we don’t all get what we want,” Chase says, scratching her ears. 

Suddenly a bolt of lightning shoots down from the sky, splintering into three, hitting Sam, Harley, and Chase, knocking them flat on their backs. Their bodies lay still, dead.

***

Sam, Harley, and Chase woke up on the pavement outside of Lucky Chin’s restaurant. Hope walks out as the three are getting up, looking back with a confused glance before continuing on her way. Wes comes out shortly after. He hands Sam the coin, dejected, before walking away.

“Well, I don’t feel like puking anymore,” Harley says.

Chase frantically reaches her hands up into her hair, sighing in relief as she feels no evidence of ears. 

“I am never making a wish again,” Harley shudders.

***

The three Winchesters and the one now-no-longer-human, Harley, are all sitting on a bench, squished in next to each other. It barely seems like Sam or Chase are actually sitting on the bench, so much as leaning against the edges as Dean and Harley take up most of the room in the middle. Audrey walks past, normal sized teddy bear in hand; a bandaid had been placed over a bullet sized hole in its head. 

Chase waves to Audrey, who waves back, skipping alongside who must be her parents, extremely sunburnt and confused.

“So, uh,” Sam starts, glancing awkwardly around the town. “The coin’s melted down now, so it shouldn’t cause any more problems.”

“Audrey's parents are back from Bali,” Chase points out, nodding her head towards the retreating family. “Looks like all the wishes are gone.”

“And so are we,” Dean says, folding up a newspaper, whose headline reads, ‘Winning Lottery Ticket A Fake’.

The group gets up, each pair heading back to their cars. Dean suddenly stops, causing the girls to look back at him and Sam, who stand next to Baby. 

“You guys were right,” he says. 

Chase and Harley share a confused look. “About?” Harley asks.

“I shouldn't have lied to you. I do remember everything that happened to me in the Pit. Everything.”

“So talk to us about it,” Sam suggests. 

“No,” Dean deadpans. 

“Dean, bu-” Chase starts. Harley puts a hand on her arm as Dean holds up a hand, cutting her off. Harley gives her a look, telling her to drop it.

“I won’t lie anymore, but I’m not going to talk about it.”

“Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone. You got to let us help,” Sam says.

“He’ll talk when he’s ready to talk. No point forcing it.” Harley sighs.

“The things that I saw... there aren't words. There is no forgetting. There's no making it better. Because it is right here,” Dean taps his head, “forever. You guys wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I am sorry,” Dean says. 

Chase gives Dean a smile, small and bittersweet. “It’s okay, Dean. Just know we’re here for you when you need us.”

Dean returns the look, opening the driver’s side car door, about to get in. “I know.”

[tlbodine]

Why Isn’t “Mass Shooter” a Modern Horror Monster?

Horror reflects the anxieties of the culture that produces it. In the 1950s, we got monster movies about radiation-mutated creatures and invaders from beyond the stars, mirroring our Cold War Science fears. 

In the 1970s, as “Women’s Liberation” and birth control went mainstream, we see an influx of horrors settled on childbirth and children and family dysfunction. 

And as the 70s bled into the 80s, while real-world serial killers were leaving behind trails of victims, the masked psycho was dominating the field with countless slashers. 

But now -- throughout the 2010s -- mass shootings loom large our our collective American consciousness. Hardly a week goes by without hearing of one somewhere, and they inspire fear and terror. Yet we haven’t seen them show up to dominate horror media in the way serial killers do -- what’s up with that? 

Horror-media discussion about gun violence under the cut! 

Before we get started, a caveat: There is media about school shootings. It’s just not usually horror. Most, as you can see from IMDB, is family drama: https://www.imdb.com/list/ls070532039/

And none of them are really particularly mainstream, not in the way we associate with slasher films. 

So what’s the difference? Why is a killer with an axe more compelling as a film monster than a killer with a gun? 

Some hypotheses: 

Primacy: Because mass shootings are frequently in the news/public discussion, it’s always “too soon” - the real-life horror is too horrifying for entertainment. Sounds good on paper, but why isn’t that true for slashers? Those movies were popular when serial killers were at their most active. 

Politics: Perhaps political motives are influencing the market. Since gun control is a contentious topic, maybe some powers are motivated toward censorship. But wouldn’t that also censor the family drama type movies? Why would it focus on horror especially? 

Logistics: It’s just really hard to make a good horror movie about a mass shooting. Guns kill people pretty quickly and indiscriminately, so you lose the mounting suspense and intimacy of a killer with a knife and other similar horror/slasher conventions. 

This last point, I think, bears some further consideration. The more I think on it, the more it seems that the things that make gun violence especially horrifying in real life are also things that make it very hard to put in a horror story: 

Mass shootings happen, obviously, in mass. Most horror formulas require characters to be isolated and picked off one by one. 

Guns kill people in ways that are impersonal and swift. If you’re killing a stadium of people with an automatic weapon, it’ll take just a few minutes. You can’t stretch that out into a long, lingering torture sequence or whatever. 

Gun violence is indiscriminate. Wherever a crowd gathers, a shooter can start killing people. There’s no space for, say, the “horror rules” re: jock, slut, virgin, etc. because morality doesn’t play into it. 

A killer methodically making his way through a sorority house, killing its members one by one lends itself more naturally to suspenseful storytelling than a gunman opening fire on a crowd. A killer leaving clues and taunting detectives lends its own narrative structure. 

In that regard, it’s pretty obvious: We cannot make a slasher-style film or a torture-porn film about a gunman. It just won’t work. 

But perhaps we’re looking at it all wrong. What if we viewed the mass shooter not as a serial killer, but as a force of nature? The disaster movie genre has ample cross-over with horror, and the general formula would work well for a mass shooter: 

Introduction to a wide cast of characters as they maneuver into a vulnerable position

The disaster hits, and we move between individuals affected by the calamity, watching their initial reactions 

In the ensuing chaos, characters attempt to escape further danger

The danger passed (for now?) some characters manage to survive, now irrevocably changed

Whether the disaster in question is an earthquake, a sharknado, or a school shooting, that formula should work. The key to success lies in the pacing and the large cast, allowing you to stretch out a relatively brief event into a detailed and tense narrative. 

So why haven’t we seen that? Outside of, like, one made-for-TV movie I recall watching in the 90s, this presumably straightforward premise hasn’t gained much traction. 

The Making of Monsters: Signs and Signifiers 

Perhaps the real reason we haven’t seen a lot of horror stories about mass shootings is because there is already so much mythology and symbolism tied to these sorts of narratives, and that symbolism is at odds with the creation of movie monsters. 

Guns carry a tremendous amount of cultural significance and baggage, at least in the United States. It’s why they’re so politically contentious. And when something is already heavily laden with symbolic meaning, it’s hard to turn that symbolism into something else in a way that will stick. 

Point #1: Guns are a great equalizer. Unlike a knife or sword, skill doesn’t matter all that much when it comes to killing somebody with a gun. You don’t have to be strong or fast or have a ton of training. You just have to point it and pull the trigger -- if you do that enough times, and at a big enough target, you’ll probably hit something. This means that anyone can kill someone with a gun: a skinny nerd, a young child, a petite woman. Guns are the thing that give you, the underdog, a way to compete against them, the big strong enemy. 

This leads to Point #2: Good Guys With Guns(tm). As absolutely anyone who has been on the internet for five minutes after Any Sort Of Bad Event will tell you, Bad Things can be stopped by Good Guys With Guns(tm). And while you can debate the merits of armed civilians protecting a group from harm against an active shooter, it’s impossible to deny that, historically, good guys have been armed. Police, military, armed militias, frontiersmen, etc. carry weapons. Which means that “guy with a gun” does not immediately translate, visually or thematically, as “threat” in the same way as wielding a butcher knife in a non-culinary context. A guy with a gun could, at a glance, be a good guy. A guy with a big knife is obviously a villain. Similarly, the Good Guys With Guns(tm) bleeds over into the horror genre. What would the zombie apocalypse be without headshots? How many horror franchises could have been cut short if someone had just shot the killer? 

Finally, Point #3: Guns in media have special powers. Gun mythology in film and television is well-developed, with its own set of tropes and expectations. In movies, pointing a gun at someone will automatically make that person comply with whatever you ask them to do -- we even have vernacular about this, “nobody put a gun to your head” -- as if the gun were somehow more powerful than a simple threat and could in fact control behavior. Often, people who are shot in television politely fall over and die quietly; it’s a civilized end, without all of the screaming and thrashing (never mind where they’re shot or what that would would do in real life). And there are so many types of gun. We have a whole video game genre dedicated to it -- collecting guns, learning their various abilities, applying them situationally to achieve various goals. With so many established tropes, writing anything with new tropes and rules runs the risk of generating confusion, disbelief and even hostility in an audience. 

So, with all of that in mind, it starts to become clear: 

Writing a horror story about gun violence is difficult because guns carry so much mythic significance, and it’s impossible to write about them metaphorically while keeping it clear what that metaphor is. 

If I write a story about an atomic-powered lizard who destroys a Japanese town with radiation, it’s easy enough to see that it’s a metaphor for nuclear warfare. But there is no similarly straightforward metaphor for gun violence readily apparent. 

But it’s tougher even than that -- because guns themselves aren’t the only thing to have been mythologized. 

The Myth of the Lone Gunman 

Remember: Guns are the great equalizer. 

This knowledge sits in the foundation of storytelling, not just in the fiction we make up but in the way we build narratives around mass shootings in the real world. There are certain tacit assumptions we make about gunmen that may or may not be accurate.

We have a certain narrative framework in place to explain school shootings, for example: The awkward, isolated young man who is bullied until he finally snaps and goes on a killing rampage. 

Never mind that this narrative is not wholly supported by facts. It may be true in some cases, but certainly not all. And yet, go back up to that list of mass shooter movies on IMDB and look again at what the majority of them have in common. 

This is problematic because, from a mythic perspective, people who are bullied and then stand up to their oppressors are heroes. 

In Carrie, when Carrie White destroys the school after being humiliated on prom night, we’re on her side. It feels good to watch her kill all those people who were awful to her. It feels just and righteous and imminently satisfying. 

When Spartacus leads a slave revolt, we cheer. When Daenerys Targaryen kills all the masters and uses their heads as mile-markers, we feel triumphant. When Arthur Fleck shoots the smug talk-show host on live television, we think, Well, he had it coming. 

Oh, sure. We pay lip service to being horrified. And these dark heroes might die at the end, receiving some karmic retribution for the price of their revenge. But can you say, truthfully, that you have ever once watched a story about an underdog killing his bullies and felt sorriest for the bullies? 

So: This is the problem with our cultural narrative about the school shooter. Purposely or not, it puts the shooter in the role of hero. 

And not only is that irresponsible, it’s just downright inaccurate. 

When Stephen Paddock opened fire on a concert and killed 58 people, he was not firing back at his oppressors. 

When Omar Mateen shot up a night club in Florida, he wasn’t getting revenge against his bullies. 

When Adam Lanza slaughtered 26 people at an elementary school -- 20 of them young children -- he obviously was not giving his victims what they deserved. 

In the real world, mass shooters might be motivated by political ideology and a desire to promote fear -- ie, terrorism. They might be unhappy with some aspect of their lives and decide to “punch down” at a vulnerable group in the worst possible way. They might be looking to become the heroes of certain media narratives, to secure some kind of fame or notoriety. They might want to kill themselves in a way that hurts a lot of other people at the same time. There are lots of reasons why people might commit mass murder. 

But the important thing is that the victims are, overwhelmingly, not bullies and oppressors. They are people. Just innocent people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because mass shootings aren’t really about personal vendettas; they’re about mowing down a bunch of strangers in a few minutes at an impersonal long range. 

So here’s my final thought on the topic: We SHOULD tell horror stories about mass shootings. 

It’s a topic that’s timely, and it’s a scenario that’s frightening. There’s no reason not to tell these stories. But to make it work -- on a logistic and socially responsible basis -- we need to change our treatment. 

Going back to the “disaster movie” idea: It’s time to treat mass shooters in fiction as forces of nature, as oblivious and blindly destructive as a hurricane. It’s time to center the focus on the victims. Never mind the killer and what led him to this moment. Let’s take a minute to think about the people caught in that situation -- the people who fear for their lives, who try to help one another, who fight or flee or hide once the first shot is fired. Let’s write about the moments of humanity shared by two strangers crouched behind something while shots fire all around them. Let’s write about the horror of having your perfectly normal, mundane day suddenly and irrevocably shattered by a stranger with a gun. 

There is horror there, real horror, that can be mined and cultivated and turned to art. And it seems to me that embracing that, and shifting the cultural narrative away from valorizing the lone gunman, would be good for art and society. 

Are you ready to tell that story? 

I am. 

[moonlitgleek]

I really enjoyed your post on the Sansa/Daenerys feud. Something I hated about the Starks in Season 8 is Sansa/Arya's kneejerk dislike of Daenerys (at least, before episode 5). They actually had Sansa say "She's not one of us!" And that recalls nothing so much as Cersei telling Joffrey "Anyone who isn't us is the enemy." When Season 8 validates Cersei and repudiates Ned Stark, things gone done got crazy.

It was actually Arya that said that but it’s not like the scene didn’t frame this as a shared sentiment among the Starks. That was basically “we don’t like your girlfriend who we don’t know and don’t care to get to know. She is not one of us and that makes our hostility and pettiness totally justified”. My god, do I hate that scene.

It pains me that they did this to Sansa and Arya. It infuriates me that their supposed victorious ending not only rewarded and validated a rather prejudiced attitude but also leaned heavily into making their abusers define who they are. To be clear, this is not because I expect them to be “good victims” who can only rise above their trauma or behave in the most moral of ways, neither am I saying that experiencing a change due to a trauma is necessarily a bad thing, but the show fundemntally changed who Sansa and Arya are to become some distorted version of their abusers. Sansa was turned into a cross between Cersei and Littlefinger, a person willing to betray and manipulate even her own brother to her advantage and who honest to god smirked over the death of an innocent woman and used it to goad Jaime. Arya became someone whose first instinct is to kill and who absorbed an exclusionary xenophobic view that came out of nowhere. I’ve mostly put the stupidity of last season’s conflict between Sansa and Arya out of my mind because it was so illogical and forced, but the writers genuinely tried to affirm that this is who these two women became (and pls don’t @ me about how they were totally plotting together from the start to bring down Littlefinger. No, they were not and the show’s attempt to make it look like that post-fact was painfully transparent)

The show changed the core of who the Starks are in service to the plot then inexplicably framed this change as a good thing we should side with, which hits at the heart of this series. I am admittedly very attached to the book!Starks but this goes beyond my preference for my favorites to be about changing the very meaning of ASOIAF. This series was never about rejecting ideals or branding those who believe in them idiots. It was never about validating the worldview of the Cerseis and Tywins and Petyrs of the world. It’s about the struggle to hold onto your idealism in a cold and corrupt world that tarnishes it and hollows it out, a world that tries to convince you that idealism is a chain that brings you down and that ruthless pragmatism is intelligence. It’s about our heroes looking into an abyss that tries to convince them that letting the cold in is the smart thing to do, fighting against a world that tries to strip them of their beliefs and saying “no, you move”. The theme of this series lies in characters like the Starks, Davos and Brienne trying to do the right thing even when it looks hopeless. Especially when it looks hopeless. It lies in “he could have tried, he could have died”, in “is there no true knights among you?”, in “he was no true knight”, in “the North remembers”. The message is that honor lives on and trying to do the right thing always matters even if you lose your life. And so yes, it absolutely does go back to Ned Stark, not only as the person whose teachings and ideals the Starks espouse but as the first casualty of the show’s misunderstanding of the main thesis of ASOIAF.

Game of Thrones took the surface victory of nihilistic players and made it its core message. It genuinely embraced Cersei’s sentiment that you either win or die in the game of thrones, and affirmed the worldview that honor is futile and stupid and gets you killed. Oh and also that you cannot escape your past, your trauma or your paternity. Screw idealism and trying to do the right thing. That’s pointless and hopeless. Except that it is not pointless in the books, it never was. Ned died but his legacy, his benevolent ruling ideology, and his honor won by inspiring not only his children to hold onto their ideals but the entire North to rise up in his name. Ned stands as clear proof that Cersei and the entire Lannister ideology is wrong. ADWD openly goes to bat for Ned’s legacy and what he stood for. It proves that the argument that honor is stupid and manipulative pragmatism is better is bullshit.

But the show did the exact opposite and actually went to great lengths to frame honor as this hollow thing that only forestalls and impedes. It scoffed at idealism and made it this naive thing that brings the characters down, which is exactly how Littlefinger described it to Ned in the first book. The show made the North abandon the Starks despite setting up the Northern plot from the books and having Sansa deliver an impassioned speech about loyalty, only to prove her painfully wrong. Jon failed when he bargained on how Ramsay’s apathetic view of his men’s lives would make them abandon him, even when these men watched Ramsay coldly fire at his own forces, but Sansa succeeded when she withheld the information about the Knights of the Vale. It was only natural for Sansa to then brand Ned and Robb as naive men who made stupid mistakes. Why wouldn’t she when the show turned Robb’s story into a simplistic tale of a guy who was led astray by love and who was blamed for the horrendous treachery of the Freys and Boltons, when Ned’s honor was scoffed at and undercut by the show itself at every turn? See also that lovely detour in the Dragon pit scene last season where Jon’s refusal to lie to Cersei was designed to have everyone roll their eyes at the stupid idiot who put his precious honor above a needed cease fire.

It sure fits the story then to have Jon bending the knee to Dany stripped from its foundational motive of her earning his loyalty by answering the call for help to become about his feelings for her. It fits to have Sansa try and push Jon’s claim without caring about his wants or the precarious position this puts him in or even his emotional state because she knows he loves Dany. It fits to have a stunning mix of manipulation, xenophobia, hostility and ungratefulness framed as not only smart but something to be validated. It fits to have the Starks’ triumph be so soured and so meaningless in its willingness to sacrifice people for their advantage. By all means do have them pursue a plan that would necessitate a conflict between Jon and Dany all for Northern independence, or hint that Bran might have known what was going to happen and kept silent.

And when you pair that with them trying to evoke sympathy for Cersei but make Dany into a fascist (don’t think I missed the Nuremberg callbacks) and demonize her visually, with them validating Cersei’s racism by focusing on the Unsullied and the Dothraki brutalizing the King’s Landing population, just what message are they trying to send. Whose worldview are they trying to validate and why?

I missed the Starks this season, especially the girls. I missed the Arya who makes friends with everyone despite rigid Westerosi attitudes towards class and race, who is extremely sensitive to injustice and who would be the first to cheer a Breaker of Chains. I missed the Sansa whose compassion extended to even enemies and whose entire conception of rulership was about protecting people. I missed the Bran who is so connected to Winterfell that he compares its survival and its perseverance to his own. I missed the kids who held onto their compassion, their loyalty and their ideals in the face of a corrupt world trying to convince them such sentiments are futile. I missed the Starks.

[poppys-writing]

The Missionaries, Part 1

A/N: new Box Boy series here, but this time it’s more caretaker/comfort centric! I hope you all will enjoy this new take on the Box Boy universe and whump in general. Once again, credit goes to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and @shameless-whumper for creating this wonderful sub-genre of whump that continues to thrive. Thanks for reading and feel free to check out my masterlist!

Noah woke up to the same rattling of the tiny, rusty plane, dark clouds hanging ominously outside the plane window. He thought that the headache would disappear with a long nap, but it was still as bad (if not worse). Looking across the aisle was Ruthie, who was awake when he fell asleep and was still awake now, her leg tapping incessantly into the metal floor and her hands fiddling nervously with her coat. “You nervous?” He hollered across the aisle to her; the drone of the plane along with the deafening engine made him worry that she wouldn’t even be able to hear him. 

She jumped, apparently freaked out by his voice. Her head snapped to face him, her gentle brown curls whipping around even though they were secured in a ponytail. Nonetheless, she flashed him a wide smile, though her eyes didn’t sparkle with joy like they usually do. “No, no, not at all,” she reassured him with a nod. “Why do you ask?”

He held her gaze for a moment, considering pointing out her fidgety behavior, but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to be rude. “Uhh, no reason,” he quickly dismissed, a couple of chuckles escaping as he moved to rub the back of his neck. “I’m a little bit nervous,” Noah lied. He wasn’t nervous at all. Should he be? 

“Oh, you are?” Ruthie returned back, head cocking to one side. She could see right through his lie; Noah never gets nervous, even when he should be. They’re going to a foreign country, serving for the first time as medical aid, even though they haven’t become doctors yet. In addition to that, they’ll be in one of the biggest human trafficking hubs in the world for two months, treating the victims of the beast that will be breathing down their neck. Yeah, he should be worried about that. “Well you have no reason to be freaked. It’ll be a good experience!” Ruthie lied through her teeth. 

Before Noah could get another word in, Ruthie turned back to the window to gaze out at the ominous clouds and overthink everything, effectively ending the conversation. So, without any vocal company, Noah decided to gaze at the empty seats of the plane and imagine the companions they could’ve had. Sophie, Tyler, Jonathan, Mary, Rebecca, Elijah and Esther, Cindy, Jane, Rob and Will. So many of their friends that were supposed to accompany, but all dropped out for various reasons. Mary didn’t have time or money to get the appropriate vaccinations; Tyler, Esther and Cindy couldn’t raise enough money to go and had to work over the summer anyways; Sophie, Jonathan, Rebecca, Elijah, Jane and Rob’s parents all wouldn’t let them go because they thought the trip would be “too dangerous.” Noah didn’t blame them; with human trafficking statistics rising by the day in Belarus and travel advisories announced, he considered not going too. But, Ruthie coming from a family of turn-or-burn preachers and missionary leaders, her parents refused to let her back out of it. Ruthie even offered to request a transfer to somewhere a bit safer than Belarus, but her parents insisted that she finish what she started. There was no way Noah could let her go halfway across the world by herself, so he stayed on, suppressing his nerves once again to go into the belly of the beast. 

So now it’s the two of them. Ruthie’s a nice gal. Being in the same friend group in college, they got along and enjoyed one another simply due to mutual friends, but never became close and drifted even further apart during medical school. Leading up to the trip, they went out to lunch and hung out and studied together so they could bond before spending the next two months in a dangerous foreign country together. In that time, Noah discovered her to be nicer than he thought, funnier than he expected, and cuter than she was before.

The plane began its decent into Minsk, the capital and only city with an international airport. The dark clouds and turbulence broke to the city covered in a steady rain that drummed against the plane windows. From the sky, the Stalinist architecture evidently hasn’t been touched up in decades. Still, there was something beautiful about the tall, dreary buildings. The dark windows held the ups and downs of millions of people: mothers bringing home their child, businessmen saving their company, marriages that fall apart, loved ones that pass on, and also hundreds of thousands of people involved one way or another in the Box Boy industry. 

Since the Box Boy and Babe industries had been outlawed in the United States almost six years ago, the American government cracked down on human trafficking so hard that the industry had to completely relocate out of red, white and blue borders. Minsk being a major hub even prior to the U.S. breakdown, it was naturally the next best choice. On the bright side, human trafficking in North America became virtually nonexistent. On the down side, Noah and Ruthie are now in the heart of it all once more. 

The plane landed, emptying out its two Americans and their luggage and moving on to pick up some other human cargo. Who would be the next people sitting in their seats? Box Boy moguls, or Box Boy victims? Noah shuddered at the thought, lugging his bag across the slick tarmac towards a van with the familiar Christian Missionary Alliance symbol plastered all over its side. As they sauntered across the runway, which seemed to get longer with every step, Ruthie and Noah could feel the eyes of the ground controllers and travelers following them. Some of them were angry and disdainful, while others were hopeful and trusting - hopefully they’d encounter more of the latter once they get to the mission house. 

Ruthie and Noah loaded their bags into the back of the van, piling in and shedding their raincoats. Ruthie’s ponytail had frizzed up in the rain, poofing out in every direction. Stop staring, Noah internally scolded himself, but it was too late. Their eyes met again, but this time he was inches from her face - he could see the honey-colored flecks littering her brown eyes, watch her dimples form as she smiled back at him. Does she have a boyfriend? Maybe he should ask that once this whole don’t-get-human-trafficked thing is over. 

The van lurched into motion, Noah and Ruthie lurching along with them. A little laugh escaped her lips as she clutched on to Noah’s arm for stability, while he reached for the handle above to secure the both of them. Even after the ride got steadier, Ruthie still clutched his arm. 

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the driver turned around and flashed the both of them a toothy smile, a gold tooth barely visible. “Welcome to Belarus!” he warmly greeted them with a thick slavic, even though they had been riding in the car for a while now. “We go pick up for other missionaries, then drive. You’ll be settled by dark.”

Casual conversation commenced until the van turned into the parking lot of a run down motel. Three missionaries from Spain, a couple from Germany, and two friends from Australia piled into the rickety old car. Polite greetings were exchanged and all got settled in for the couple hour drive to the house.

Minsk rolled by Ruthie’s window, the business-centric neighborhood that the airport was surrounded by turning residential. With that shift came what she was dreading: the Box Boys and Box Babes. Back home, when it was legal, she still became nauseated at the sight of a human being owned by another human being, and she didn’t even see it that much publicly in small town Idaho. Here, however, it seemed to be commonplace. Some men or women were leashed - leashed! - to powerful looking men and women that strode through the streets like they owned the place. Some girls trailed behind men with nasty grimaces, keeping their head down and hands folded in front of them. Some boys walked beside women with large heels and an entourage. It was disgusting. Absolutely revolting. Apparently west coast mega cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco were just like this, but by the time Ruthie made it there the business was already outlawed. How did the United States even legalize this? How could anybody legalize this? Ruthie wanted to pound of the windows, to jump out of the van and shout at everyone for their tolerance of this injustice. Instead, she let tears well in her eyes, clinging tighter to Noah’s arm.

Noah wasn’t looking out of the window just for that reason. He kept his eyes focused on his hands in his lap, or his watch, or just closed them. He already knows what it looks like, and he’d rather not see it again. When he felt Ruthie clutch at his arm even tighter, he nudged her with his shoulder to get her attention away from the window. It worked, and she quickly turned her head towards him, frantically rubbing away tears. “You okay?” Noah posed, careful to keep his voice down.

“I don’t know,” Ruthie shrugged, trying her best to smile at him. She does that. Instead of being sad, she decides to smile - it doesn’t really work all the time. “It’s just...I’d only heard about it, never actually seen what it looks like until now. It’s bad, Noah, this is really bad.”

Noah sadly nodded his head. Oh, if only she knew the worst of it. Sweet Ruthie with her naive small-town mindset. He wouldn’t trade her for the world, but sometimes he wished he could tell her the truth without ruining her endless joy and kindness. “I know, I know. We’re here to help though, don’t forget that,” he tried to reassure her. Noah’s not the best at comfort - since he rarely gets nervous, he doesn’t know how to deal with this fearful emotions.

“Hopefully our help is enough,” Ruthie responsed, casting her head down towards her hands instead of outside the window.

Noah surveyed the bus, just like he surveyed the plane. This bus was supposed to be filled with their closest friends, all journeying together to fight the evils of man and heal those who had fallen victim to corruption. Hopefully this van will be filled at all when the mission ends.

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Alluring. (3/?)

With: Detective!Bucky x Witch!Reader.

Words: 1,732.

<<

The adaptation was slow, the girls were better than you in that matter, they managed to live without their father. Managed to do their chores while you tried to be there for your children but still laid in bed almost 18 hours per day.

You missed him. And the idea that your family’s curse was the reason for his death hurt deeply.

Iara liked to jump on your bed. "Mom, we are going to school again." The small girl sang. "And we ate 5 pancakes each." Iara lied and you could feel it and smiled seeing her trying to make you jump out of bed. "And then we ate again, and again, and agaiiin, and again ahh-" You pulled her closer and hugged her tightly before tickling her. "Mom stop!"

You hugged her tightly and kissed her head. "Um sorry baby, I'm just... so tired."

"Its okay mom. And you're with bad breath." She joked and both laughed before Aunt Bim called Iara to grab the school bus.

You left the bed then, took a shower, and decided to move on. You had to be there for your children.

You rented a small store in the city and started to sell flowers, you loved to plant and since you had a... touch for it, it would do good.

                          …

It was a few days later that things went upside down. After placing the girls in bed, the house’s phone started to ring, you felt it was Yasmin in distress and ran to it.

"Yasmin? What's going on?"

"Y/N, I'm scared."

"Why? What happened?"

"I was with Jack and he punched me and now he is dragging me to places and I need help."

"Where are you?"

Yasmin gave the city's name and said that her boyfriend was drunkenly passed out and that is why she managed to call.

You rushed through the house and asked your aunts to take care of the girls while you were out, the aunts felt that Yasmin was in danger too and agreed in keeping an eye on the kids.

You drove and drove and when you finally found Yasmin, she was with colorful spots all over her face and arms. "Y/N!" She hugged you tightly.

You walked out of the old motel and Yasmin kept making excuses for Jack's behavior, saying that he was only drunk and afraid to lose her.

You sat her down in the car but she kept saying she forgot your mother's necklace in his car, so, even with you trying to keep her inside the vehicle she ran to Jack’s car to take it.

You followed her, trying to rush her and take her safely back home.

But Jack pulled her to the car and held a knife to her neck. You widened your eyes and since the man -besides being crazy- stank of alcohol he could kill her at any moment.

"Drive." He warned. You tried to find a way out. But at how tightly he was holding your sister you couldn't do anything else. "I said drive!"

You sat at the driver’s seat and started the car.

You had no idea where you were going and Jack kept kissing Yasmin and apologizing for his behavior, broken promises, for sure. You squeezed the steering wheel watching Yasmin falling to his trap by the review mirror.

Jack squeezed her neck which made you step in the brake and started to yell trying to take his hands off of her.

The psychopath started to laugh and even made sexual jokes, his knife still on his waist. Once Yasmin told you that she placed belladonna in his drinks so he could be more... relaxed. You searched the herbs in the car, since it was his and she traveled with him it was probably there. 

You found the small glass and knew it was the right herbs, you just needed to find a way to make him drink it.

Jack told you to stop the car so he could take a piss, he took Yasmin with him so you wouldn't drive away.

Smart.

You held one of his tequila’s bottles and placed the herbs inside, shaking it trying to make it unnoticeable to his drunk eyes.

After a big amount of belladonna that you poured in his tequila's bottle, and how focused he was in Yasmin’s lips, he finally passed out. Which was good, till Yasmin glanced at him and saw him falling limp with open eyes.

"No. No, no, no. How much belladonna you gave him?" She yelled, she saw you holding the herbs while she tried to prevent Jack from peeing on her.

You looked at the backseat and stopped the car in the middle of the road. "I don't fucking know, he was with a knife on your throat!"

"Jack, baby, come on, wake up. Wake up." He didn't move nor breathed. "You killed him." She said frightened. "Y/N, you, you killed him."

"No, I did not. I mean I did but it was self-defense. Self-defense!"

"The cops won't believe that. Oh my God, I'll go to jail!"

"No you'll not, because I won't go to jail, I can't go to jail. I mean I have children, Yasmin! Two beautiful girls that don't deserve to lose their mother!"

"What do we do? What do we do?" She kept chanting, her hands almost pulling her hair out of her head. "Y/N! Remember when Paterson died and you wanted to bring him back?"

"Great moment for you to bring my husband into this."

"No, shit, look! The aunts didn't bring him back but you're strong, and if both of us do the spell then it can work."

"Yasmin, I will not bring that asshole back from the dead!"

"Why?"

"Why?! Because is not right nor natural and he wouldn't be him it would probably come back tainted-"

"More than he already is? Y/N we have to. Look, if we go to jail, then your girls will have to live without you. And honestly? Since we can fix this let's do it."

You stared at her, and then glanced at the... body. You took deep breaths and tried to find reasoning. But if the cops came what would she say? That your sister and her asshole of a boyfriend was drugged and drunk and that you had a big quantity of -a high degree of toxicity by the way- plant with you and that is how you killed him? That wouldn't work. "Y/N, Y/N come on."

"Okay, okay! Aunt Bim and Aunt Mira took the girls to dance under the full moon even though I told not to but we know they did. So, so let's... let's go home." You started the car again and drove until you reached your old town.

It started to rain and it made Jack's limp body even heavier to take out of the car. "Of course it had to start to rain."

"Come on, come on."

Opening the house's door and soaking everything in their path Yasmin looked her beloved cat sitting in the table. "Hey, Duncan." She called the cat and you stopped walking glaring at her.

"We have a dead man in our arms and you're talking with our cat?!"

"Shit, you're too tense still."

You could only grunt at her calm state, with great care you reached the kitchen and placed the man's body in the table.

Yasmin brought the book and searched the spell, the dark details grabbing your attention more than anything. "Y/N, it's Jack Rollings! He can't come back more unnatural or tainted."

Somehow she was right.

You prepared the spell and the last part was the worst. One of you had to place needles on both of his eyes. "Gahh, I can't! I can't!"

"Give me that." Yasmin took the needles and did the job. "Here you fucker, this is for hurting me."

You two recited the latin words and a rumble of thunder sounded. The man didn't move, so you accepted defeat and kept worrying about what to do next.

It took a few seconds and more bickering of both of you, but then Yasmin was dragged back. "You still love meee?" Jack yelled while he sat in the table grabbing her neck. 

He shook her and shook her, his eyes lacking shine and he looked even more... cruel.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" You hit him over and over but didn't help, he was stronger, your sister was red so in an adrenaline act, you held the big frying pan and hit the man's head over and over.

He let go of Yasmin's head and fell on the floor. His eyes open and unmoving. "You, you killed him... again?!"

"No, of course not."

"Y/N!"

"YOU WERE DYING YASMIN!"

It all turned into a big mess.

She kneeled on the floor and checked the man's pulse. Then, in an act of desperation, you two could only do one thing. 

Bury him.

You dragged his body outside and buried him.

Both of you were soaked to the bone, and afraid. "We can't tell anyone about that. No one, no one! You hear me? Not to our aunts, not to the cops, especially my girls." You yelled in the rain.

Yasmin nodded and promised.

New York City.

Detective James Barnes was staring at the board in front of him. Jack Rollings picture above, and three women pictures under. The women that were found dead in three different cities.

Last time someone saw him he was with a new woman, Yasmin Y/L/N.

But James didn't have much to do without the bodies autopsy back then, but now that he had sure that the semen that was found on the victim's bodies belonged to Jack Rollins, aside from the exact size of a hand that marked their necks. He could find the fucker and take him to be placed in jail in -hopefully- a perpetual sentence.

But no one knew of Rollings whereabouts.

"Buck? You going to the bar with us?"

His work friend, Elliot, asked him, it was 11pm already and they managed to solve a big case.

But Bucky had to find Rollings before he hurt anyone else. "Nah, I'll probably head home after here."

Elliot was also disappointed with Jack Rollings being out there. But he better than anyone knew how toxic work could get. "James." That grabbed Bucky's attention. "Is not your fault what that fucker did, and we will find him."

"Yeah, but I'll only rest when he's placed in a cage. Or dead." Bucky grinned which made Elliot chuckle and give his last goodbye.

Driving to his apartment he kept seeing the women's bodies on his head, the way they suffered, it was awful. The least he could do was to make justice for them. He had to find Rollings, it was the least he could do.

His phone started to ring and -even if he shouldn't get it- it was almost automatic. "Barnes."

It was his friend from the intelligence, Clint Barton.

"I got info of that girl you asked about. Apparently, she used to receive letters every month and the last one wasn't read, it was written by Y/N Y/L/N and she's Yasmin’s sister. She didn't write anything that can lead you to Jack Rollings's way, but she knows him since she mentioned that he was an asshole and Yasmin should get far away from him."

Bucky chuckled. "I like that Y/N already."

"Yeah, I'll send you the address."

"Thank you, I own you one."

"You sure do."

Bucky read the address and decided to go check. He went to his apartment to prepare a bag and have at least a nap before he could travel.

He was about to finish this case.

                ...

@salimahbicharara-comun​ @buckybabybaby​ @waiting4inspiration​ @velvetwonderbucky​

[vannminner]

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Where Magic Flows

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A03

Fanfiction

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Part One: Through This Night

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Her shock had barely begun to settle before Honeymaren returned to her feet. She was panting. Her heart beat erratically beneath her ribs. She decidedly ignored it while taking a staggering breath. Honeymaren pushed herself away from Elsa and redirected the hilt of her spear back at the red cloak.

“You will stay away from her.” She sharply commanded.

“Honeymaren, no- I,” Elsa’s voice faded. Emotions shifted as her eyes flickered between the figure and her friend.

“Your magic is no match against us, Elsa, and see how another has fallen victim to the Queen of Ice.” The last of their statement was directed at those surrounding them. Behind the red silk, the figure's words rang like a melody; soft and soulful. “Elsa of Arendelle has always accepted payment in the form of sacrifice… And always in exchange for their love. It appears she of Ahtohallan, now follows in suit.”

Snarling, Honeymaren drove forward with her spear. “How dare you talk about Elsa as if you know her! You know nothing!”

Laughing beneath the shadows of their veil, the figure turned their head. “Oh, but I do know Elsa; better than most, I suppose. However, a more important concern remains- does the young princess remember me?”

Gloved hands wrapped around the hooded opening of their cloak. The fabric pulled back from the figure's face, revealing a women with fair skin and golden hair. From their brown eyes, held in evening shadows, to their tall build; nothing about this woman appeared familiar. She wasn’t from Arendelle. Her melodic yet clipped accent, confirmed that much.

“I don’t know you.” Elsa stated. Her brow pinched, but only slightly.

“This does not come as a surprise to me.” The woman continued. “I remind you, you should, though…”

Elsa quickly shook her head. “No, no riddles! Tell me who you are and what you want from me.”

“Patience, young one.” Her hand raised to silence Elsa. “Do you not know it is ill mannered to make demands when you are so clearly… outnumbered?”

The woman stepped forward again, and Honeymaren stood her ground.

“I no longer have the luxury of patience!” Elsa snapped. “My friend requires help, or my magic will freeze her heart!”

Very slowly, the woman’s shoulders drew into her ears. Her hands turned to their palms. “Your foolish friend is as good as dead, then. Any stalling you continue with now will only provoke me to end her life sooner.”

Elsa’s teeth grit behind her lips. Rage surged beneath her skin. “Say your peace. Make your demands, but do not expect me to meet them.”

The woman laughed, and her voice sang with a pitch like a singing bird.

“Oh, Elsa, Elsa, Elsa… how ignorant you continue to be…”

Her two fingers raised above her head, and the woman snapped. The hoods fell from the other cloaked figures in unison. Elsa stared hard. She was standing center to what appeared to be, a female coven.

Their formation briefly parted as a thirteenth member crossed through their circle. Behind them, a hooded-captive dragged at their feet. The body was dumped before the red woman. She smiled graciously at her aid and dismissed them toward the others.

The woman then leaned down. Her smile maintained. Her dark eyes locked on Elsa, and she freed the canvas from around the body’s head.

Elsa gasped. “Kristoff!” Her voice fell to a whisper. She made moves to step forward, but Honeymaren turned her spear, holding Elsa back.

Kristoff’s eyes opened at the sound. They gave a long, fatigued roll, before he slipped out of consciousness once more.

“When will your friends and family learn to leave well enough alone? Do they not see the truth reflected in the eyes of the woman they condemn their lives for? “ The woman snickered. “It is only fair to say, I see what they cannot. I know what grows within you, child. I know what storm you fight inside.”

“Please, what do you want from me? You have my attention now!” Elsa’s hands pleaded at her side.

“Finally, Elsa of Ahtohallan learns some sense. Good girl.” The woman commended with ease.

She stepped forward once again, this time not stopping when Honeymaren extended her spear. The woman snapped her fingers. In a flash, Honeymaren’s spear had turned to dust. She was stunned, looking down at the red grit covering her hands. Seeing her distracted, the woman circled in slowly around the pair.

Honeymaren quickly shook from her shock. She slid in at Elsa’s side. Her chest drew into Elsa’s shoulder as the woman came close enough for them to fully see.

She was young; perhaps only a few years older than Elsa. Her eyes were like slow burning embers, and her cheeks freckled with ash.

“You see me now, Elsa.” Her finger brushed against Elsa’s chin. Honeymaren growled, moving in closer against her friend. “You see we are both quite similar, yes? I, too, was born with powers, but unlike you, I was ostracized for mine. Imagine a child abandoned by parents whose fear towards her outweighed their love… And so, at thirteen I was forced to leave my country behind. I sailed by ship to find work in the Western Lands, and make more for myself than I could have at home.

“Now, my first job in your country was selling fish on the streets. The men cut my hair short, making me resemble a boy. I worked for ten long hours a day- in the hot sun, and on days so cold my hands would numb. I did this for many months, but then I was finally rewarded for my service. I befriended an older woman from the Kingdom of Arendelle. She was kind, always coming to me for fish. She reminded me of the mother I would never have, and the one I might of had if I been had born here instead. Regardless, this woman found me a work placement in the castle. I would serve as a handmaiden for two young princesses there…”

She smiled slowly. The woman’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Yes, Elsa… if you will recall, it was I who worked for you.”

Elsa’s expression never faltered. She remained stern even when she felt Honeymaren hug tighter to her side. She was cold, but Elsa could not be certain, how cold. She didn’t know if it was her own fear, or the growing night, but Honeymaren’s cool skin reminded Elsa that they did not have much time.

“My name was Cleyomey back then,” The woman continued. “However, now I am called Cleyo. I was working for three years at the palace, and I felt I had finally found my place; my new home. But you know what happens next, don’t you, Elsa?” Cleyo nodded with a slight turn of her head. “Yes, I was terminated by the royal family at seventeen- placed on a boat, and returned to my home country.

“Not many things went right for me after that. I was lost between places for a long time, and struggling to understand why magic had cursed my life before it began. I was starving and lonely, but then I discovered myself in a place I could not have anticipated.”

Cleyo came to sit against the log in front of the dying fire. She stoked it briefly with a discarded stick before turning back to Elsa.

“You see, my people, my country; they fear magic. Even more than your parents did, I am afraid. Magic was seen as a direct act of disobedience against the gods, and more importantly; against our kings. Yet, I had found myself in a place where not everyone felt this way. While drifting, I happened upon a group of sister mages who taught me to appreciate my gifts.

“For the first time in my life I did not hate who I was, and I didn’t fear the powers I held beneath my skin. I learned to love magic, more than I ever believed possible, too. I loved magic, yes, but I was also taught how I could love more.

“Mages have much intelligence.” Cleyo smirked. Her eyes curled, and her shoulder shrugged upward. “They know how magic flows through the earth. They see how our natural elements respond to that magic, and understand the careful balance between the two sides. The mages also studied our world’s creation. They moved beyond religion, beyond talk of gods and goddesses, and look at how natural phenomenons created the bridge between magic and all things living. This is how I know of Ahtohallan. This is why I am certain it is from there in which you were gifted your magic.

There are places like Ahtohallan which exist all over the world. They live in tandem with the life around them. There are some places out there which have already been exploited. Others are still waiting to be found. Yet, regardless of their status, the sister mages seek more than exploitation. We wish to learn how these places decided which powers to gift, and to whom. Then, we will end by draining its magic. We will restore the balance in favor of those who can wield it, and only those who can truly understand.”

Hearing her silence, Elsa drew in a sharp breath. Her neck pulled straight and her eyes briefly met with Honeymaren’s.

“I cannot allow you to enter Ahtohallan.” Elsa’s response was blunt. “Even if I wanted to, the forest has lost its balance. I imagine this is due to your meddling, however it has caused the spirits to depart. I can no longer access Ahtohallan, myself. I’m afraid your plan here has failed.”

Cleyo chuckled again. Her head bobbled as it shook. “You take me for someone less clever than I am. I left the Nokk uninhibited by our influence. I see how you reach the land that calls you. So long as the Nokk stands, both you and I may access the frozen river.”

Elsa shivered as a chill drew up her spine.

Cleyo knew too much. She knew nearly everything Elsa had come to learn herself. She was dangerous, intelligent, yet still; her motives were unclear.

“It is silly to stand against the mages, Elsa. You cannot win. Tomorrow you will take me to Ahtohallan, just before the full moon rises, or else- not only will you lose your friend; but your sister shall lose her husband as well.”

The mages moved forward in unison as Cleyo’s words fell away. Elsa’s hands went up defensively, and they briefly faltered in their approach.

“What are you doing?” She demanded. “Honeymaren must be permitted to leave! She needs medical attention. I will be of no use to you if she dies!”

“Elsa, no.” Honeymaren’s hand settled at the small of Elsa’s back. “I am not leaving you here on your own!”

Their eyes met, and Honeymaren’s lowered.

“Your friend goes nowhere.” Came Cleyo’s sharp response. “You will make do with the supplies you have in your tent. If she lives, I add one more life to bargain with to my list. If she dies… it is your loss.”

-

It was minutes after midnight when Anna awoke with a start. The sudden knock at her door had her jumping to sit up. She gasped for air with a hand against her chest.

“Your majesty,” Her door opened.

Kai stood in the archway. His hands tucked behind his back. The light from the hall created a halo around his large form. Seeing it, Anna released a sigh and spun against her sheets.

“I regret to inform you that there has been a disturbance in the Kingdom. You must wake at once.”

“A disturbance?” Anna leapt from the bed, ignoring her disheveled appearance. “What kind of disturbance?”

Kai entered and pulled Anna’s robe from its hook. He placed it over her shoulders, his eyes following her skeptically.

“Ships have entered our waterways, ma’am. A dozen of them; they have sailed in from international seas.”

“Ships?” Anna questioned. Her head turned to the side.

Quickly, she hurried to her balcony and threw back the doors. With her hands wrapped tight around the banister, she looked out over the fjord. In the light of the near full moon, twelve white sails reflected off the water. Ships surround the far banks and blocked access to the estuary. Against the tide, they moved throughout Arendelle waterways; both silent and slow.

“Who are they?” Anna inquired, feeling Kai step in at her back.

“We are attempting to learn that now, your majesty. In the meantime, it is imperative that we relocate to the meeting hall with the Royal Guard.”

Anna took one last glance at the overrun fjord. Her heart beat fearfully, and she sighed.

“Give me two minutes.” She requested.

Kai bowed. He left her room at once, and waited for Anna just beyond the door.

-

Honeymaren and Elsa were directed into to her goahti. She had Honeymaren tucked safely into her side, and her arm wrapped tight around her waist. Together, they moved beneath the tarp. Elsa turned back to find Cleyo in the doorway. Her arms were crossed and her lips curled at their ends.

“You are here until the sun rises.” She explained. “Do not expect for one minute that you can overpower us. If you try, or if you attempt to leave, your sister’s husband dies while he sleeps. Am I understood?”

Lowering her eyes, Elsa nodded.

“Good. You always were quite an obedient child, weren’t you?” Cleyo dropped the tarp behind her, her feet never making a sound as she walked away from the hut.

Elsa moved out of the anxious hostage role, and into medical expert so quickly that Honeymaren’s head began to spin. She had the lantern brightened. The extra furs were pulled from her trunk, and her bed was turned down to its sheets.

“Come here, and don’t dawdle. We have to get you warm!”

When Honeymaren didn’t move, Elsa marched from her spot. She snatched Honeymaren’s hand and dragged her to the bed, attempting to lower her down.

“Why are you fighting me?” Elsa scolded. Honeymaren remained planted on her feet. “Please, be serious! I have seen how my magic affects people before.”

“Elsa…” Honeymaren searched for her blue eyes. She took their hands together, but was quickly shook away.

“Honeymaren. Stop! Can’t you see this is exactly what I was afraid would happen!”

Elsa’s emotions wavered behind her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Honeymaren. If she did, she was afraid she’d lose control.

She whispered now, “Please, get under the covers. Get warm, and stop fighting-”

Honeymaren’s hand pressed to Elsa’s lips. She didn’t pull it away until Elsa turned to her, surprised.

Slowly, Honeymaren’s head tipped forward. “Elsa, I’m okay...”

“What?” Her voice rose, and Honeymaren caught her mouth beneath her palm once more.

“I think I’m okay.” She said again. “Your magic didn’t hurt my heart, Elsa... My heart is okay.”

Elsa shook her head, attempting to free her mouth. Honeymaren’s hand caught Elsa’s and she pulled her to the bed to sit.

“You don’t understand! My magic works slow. It is painful!” A strange noise jared in Elsa’s throat. She turned her eyes to her lap.

“Elsa, I think we would know by now if something were happening to me. See?” She lifted her braid. “-no white hair. No chills. I feel fine!”

“What?” Elsa breathed again. Her hand tugged from Honeymaren’s and replaced against her forehead.

She was warm. Her tan complexion remained. Honeymaren appeared as she always did. Elsa watched her lips curl upwards, and all at once, the emotions she’d been holding back came flooding to the surface.

“What were you thinking?” Tears sprang to her cheeks. Elsa pushed roughly against Honeymaren’s shoulder before folding her arms protectively over her waist. “Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish or something? Are you always this reckless?”

Her fingers swept across Elsa’s face, and Honeymaren brushed the fallen tears from her red cheeks. “I didn’t know what was happening. I saw the blast coming back at you, and I couldn’t just stand there and watch you be hurt! You’ve already experienced so much in your life, Elsa. You tell me about the sacrifices, the pain, and how you’ve tried to overcome it all! You didn’t deserve this on top of it...”

“But you could have died! You still could! How can I move forward from this if I lost you as well?” Elsa drew back from Honeymaren. Her knees tucked against her chest.

Elsa’s breathing was shallow. Her eyes, wild. She was embarrassed by her tears, and by Honeymaren’s proximity. She wanted space; space to deal with her thoughts, but they’d been trapped inside together.

Elsa’s face buried between her legs, and she fought desperately for air.

“Hey, woah!” Honeymaren’s hand soothed over Elsa’s shoulders. “Take it easy. You've got this. Slow, deep breaths…”

“I can’t!” Elsa panicked. “I have to- we have to get out of here! I have to rescue Kristoff and get back to Arendelle. We can’t just wait in here until morning comes!”

Pushing her legs flat, Honeymaren pinched Elsa’s chin. She drew her eyes from her lap and softly smiled. “One step at a time, okay? You’re worrying yourself sick! We will figure this out together, but you have to take care of yourself first.”

“How can you say that? I should be taking care of you!” Elsa shook her head from Honeymaren’s hold. “You came back for me and you shouldn’t have! Now this, and I-” Suddenly, she froze. Her eyes turned wide and her head snapped to attention. “Kiss me- you have to kiss me!”

“Wait, what?” Honeymaren balked.

Elsa leaned toward her. Honeymaren braced a hand against her chest and held Elsa effectively away from her lips.

“It’s the only way!” Elsa continued. “Don’t think about it. You have to do it. It’s the only way to stop my powers from hurting you!”

Honeymaren was forced to stop her advances once more. “Elsa, I’m not going to do that…”

“Why not? Only true love can thaw a frozen heart! Please, we have to try! It’s the only way to guarantee that my magic won’t affect you.”

“This is silly…” Honeymaren stood. Her arms drew tight around her waist. “A true love's kiss isn’t going to save me, because I don’t need saving!”

Elsa shook her head. “But it doesn’t make any sense! Why wouldn’t it? My own sister was powerless against my magic!”

Shrugging, Honeymaren’s lips pressed flat. Her eyes drew to the side. “I don’t know. Perhaps because the attack was meant for you, it didn’t affect me?”

Elsa frowned and rose onto her knees. “It doesn’t work that way! Magic is magic, no matter what it’s intention is. But listen to me, please! Anna said a kiss should have worked if the two people care about each other enough to show their true feelings!”

Lines creased along Honeymaren’s forehead. Her eyes lowered sternly. “It’s not going to happen, Elsa! Forget about it. It’s not right!”

“Why?” Her expression darkened. “I thought you liked me in that way? Isn’t this exactly what we were fighting about three days ago now?”

Honeymaren sighed. Her cheeks turned pink. “Elsa, do you know how long before tonight I have thought about just that; about kissing you? Months! It has been months, but I am not going to do it like this! If I let you kiss me out of desperation- to fix something you weren’t responsible for in the first place… it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn't be right! You were only just beginning to understand your feelings for me. You’re not ready for that step yet, and I won’t force you into it.”

“This is my decision!” Elsa defended harshly. She stood in front of Honeymaren, angry and with mused hair. “It’s not for you to say when I am ready for the next step. Only I can tell you that!”

Her tears returned, swelling below the lids of her eyes and spilling out onto her cheeks. Honeymaren hated seeing her like this. Elsa was always so regal; so composed. It was heartbreaking to witness, but Honeymaren also felt privileged to be allowed to see this vulnerable side of her.

Without a second thought, she took Elsa in her arms. Honeymaren’s hands settled at her back. She held her tight, willing Elsa to relax in her hold. When that didn’t work and her tears persisted; Honeymaren directed Elsa to the bed. Together, she laid them down over the soft quilt. Her legs curled upward, and Elsa cocooned herself into Honeyumaren’s chest.

“Looks like it’s your night to be coddled…” Honeymaren teased her at a whisper.

Elsa’s head drew up from her chest. “You find this funny?”

“It’s kind of funny.” Her nose scrunched, but Elsa continued to glare. “Listen…” Honeymaren encouraged her. She placed a hand against Elsa’s head and directed her ear down over her ribs. “My heart sounds fine, doesn’t it? And my skin is warm. There is no indication that your magic has hurt me, or that I am freezing to death...”

Angered, Elsa attempted to free herself from Honeymaren’s hold.

Honeymaren trapped her there. Her arms tightened around Elsa’s waist and she pulled her back down against her.

Once Elsa begrudgingly settled, Honeymaren quietly laughed. “If it makes you feel better, I will let you kiss me in the morning.”

“You are terrible! Do you know that?” Elsa cried, but did not move.  

Shaking her head, her laughter continued. “I know I am stubborn, and a little bit reckless, but I also know that I love you, Elsa of Arendelle. Now, get some rest. Put your worries aside. Together we will figure out how to stop this disaster, and we will return the forest as it once was.”

Elsa had gone siff in her arms upon hearing Honeymaren’s confession. She should have felt panicked, or even a little scared. However, instead Elsa felt a burst of warmth swirl around her chest. Honeymaren loved her, and that suddenly seem more magical than her powers ever could be.

She replaced her head against Honeymaren’s heart. Elsa nuzzled softly into the fabric of her shirt, listening to the steady beat beneath her ribs. Her own arm clung to Honeymaren’s waist. She drew her knees up, and curled onto her side.

“Thank you,” Elsa whispered. “-for loving me.”

-

Cheers,

-M.

[ink-asunder]

Bodyswapped TAO and Hazel

Setting/Summary: “Masters of the Mystic Arts” sitcom AU, Episode 2. An argument between the Ancient One and one of her closest students goes very, very awry.

Characters: The Ancient One, Mordo, Hazel Grace (OC)

Words: 1,635

Warnings: language

Genre: Sitcom

[Concept/art] - [Part1] (you’re here) - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 3.5] - [Part 4]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 2

Neither of them knew what happened or why.

Actually, that’s not true. Both of them knew very intimately what happened and why. In truth, neither of them were willing to believe in such a thing before. And, as humble as practitioners of the Mystic Arts may be, there was still an inkling of arrogance in all of them that makes them believe they can control things they don’t believe in.

The Ancient One and Hazel had been in the middle of an altercation when it happened. Hazel was arguing once again about the limitations placed on her abilities to learn here, and though the Ancient One tried to be patient with her, Hazel was persistent. Hazel went too far. And, as she occasionally did, the Ancient One struck back.

The Ancient One executed a simple mystical maneuver, pushing Hazel’s astral form out of her physical form. Again, simple, yet effective in deterring most of her followers from arguing with her further. Hazel would be one of those exceptions, it seemed. She’d been victim to an astral push attack before and now acted recklessly and instinctively. She mimicked the Ancient One perfectly, if with a marginal delay, and even worse, she succeeded in countering the attack.

After that came a moment of disoriented staggering. The Ancient One drew back. She was suddenly so fatigued and dizzy that for a moment, she thought she might collapse. She raised her hands to her temples to steady herself, focusing on the floor for a grounding moment. Once the fit subsided, she realized the strangest thing as she looked down at herself.

She was wearing shoes, (which was unusual for her, when she was indoors), and her robes were now the indigo color and layered pattern of higher acolyte attire. She looked at her hands, which were smaller, kind of filthy, and featured dark green nail-polished nails.

Oh no.

The Ancient One raised her head, and she saw herself—or at least, her body, in a similar state of disorientation. The body of the Sorcerer Supreme locked eyes with her, and the Ancient One could tell immediately who’d inhabited it in the sudden, inexplicable absence of its natural astral form.

Hazel herself, who’d felt mild panic and meek chagrin when finding herself, unmistakably, in the body of the Sorcerer Supreme, began piecing the situation together as well.

Oh no.

Before either of them even spoke, the Ancient One and Hazel both turned to the wall and conjured a fragment of the mirror dimension like a pane before them. Now, as they stood side by side, staring into their own reflections, their horrific suspicions were confirmed.

The Ancient One was in Hazel’s body, and Hazel was in the Ancient One’s body.

“What the fuck?!”

Hazel and the Ancient One faced each other again, and the mirror dimension receded back into a state of invisibility again.

“What did you just do?” the Ancient One demanded.

“Why are you blaming me?” Hazel backed up as the Ancient One pushed past her. “How am I supposed to know you didn’t just do this to teach me a lesson?”

“No lesson worth teaching would put me in the body of someone else,” the Ancient One stated. She was looking through the books stacked on the desk. She needed to find answers quickly. Nothing. She turned around and pointed an accusing finger at Hazel. “I know you did something. You tried something when I pushed you, and that caused... this.”

“So how do we fix it?”

The Ancient One considered for a moment.

“Astral bodies... are volatile. When you leave a body, it’s vulnerable to attack and possession. Can you astral project out of my body?”

“I don’t know, can you astral project out of my body?” Hazel said.

The Ancient One sighed. “Just try it.”

They both did, with disappointing results. The Ancient One could expel her astral form easily enough—probably because it was something Hazel was constantly fine-tuning. However, Hazel couldn’t separate her astral form from her current vessel; it was as if the body was clinging to her. And it wasn’t like she could be blamed for this; she wasn’t used to using any body but her own.

The Ancient One hovered in the astral plain for mere moments before admitting defeat and retreating back into Hazel’s body. She took the other’s wrist and shook it. Hazel steadied herself and clung to the Ancient One. This wasn’t going to work out so easily.

The Ancient One pulled away and began searching for another solution.

“There’s still a way,” she insisted. “If we both push each other at the same time, that could reverse this.”

“Well, damn, Giin, I wish I knew how to do that.” Hazel’s tone was patronizing again.  They’d been arguing over her limitations in schooling, after all. The Ancient One wasn’t having it. She spun around and gave Hazel a stern glare.

“Alright, listen, you—”

“Master?”

They both froze as another sorcerer joined them. Mordo leaned around the sliding door of the study. The two women looked at him.

“Yes?” the Ancient One, who looked like Hazel, asked.

“What?” Hazel, who looked like the Ancient One, demanded.

Mordo’s eyebrows drew together in an almost disturbed confusion.

“I was... coming to tell you that the masters of the New York Sanctum responded to our summons,” Mordo looked at Hazel. “We’ll be holding a meeting here at two in the afternoon.”

“Oh,” Hazel made an effort to stand up straighter. “Alright. Thank you for telling me.”

Mordo maintained that mildly disturbed expression as he nodded and turned to the Ancient One.

“Your classes start soon,” he reminded her.

The Ancient One looked aside and let her shoulders sag. “Yeah. Okay.”

Hazel gave her a look, her hands flailing in frustration at her sides.

Mordo nodded and left them. Once they were left alone again, Hazel and the Ancient One were able to process the gravity of their situation again. And they were once more reminded of the discomfort of being inside a body that wasn’t your own.

Hazel slouched again and wrapped an arm around her torso. “Ow. What the hell did you do to this thing, Giin? Everything hurts....”

The Ancient One herself had taken to leaning desperately against the desk. “I feel like I’m going to pass out.... How long has it been since you slept?”

“Couple minutes.”

The Ancient One looked up. Hazel was giving her one of her playful judgemental stares. The Ancient One then had no choice but to admit that even though she was looking at a face she’d grown accustomed to calling “hers” over the centuries, Hazel was truly possessing it. They both gave their own resigned smiles and sighs.

“So what are we gonna do?” Hazel asked. “Freaky Friday this shit until we can sort things out?”

“I suppose that’s what we have to do,” the Ancient One agreed. “What classes are you taking right now?”

“Creatures in the morning, then spell theory. Spellcasting and combat training after lunch.”

“Alright,” the Ancient One had thought as much, but it was better to be safe. They both needed to lay low as long as they weren’t themselves.

“And what about this meeting?” Hazel tensed. “I don’t have to do anything for it, right? I don’t know if I can....”

“You’ll be fine,” the Ancient One assured her. “We’re investigating a cult in the States. Just hear out what the masters have to say and tell them you’d like to hold any further action until we know more.”

“Okay,” Hazel began lacing her fingers together absentmindedly. “But... are you sure that’s the best course of action? What if they know all they can and they want to act now?”

“Hazel,” the Ancient One took Hazel’s hands—her hands—to make sure Hazel didn’t break anything. “I think you’re getting more and more anxious over horrible possibilities that will never happen. Besides, even if the masters had every possible piece of intel available in the world, do you really think they’d question the orders of the Sorcerer Supreme?”

She gave Hazel a grin, which was even more charming with Hazel’s face, which was made for such things. And for a moment, the Ancient One thought she was getting through to her.

“Oh,” Hazel nodded. “You’re right. What if they catch on to our little problem?”

The Ancient One released her and rolled her gaze aside in fatigue and frustration.

“Giin, if they get mad at me and kill me over this, I’ll haunt you.”

“They won’t!” the Ancient One dismissed. “If anything, they’ll bring us both together.”

“So, if they won’t get weird about this, why are we even keeping it from them?” Hazel pushed her shoulders forward. “What’s the point?”

“Oh, come now, Hazel Grace,” the Ancient One tugged the other’s sleeve and gave her another grin, this time a mischievous one. “What fun would it be if we didn’t pretend to be each other while we’re in this situation anyway?”

Now it was Hazel’s turn to look tired and exasperated.

“Come on,” the Ancient One persuaded. “Let’s have some fun.”

Hazel looked at her. She had to look down a little. She didn’t like seeing herself possessed, but seeing it possessed by someone who was and could only be her dearest Ancient One (in a stellar mood, no less), gave her some peace of mind. She let herself smile again.

“Okay, fine,” Hazel allowed.

They both turned to the door and started to depart.

“Just don’t do anything ambitious,” Hazel continued. “My body can’t handle as much as yours can.”

“Alright,” the Ancient One nodded. “It’s probably best if you don’t cast anything at all while you’re in my body. I don’t want Dormammu tagging you.”

“Got it,” Hazel nodded.

After that, they went their separate ways, not knowing what would happen or why.

[imwithmars]

Flaunt Magazine 2004 interview

David Fincher – “It goes kind of like, ‘How   can you tell when Jared is lying? His lips are moving.’”

Rock & Roles –

Flaunt Magazine, by Shari Roman

December 2004

“This is fantastic,” murmurs Jared Leto as the relentless Moroccan   sun sears destiny into his bronzed, bare skin. He is sweating under his tight  armor. His dark horse, Mateo, quivers beneath him and paws the ground nervously. A signal is given.

Leto howls a great animalistic yowl straight from his belly to the ears of   the gods. There is another howl, then another. Thousands of voices fuse into   one animal cry. A legion of alpha males surges forward to meet the enemy, Leto,   blond hair hair streaming past his shoulders, muscular thighs gripped bareback   on his galloping horse, rides hard into the thick of a bloody combat. His sword   cuts through all who oppose him.

This is the filming of Oliver Stone’s Alexander and the legendary battle of   Gaugamela, Alexander’s greatest victory over the Persians - a turning point   in his conquest of the known world. Stone’s sweeping historical saga charts   the life and the legend of one of the greatest figures in world history. The   story is an epic that is a daring and ambitious as its subject, a relentless   conqueror who, by the age of 32, had amassed the greatest empire the world hade   ever seen.

Through the clouds of dust, Leto can see Colin Farrell as Alexander the Great,   his massive blade slicing into flesh and sinew. There is the director, Oliver   Stone, shouting, moving rapidly behind the camera line. There are hordes of   men bellowing, bleeding, bodies everywhere. On the fringes lurks famed military   trainer and Stone cohort, Captain Dale Dye. Today, the Captain isn’t wearing   his favorite T-shirt emblazoned with the motto: “Pain is weakness leaving   the body,” but Leto needs no reminders.

Leto has always propelled himself into physical extremes to live inside a character.   As the champion runner Steve Prefontaine, he bled his feet to the bone. In the   drug-fueled Requiem For A Dream, he reportedly swore off sex (with then girlfriend,   Cameron Diaz) and lost 28 pounds to play a junky. Then there was Fight Club   (he’d been recommended for the part his friend, fellow pretty boy, Brad Pitt.),   in which he begged to have his angelic face beaten to a pulp by a jealous Ed   Norton to prove his fealty. Suffering, pain, causality, creation through transformation.   Leto has pledged himself above and beyond to those epithets years ago.

“Killing people face to face for a living, that was their job,” explains   a laidback Leto a few months later from a low-key restaurant in Southern California.   It’s early afternoon. His clothing is relaxed and he looks pleasantly tired.

“It’s not jet lag. I’m over that. I just couldn’t sleep.” It’s not   due to time spent with his (purported) new, luscious It-girl Scarlett Johansson.   He’s been concentrating on working on some new songs for his band, 30 Seconds   To Mars, taking meetings between rehearsals before he heads off to New York   and South Africa for three months to play another aggressor of sorts - an arms   dealer - in the film Lord of War, with Nicolas Cage and director Andrew Niccol   (Gattaca).

He is still pretty tan, making those pioneering blue eyes even more startling.   His long, blonde warrior-god locks are gone now, dyed and clipped into a light   brown Erik Estrada-style shag for the new movie. But there is still a trace   of the Irish lilt he took on for Alexander. (Aside from gearing it toward Farrell’s   natural tones, Stone’s rationale for the accent was that historically, the Macedonians   were to the Greeks what the Irish have been to the English.) Most of the 15   pounds of muscle weight that he strapped on for the six-month shoot has slipped   from his slim frame. Even so, the intensity of that experience is still on his   mind and in his body.

“The film has plenty of f***ing and fighting and killing and death and   blood. My job was to murder people and stand by Alexander.” who, according   to history, was his best friend since childhood, and his lover.

“Hephaestion, the character I play, and [Alexander] have a really special   connection. It’s a strong, strong relationship. I don’t think there is a term   we have today to define their relationship,” he says, deliberately muddling   around the oft-asked erotic question.

Farrell says, “There was no term for 'bisexuality’. It was just the way   society was. People made love to men and women. It was only later on you had   to pick one side of the fence.”

“But I promise you, in the film,” Leto teases, despite the magnetic   charms of Farrell, and costars Rosario Dawson and Angelina Jolie, who play Alexander’s   wife and mother, “the only kiss I gave out was to my horse. My one true   love.”

He takes the tape recorder and places it gently against his chest, which holds   within it the soul of a man who many have tried to reveal before. “I always   tell the truth. What else do you want to know? What do people really want to   know? What is the truth?” His face is a pure cheeky choir boy dare. “When   have I ever not told you the truth? How can you tell that I’m lying?”

I remind him that the last time we met, he told me he owned three Uzis, that   the first girl he kissed was a 47-year-old tranny named Jorge, that he was 19,   raised by circus performers, and that he studied art at the American University   of Paris for a semester, but was booted out when he wouldn’t give in to the   attentions of the headmaster. And he wouldn’t back down to any of those “facts”.

He laughs. “Really? As Ronald Regan used to say, 'I have no memory of   saying such things.’ ”

Says producer/director David Fincher, who worked with Leto on both Fight Club  and Panic Room, “When it comes to his acting, he is beyond method. He gets  into this whole image of his character. It is interesting how that kind of pain and sacrifice can translate. I mean, look at Requiem. I wish I had 100 Jareds   working for me. He was amazing.

"Jared definitely strives not to be a victim of his genetics. On the films   we did together, he was the guy who is constantly curious, the one you couldn’t bottle up. The one who wouldn’t hit his mark. He was like, 'Hey, I’m living it! Over here!’ But he does like to tell stories. It goes kind of like, 'How can you tell when Jared is lying? His lips are moving.’ ”

Leto, who prefers to see his playful fibbing as a way to keep his private life   private, was born the day after Christmas, 33 years ago, in Bossier City, Louisiana. His mother was an artistic soul, and with his father out of the picture, he and his brother, Shannon (who is also in 30 Seconds To Mars), traveled a great deal while they were growing up. After a stint at New York’s School of Visual Arts, he says, he came to Los Angeles around 12 years ago with a couple hundred bucks in his pocket, no friends, and nowhere to stay. For awhile, he slept on Venice Beach. Then kaboom! a role on television’s My So-Called Life (opposite Claire Daines) and for the next few years, he reigned as a teen pinup - a tag   and a look he has been successfully living down ever since.

According to Leto, “Luck is the residue of destiny.” It’s a phrase   he’s heard which he likes very much. He feels it means that we can get caught up in so many things, but the world has what it has for us. That, in our natural state, everything is the way it’s supposed to be - free and joyous - and that our own insecurities get in the way of all that. It’s an idea which could be   applied to his early life.

“When I was young, all that traveling was exciting,” says Leto. “You   do develop an ability to read people more quickly. You have to learn to adapt to whatever comes along, to survive. Maybe the way I grew up is why I’m drawn to acting, to different characters. From film to film, I’m constantly finding myself, reaching different places outside and inside myself. I want to change, to morph into something else.” To be able to do that for Oliver Stone is a gift, says Leto. “He is one of my f***ing heroes. He is a great man. Present, connected, very physical. I find his way very endearing.”

To work with Stone, he traveled to Morocco, where the oncoming sunset had turned the world orange, into the color of dark rust. But the sky was growing dark, the golden scorpions were scuttling under the rocks, another sandstorm was moving toward the camp, fast.

Within moments, Leto, wearing his usual training gear - a T-shirt, tight shorts,   boots covering his calves - couldn’t see two feet ahead of him. The sand whipped raw against his skin as he made for his tent. Inside, he tightened the flap and listened to the wind howl. He had switched off his cell phone, his e-mail. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in the U.S. for months. Apocalyptic fantasies crowded his brain. Many in the cast had already been horribly sick. There was a virus in the dust. His tent was next door to the latrine and he could hear cast and crew heave by the dozens.

One night, Leto got so sick, he thought he was going to toss a spleen.“I lay in bed for a couple of hours staring at the stars, just breathing really   slow, willing it away. I fell asleep dreaming strange, surreal dreams. When   I woke up, it was gone. That’s the desert.”

Says Dawson, “It was beyond primal, all those men bonding - horse training,   fighting, all buffed up wearing nearly nothing. And as soon as a woman came   on set, the energy was so damn erotic.

"One time Jared came to visit the hotel [where women stayed]. He was so   happy to be there. He got to take a shower, have some proper food.So he’s talking, sitting there, and just sort of adjusting the package, not sexually, but in   this slow, languorous way, like there was no one else around.It was all suited   to his character, but I was like, 'Hey dude…’

"And he was like, 'I’m sorry! We’re out there in our underwear and boots   all the time… maybe it’s got us a little too relaxed.’ Maybe. But it was all   good.” She bats her eyes.“It was wonderful being around that kind of really masculine environment.”

“Oh, Rosario,” responds Leto, “she is so beautiful. Such a great   woman.” He drops his head, smiling, not exactly asking for forgiveness.“Working on Alexander was an amazing experience. It’s all about connectivity. There is an old saying that the greatest leader is the servant of them all. Meaning, you are the most powerful when you are giving.”

“I think that as an artist, in any kind of expression of creation, that   you must have to be in love with the process. It is the most exciting part of the work, and that if you have a desire for greatness, you will have to be willing to f***ing bleed. I think it’s true for me.That’s what drives me.”

He claps his hands over his face. “F***. People are going to read this   and think, 'What the f***? Is weirdo Leto on crack? Hitting the old acid tab again.’ But honestly, it’s what I believe. One of my favorite things about getting older is that my intuition is often wrong.To me, it means I’m uncovering something   new about the world.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 3X18 - Bleeding Through

If you don’t like Cora, then I’d recommend you EVA-cuate before this review begins!

...Fuck what you say! I’m proud of that one!

Anyway, the review is under the cut!

Press Release

After Zelena steals Regina’s heart, Regina casts a spell so that she can speak across the realms to her dead mother, Cora, to discover the truth about why she abandoned Zelena, and Belle stumbles across what Zelena’s ultimate end game is. Meanwhile, in the Fairy Tale Land that was, young Cora is duped by a man claiming to be a prince and finds herself alone and pregnant. But a chance meeting with a real prince could lead Cora to the royal life she’s always craved, but she must keep her pregnancy a secret or risk losing everything.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past

The Cora insight in this episode is so great. Like we really see how a woman with ambitions of royalty, but still a level head becomes someone so driven like the Cora who abused Regina so she’d become royalty. ”Revenge is a long-term plan.” I like how even in an episode that is more-or-less leaning towards sympathizing with Cora, there are nuggets of her darker side wedged in there. It really helps balance the story and remind the audience that yeah, this is Cora. There was always that darkness to her, even while she still had her heart.

Everything in this flashback also completely recontextualizes what happened with her and Regina and Daniel’s relationship. Like, of course a love with a commoner would leave Cora just a bit apprehensive. That’s not to excuse her for SHIT, but I do this it’s important to point out nonetheless.

Present

It’s weird that we don’t really reach the meat of this story until the halfway mark. Everything beforehand is more setup than anything and it’s unlike most every other episode in that regard. The closest comparison that I can think of is “Coming Home” which spent its last fifteen minutes as an epilogue.

I compared the Regina/Zelena/Cora conflict to the Snow/Regina/Cora conflict in the past, and I guess now’s as good of a time as any to unpack that. Just like how Snow did something that hurt Regina without meaning to at all, so did Regina to Zelena. Both Snow and Regina in their respective situations were innocents and so were Regina and Zelena victims of Cora. So, is there a point to pointing this out rather than to just say that it exists? Well, I think the latter instance shows the only good way that a complicated issue like this can be resolved: communication and understanding. Snow and Regina grasp this about each other and finally, this is where the bulk of their issues are put to bed. While Snow’s divulgence of her secret comes out, it’s going forward played for laughs in the instance of a corrupted state or as a “what if.”

But ANYWAY, that aside, the Snow/Regina dynamics sits at the heart of the present segment’s story. It’s hinted at early on and blossoms from the end of the failed seance onward. Snow’s apologies to Regina throughout the episode allows for these two women to finally confront the complicated nature of their run-ins with Cora. Cora was a bad person who in the end, got what she deserved, but the mess she left behind wasn’t deserved by those with whom she left it.

All Encompassing

THAT ALL HAVING BEEN SAID, ”She didn’t want to give up Zelena. She was forced to by my mother.” Everything Snow recounts about her possession is utter BULLSHIT and makes me think she has no comprehension skills! To put it bluntly, that aspect of the ending fucking sucks! This would be one thing if this were a few episodes ago, but she’s contradicting things that have and will be in mere minutes literally clarified. Cora DID willingly give up Zelena and all Eva had to do with it was making sure Leopold wasn’t swept up by it. THAT is why “My best chance” is the swerve of a line that it is, because it’s a mother giving up her child to die in the woods with absolutely no remorse! Because of all that, the moment where Snow “exposits” about the present ends up as the weirdest story hole that paints everyone involved in such an unnecessarily weird light. This is either the result of the writers not communicating with each other about the framing or the framing being flat-out wrong. Like, they’re trying to make this a more complicated issue, but are going in the reverse order of things! How did they fuck this moment up so badly?! If they wanted to do that, Eva should’ve been shown in the episode to be a lot more malicious than she was instead of exposing a liar. The actions should’ve been worse, but I’m more on Eva’s side than Cora’s. OR FUCK! LEOPOLD has a giant ass hatedom and he was the one who proposed to someone he was roughly four times older than! Make HIM the baddie! Have him outright reject her for the pregnancy and kick her out, no lie attached. That way, you get to keep the message the same, but give that assholery to someone who deserves it. Just...this element that makes up the moral center of the story is utter GARBAGE here, and it’s so sad given how well set up everything else was. Eva’s move was only douchey if you remove the fact that Cora was keeping such a big secret!

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-”Red apples are so sickly sweet. Don’t you agree?”That must be an Enchanted Forest thing, because not in our realm, or at least not compared to Granny Smiths!

-Okay, Zelena’s plan to get Regina’s heart was sinister and ingenious as fuck!

-The way Roland just drops the firewood in his hands upon seeing Rumple is so fucking adorable! #bestcharacter

-Aww! Regina’s first thought when she loses her heart is to ask if anyone was hurt!! <3

-I love the background music in the flashback’s first scene. It’s so bouncy and peppy and just makes me smile!

-Jonathan’s such a sneaky asshole-ish fuck. He has his seduction of Cora down to a freakin’ science!

-”I’ll turn this ring into gold.” Bitch, she’ll do it herself!

-”Can you please tell your mother that we’re not naming your brother Leopold?” Yes! Please don’t!

-”Eva might not work for a boy.” Edwin?

-The Dark Vortex is hands down the silliest thing this show has ever done and I kind of love it.

-”Oh don’t be jealous.” ...This line was said from Zelena to one of her monkeys. Do her monkeys have crushes on her?

-I like the explanation for why they don’t use the seance more. I am curious though, do you think people who have moved on can be communicated with? Like, if Neal were killed with an actual weapon and Zelena were present for it, would he have been able to be summoned?

-FUCK YOU, JONATHAN!

-”Good luck finding me.” Why? You’re a gardener. You’re pretty easy to find. ...Okay, so you’re just gonna run away from your job? ...You are such a loser.

-Hey! Pre-scummy Leopold! Decent to see you!

-Jeez. Hearing Emma talk about how powerful her magic is hurts! Damnit!

-”I’m not in the mood for a heart-to-heart.” “I’m not sure that’s physically possible right now.” XD That’s an underrated joke and Regina’s chuckle was well earned!

-”You can help with the teacups.” Why is it that teacups are this show’s equivalent of being soft and cute?!

-I love how you can see how freakin’ amazed young Leopold is when Cora takes his knife to make the fire.

-The way Emma says “Boom!” is sooooo cute! She’s so excited and I want that as my fucking text tone! <3

-...I love how Belle for once gets to interrupt someone at Granny’s. This is ending up as the best Belle episode ever and she’s not even the main!

-”You should have a woman dress you more often.” I can’t say that I disagree.

-”Why a heart? Why courage? Why a brain?” Do you think Zelena knows that there’s not only a book series, but a classic movie based around these things?!

-”My son is not lost. He’s dead.” Don’t remind me!

-Haunted house! Why are there so many Halloween episodes that have fuck all to do with Halloween?!

-I love how the possession blends into the next flashback scene! That was COOL storytelling!

-...I know Rumple’s playing her, but damnit, the dude’s dashing as fuck. If I were Zelena, I’d have fallen for him too.

-Damn! Zelena’s touch starved! Have a listen to those gasps!

-”And he said I have a tough placenta, which somehow came out creepy.” Yup, that’s Whale for you.

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

The Wicked Witch - So we now have Zelena’s plan and I while I stand by what I said in my “It’s Not Easy Being Green” review in saying that it’s kind of pointless going back in time when Cora only wants a child that will grow up to be royalty, the process of how she time travels is nonetheless a good one and Zelena’s the kind of character who is both cocky and talented enough to make it happen.

Regina’s Redemption - We get so much of Regina’s Redemption in this episode and once again, it’s all just spectacular! “If she wants to kill you, she’s gonna have to go through me.” Like, Regina’s not only defending someone who she used to HATE, BUT is freely standing up to her mother. That’s so impressive!

Killian’s Redemption - I think it’s a big show of how much Killian has grown as a character that while not romantically pursuing Emma, he’s still doing everything he can to help the cause while he comes up with another plan. He’s definitely in a complicated spot here and not telling Emma is definitely a mistake, but for his current situation, he’s doing what he can to ensure everyone’s safety.

Rumple’s Redemption - Rumple made a really impressive stride here. Just as much as Rumple mourns for Bae’s loss, he wants to honor the sacrifice he made and thus refuses to resurrect him at the cost of invalidating that sacrifice. Look, Rumple has a tendency to put his needs above others, but with Bae, he will never do that again.

Favorite Dynamic

Belle and Regina. Let’s talk about that apology scene and how good it is. I like how at the start of it, Regina does what she did with the Lost Boys and points how how them working together could benefit them both, but upon seeing that that won’t work (Or that it will, but Belle deserves better), she gives a real apology. And I like how Belle, while working with her, doesn’t necessarily accept it. It’s also a good moment in that it gives Belle a voice as she gets to react to things and get angry, and as Belle isn’t often granted that by the writing staff, I think it’s something that makes those moments stick out more.

Writer

Jane Espenson and Daniel Thomsen finish out their work for the season here, and they were doing such a good job...but then they fucked it up! Like, the mistake was easy to fix. Either make Eva do something FAR more villainous than convince Leo to test Cora or axe the “my mom was evil too” angle. But by not going all in on one or the other, you lose the center of your story, and that’s exactly what happened here.

Rating

8/10. Not gonna lie. That 8 comes solely from the ending resolution on Eva and Cora. That lack of understanding of what your own narrative was saying is so shocking and appalling to me that I had to take off more than just one point for it. The rest of the story -- both of them -- are so good. How did they not stick the landing? I feel like they were trying so hard to make Cora more complicated that they neglected Eva in the process.

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

Captain Swan - This is such a weird moment to love as a CS fan, but I still do. Emma’s finally opening up herself more to Killian and Killian can’t do the same, but Emma’s still trying and she’s trying fairly hard! Also, I want to know how that conversation would’ve gone had Belle not stepped in! Would Emma have gotten the truth out of Killian? Would there have been cuddles? It’s anyone’s guess!

Golden Heart - Just gonna point out that when Cora finally showed up, it was in by a spinning wheel of all things!

Outlaw Queen - I like the present buildup to Robin and Regina getting together. Regina’s softness and understanding of them being soulmates on top of their chemistry really helped the expedition of their romance work. Robin’s subdued presence alongside Regina and Snow’s conversation about her resilient heart really helped their kiss come together.

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Hey guys!! Thank you all for reading and to those fine and fabulous folks at @watchingfairytales for birthing this project! Also tagging the marvelous @daensarah by request! Love you all and I’ll see you all next time!

Season 3 Total (169/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (39/60) Kalinda Vazquez (26/40) Andrew Chambliss (34/50) Jane Espenson (28/30)* David Goodman (29/40) Robert Hull (30/40) Christine Boylan (20/20)* Daniel Thomsen (28/30)*

* Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.