#Image contains mild appearance-change spoilers

[sbeep]

I was drawing characters during enemy turns in the final battles of my 2nd run of the game, and one thing led to another. I've fallen in love with the whole cast. 🫶 Ft. my paladin Dark Urge and bard Tav.

#BaldursGate3 #BG3fanart #DnD #baldur's gate 3 #Bg3 #tav #dark urge #*Paladin Sam #*Cece the Bard #Image contains mild appearance-change spoilers #Somewhere in Act 3 we have room for a good time campfire party i believe it in my heart

[snailchaser-the-medicinecat]

How does starclan reacts to Spottedleaf's lies?

Super sorry for answering this so late, I've been super busy LMAO I try to answer asks as quickly as I can, so thank you for being so patient!

This will contain some spoilers for my fic, even if I might tweak some things before then, so know this is subject to some possible changes! It'll also contain some mild horror and themes of being watched, so fair warning!

It's nothing big at first, for a while she actually flies comfortably under the radar, the problem only really starts getting recognized by Starclan once they tell the clan the false prophecy, uncomfortably close to before whenever Spotted receives the 'Fire will save our clan' one, and gets worse once Yellowfang gets there and starts working alongside her. A lot of the plan hindered on the only other medicine cat around being her and her apprentice, so Yellowfang appearing threw a massive wrench in things. Yellowfang does agree not to reveal the fact she's faking her and Tigerclaw's prophecy, but can't promise she'll be able to keep her safe from everything that may come her way because of it.

She starts to avoid the night sky after that, doing her best to only go out during the day, or when the stars are hidden by clouds. But that doesn't always help her when she starts to feel watched near constantly. She's not exactly sure if it's a manifestation of guilt or Starclan themselves, at the time, but she starts to have dreams if not hallucinations of silent starclan cats, just... Watching as she tries to gather herbs. It's extremely rare for Starclan to decend from the sky, much less for no good reason. They don't tell you how dead and lightless an otherwise glittering Starclan cat's eyes can look when they stare at you so blankly. Nothing proves they're no longer alive more than that.

Yellowfang tries to comfort her through the days, but she out of anybody can tell it's starting to weigh on her- She does her best to make her feel a bit more secure, but having another cat with Starclan's gifts so nearby only makes things more unsettling.

Starclan is very different in this AU, being a lot more reserved and ominous, much closer to a coalescence of all the spirits of their ancestors that started having their lines between eachother smudged long ago. The clans have this image of ethereal starry passed family members who watch over them and keep them safe, but if you look deeper, there's something beneath the surface. They don't actively try to stop Spottedleaf, since this is likely a new type of crime, faking a prophecy not for power, but for something as simple and small as love, so instead they just judge. They know she knows they're watching her, and they plan to keep doing it until she dies, even if she tries to shut Starclan out of her mind later.

She does start trying to shut out Starclan once she realizes she's pregnant with Tigerclaw's kit. She knows the clan will see them as something special due to the prophecy that allowed them to be born 'within the code', and she doesn't need twice the stress with Starclan still lingering around her during the whole thing. Unfortunately, with her having such a strong connection with Starclan, and Tigerclaw having his own ties to it for wildly different reasons, their son ends up having a much, much higher connection than a majority of medicine cats do, even from a young age. Spotted isn't sure whether they passed it down to him, or if Starclan felt a bit sadistic and decided to play along for now, but for a while, the starry figures that stalk her through the forest seem to dissipate. She can't tell why, though, but she can feel in her bones that they'll be back for her.

Tigerclaw doesn't have a direct link with Starclan, but he does actually get his own glimpses of them, though his seem to be more based in malice. They've obviously never been too fond of him, and since Pinestar refused to kill him as a kit, they've let that demand go, but a lingering distaste for him never faded. He's been plagued with nightmares his entire life, but something about the ones he started getting once Starclan discovered their lie seemed to be less copy-paste with a few adjustments, and more personal. Deeper cutting and more unnerving. Ones he couldn't shake even with Spottedleaf at his side every night.

#the false prophecy au #warrior cats #tigerstar the first #spottedleaf #tigerclaw #Yellowfang #wc #spottedtiger #I'm not saying Starclan is evil #But they're definitely not morally good #Neither is the Dark Forest entirely bad. #They're both just where dead cats go #The Dark forest is just where cats who Starclan cast out go. There ARE a lot of evil cats there #but that's not everybody there. #It's not as bad as people make it out to be #Though it's not exactly ideal #You at least know you'll keep yourself as one person #After long enough in Starclan you just become Starclan. You only keep that individuality for the first 30 years being there #It's like some fucked up divine hivemind in there #Angelic and beautiful #but are they really seperate after long enough? They seem to just... Merge into eachother. Much less lucid than they were in life #They know they're powerful #And sometimes they use that power in intimidating ways. Even if it doesn't actively hurt anybody

[vermutandherring]

Warning: This article contains descriptions of death and images of blood.

The first part of the review: ORIGINS The second part of the review: THE PLOT

There are small spoilers that do not reveal the plot of the game, but only separately highlight certain moments in the game.

In my opinion, of all the arts, theater holds on to its academic base the strongest. We see a lot of bad painting, just as much sculpture, listen to even more bad music. But I have never seen a bad performance. Being completely honest, I visited only world classics. But agree: in order for the work to evoke emotions, it must be correctly played by modern actors. Sitting in the front row of Vampyr, I had a strange feeling from the first minutes. This state, as if everything is fine, but you do not feel completely satisfied with what you see. It was clear that the game was trying to be poetic. Jonathan's dramatic speech and the visual scene of his transformation into a vampire are reminiscent of a poem. Laconic but eloquent form, good means of expression and incredible power of the actor's voice. I love lyrics. But at the beginning of the scene I feel awkward. After playing the game, when I was making screenshots for my reviews, I started the game over. The second time, I no longer had this feeling of mild-cringe. I think the biggest reason for that was the visual part - animated cutscenes, to be more precise. Why was such a strange style chosen to tell certain moments of the story? Perhaps the experience of working on the previous project of the Life is Strange developers with a more stylized design showed itself here. It also obviously simplifies the production process and reduces production costs and time. But I didn't like this modernization of the vampire story, because it looks more like raw sketches.

At one time, I was impressed by the way of storytelling in Yakuza. Periodically, we see shots in which the characters are static, but not completely frozen. We hear them talking, but their mouths don't move. Only text and visual 'graphic' effects. In fact, this is a method borrowed from comics or manga, if we are talking about a Japanese game. Yakuza isn't the only game to use this technique though (Bayonetta seems to have a similar tool). But it looks quite organic in a bunch with realistic graphics, unlike Vampyr. Here, these static frames are replaced by artworks. I am not saying that they are bad. They just stand out from the general atmosphere for me.

Oh, what an atmosphere! The smell of baked blood and dry half-decomposed bodies, the suffocating ash of burnt flesh and the crunch of bare bones. What a strange place to be born again! Thirst. Thirst torments all of us from the first seconds of birth. It is so insatiable that it blinds your eyes. And like a blind kitten, overcoming terror, he goes to its call to take a sip that will bring the desired comfort. But no. His soul will not rest. Pain and anger, guilt and despair of loss - this is what brings with it the long-awaited quenching of thirst. This is the price of being a vampire. And now we have to guide our hero along this path.

I like the beginning of the story. It resembles a climax taken from Shakespeare. In Jonathan's life journey, the role change was indeed a turning point. In the past - a brilliant doctor who once saved lives with his reinvention of blood transfusion. And now - a cursed creature that has to drink blood to save its own life. The creator of our main character claims that death is not God's punishment, but a gift. If so, why from the first minutes we appear in all the tragic before our new gift? God level drama. But Jonathan does not believe in divine providence, he relies on his own mind and believes in the power of science. Because at the moment when humanity raised its hands in supplicating prayer to God, religion betrayed them, leaving them in the vortex of voracious disease.

The game continues to use the game space as a theater stage in cutscenes. The characters are emotional, their speeches are full of drama and have well-accented intonations, complemented by an accent. The figures are arranged in the frame as if in a well-organized performance, and the angles create the impression that we are really in the first row of the parterre. The same feeling is observed in the usual dialogues with the characters, when the camera is directed from behind Jonathan's back to the interlocutor, as if we are watching the action. This fourth wall is broken by the game itself in the section where you enter directly into the theater. Your fight with the boss and the conversation take place on the theater stage, among the red curtains and the remains of the velvet decoration.

I think that when starting to write a story, we all at some point have the desire to choose a distant era, filled with the rumble of carriages and the rustle of long hems. For vampire works, England of the 19th and 20th centuries is generally like a forbidden fruit - you really want to touch it. Dark streets, cold brick of Gothic cathedrals and the Thames bathed in moonlight. England is such an obvious place for the development of your good story that at one time the developers of the game Sherlock Holmes: Chapter One transferred Sherlock Holmes, the most English character, from the streets of his native London to a fictional island called Cordona. It was a very good move, I must say.

But Vampyr does not need to resort to such tricks. The entourage of London drowned in chaos suits the story and is its addition, not just a pretty background. By 'pretty' I mean well-executed, atmospheric enough to immerse yourself in the game, and with good, intuitive level design. Because 'beauty' is not the word that can be applied to this nocturnal horror of dirty streets and ragged houses that create a miserable appearance. Quarantine reminders and posters with calls to join the army are hung on the walls and doors, littered with junk. I'm sure Jonathan had wild flashbacks every time I stopped to read them. In short, I like the forlorn look of Greater London with its gloomy silhouettes of houses against the night sky.

You can even see the silhouette of Tower Bridge

Again, returning to the visual component. I don't know how authentic the developers tried to make them. But like the inserts in the cutscenes, they stand out from the general context, seeming too modern for the beginning of the 20th century. In my article about how games introduced me to art, I mentioned a few words about the paintings in Lady Ashbury's castle. In one of the conversations with Jonathan, not wanting to fully reveal her age, she says that she can be found on the canvases of great masters. In particular, these are Vincent Van Gogh and Jan Vermeer. I don't know whether it was by chance or specifically that the artist logically included the works in-between the works of these artists. For example, we know that Vermeer, the master of the genre scenes, painted only one portrait in his entire life - Girl with a Pearl Earring. Let's not talk about all the theories of creation, because in this context it is not important. The date of creation is important - 1665 - 1667, the late period of artist's creativity. Vermeer's portrait of Elizabeth was painted in 1666, that is, in the same time period. The picture in the game is written in a free manner. The image has the appearance of a sketch and tends more towards DaVinci's sfumato technique, besides, it has a strange and uncomfortable perspective. It is very surprising for a representative of Dutch painting, whose artists have always been famous for canvases written to the smallest detail. At that time, the public simply would not have understood a work in such a technique. This is exactly what happened to Rembrandt, who, due to his new painting style, was left without clients, poor and forgotten at the end of his life.

I forgot to take a screenshot of Van Gogh's work. I think the website where I found this picture made a mistake in the date, because the year 1666 is also indicated there. With regard to the painting technique, here we also see only an imitation of the form with a complete disregard for the content.

The same applies to the work in which Lady Ashbury is depicted with her lover Lord J. Blackwood. You won't see this type of portrait on 18th century canvases, where a full-length couple is walking against a blank wall. I don't see the slightest need for Elizabeth to be portrayed by famous artists. In the same article about art in games, I gave an example of games that successfully quote art or individual works. Vampyr's attempt to do this feels misguided. These works do not have any symbolism, do not fit with the plot and are carelessly made. I see only one benefit from them - they emphasize that Lady Ashbury is a typical Mary Sue.

Elizabeth is perfect from start to finish: a mysterious red-haired vampire who captivates the main character immediately after several meetings. She is so ancient and, moreover, incredibly charming that she's on the canvases of great masters (unexpectedly). She is noble and rich, has a talent for painting, restrains her thirst (because she is not some vampire, but a proud ekon), and is also important to the plot. But if she were a person in another work under different conditions, her role in the plot and influence on it would not change at all. Because her character does not move the plot in any way, and is practically not revealed during it. However, if Lady Ashbury has any virtues that are completely irrelevant to the story, the game will let you know about it. At some point, she simply becomes the central protagonist, around whom everything revolves, like the Sun revolves around the Earth in the heretic's imagination.

Jonathan has no reason to have feelings for her, and their romance has no reason to exist. This relationship between the mentor and the student does not develop in any way, does not undergo significant tests that could bring the characters closer. Her image generally resonates with a bunch of heroines in novels of the 19th century, where the characters are beautiful only for some imaginary purity, care, fragility and masculine determination, 'uncharacteristic of the feminine'. The two-day marathon of Dracula reminded me again why I no longer touch fiction unnecessarily. Endless descriptions of heavy sighs, exhausted faces of ladies, their awe-inspiring looks, gentle voices, easy naivety and wisdom. They do absolutely nothing, but only need male guardianship, in order to eventually reach the hero as the main prize for all his suffering. Take away Lady Ashbury's fangs and her title, and she's no different from Mina Harker.

I like absolutely every female character more than the charming vampire Lady Ashbury, about whom everyone speaks with such piety that I want to shrink away from all that with a crucifix. While browsing the Internet, I came across a comment that Lady Ashbury has that same vampiric charm that makes you immediately fall in love with a heroine who doesn't put any effort into it. Vampire charm is a concoction of modern pop culture that romanticizes ancient sponger pests. I don't see any sense in this, because instead of a complex personality, we get an absolutely flat image of a beautiful lover who can live forever at the pleasure of its beloved. In Le Fanu and Stoker, this 'charm' is the embodiment of sin, everything carnal, forbidden by religion and modern morality. That is why Carmilla and the transformed Lucy captivate others without making an effort. Because they are the personification of lust, living human passion and desire. Lady Ashbury is just a log against their background.

Nevertheless, I cannot say unequivocally that Lady Ashbery is a spoonful of tar in this beautiful story. At some points, the game finds justification for her virtues, her penchant for charity and painting. But it happens too late. The end of the story, which finally reveals Lady Ashbery, does not impress and does not make (at least personally) sympathize with her and her fate. In the whole situation, her father seems more of a victim than his long-suffering daughter. This remorse, this wringing of hands and dramatic speeches about one's own guilt… All this tired me even when I read Dracula and once again related Ashbery to Harker for me. Although Mina's help in the development of the plot is still incomparably greater than the fluttering of Elizabeth's soul.

Against the background of the gray figure of Lady Ashbury, the character of Mary is much more interesting and meaningful. The first minutes of the game, so sorrowful and filled with regret, stretch for us for the first couple of chapters, and for Jonathan - for the rest of his existence. She reminded me of my own thoughts when I tried to imagine what it would be like to live forever. When the terrible pain of losing the closest people remains with you until the end of time. When you constantly accumulate past mistakes that can neither be corrected nor forgotten. How memories of the betrayal of a loved one eat away the remnants of common sense, turning you into a monster. Mary's story arc is interesting, it really is imbued with that gothic and mysterious flair found in the works of Le Fanu and Stoker. The tragic nature of her image raises a natural question: is eternal life really better than one-time death? Is it worth going through hell again and again, or is it better to end the torment instantly? I cannot despise her even after what she has done, because we all want inner peace. But in Vampyr you have to pay dearly for this peace.

And while Mary's character is great in that respect, her reveal also makes me a little sad. Everything happens too quickly, too hastily, pulling on some dubious motives. Mary throws her motives in our faces in an instant, and instead of being pleasantly enlightened by the truth after a long investigation, all I can say is 'Oh. Wow… Poor thing'. Unlike the rest of the main characters, you don't get to decide what Jonathan should do with his sister. And maybe it's for the best. As I already noted in the first part of the review, in those cases where you have a choice, you want to do the most 'right' thing without hurting anyone. And often you only do worse, being burned by your own desire to do justice. Mary still deserved mercy, no matter how cruel it was. After all, as Dr. Van Helsing said, "But if the most blessed of all, when this now UnDead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor lady … shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels".

It would be possible to talk a little more about other key characters, talk about side characters, complain about the monotonous design of buildings and premises. But I advise you to try it yourself and form a personal impression of this wonderful game, despite all its flaws. I can also mention the music separately. I know absolutely nothing about music. But an ordinary player does not need it. After all, a well-made work can evoke clear and understandable emotions subconsciously. The compositions perfectly support the general tone of the game, emphasize the right moments and set their own intonations. The deep sound of the cello sings in unison with the gloomy atmosphere and mood of the characters. Modern notes are also heard in the compositions. But unlike drawn inserts, they do not spoil the work, but really modernize the story.

That concludes the Vampyr review. It was very exhausting and I'm not sure I'll ever do such a detailed review of a game like I'm writing a research paper. And although a lot was left out (for example, the sources of inspiration of the developers), I covered all the aspects that I wanted to. I may still do a review on Vampire The Masquerade, but it won't happen anytime soon.

#gaming #videogames #video games #video game review #vampire game #games art #vampire aesthetic #jonathan reid #vampyr #vampire #my articles

[wherebettertoescape]

Bonnie & Clyde - Garrick Theatre

This review does contain mild spoilers for the West End production of Bonnie and Clyde, talks of death, prison and abuse

Freddie attended the evening production of Bonnie and Clyde on the London West End on 6th May with her sister - please let me know what you guys think both of the review and the production in general!

The same moment that the lights dim in Garrick Theatre, loud gunshots ring out through the room and several of the audience members jump - myself included. I notice my sisters face of amusement at my reaction, but before she can comment on it, the music starts up - sounding as though it comes from an old-time gramophone. Then, a screen is lifted and Bonnie and Clyde appear - dead, in their car, the visual enough to raise the hair on my arms.

Even though the coronation celebrations are still causing the streets of London to be crowded with locals and tourists alike, the moment that Cleve September and his cast of fellow police officers take the stage, all thoughts of the new king are gone as I am swept back in time to the world of outlaws. 

I did not get the chance to see Jordan Luke Gage acting as Clyde, but I have to admit after having had the opportunity to watch Barney Wilkinson instead I’m so glad. I had seen little about Wilkinson’s performances as the understudy Clyde, and he was one of the cast members who I was utterly unfamiliar with - but he completely blew past my expectations. 

The first act ends with three very intense songs for Clyde - the duet with Ted, You Can Do Better Than Him, a song for Clyde that is vastly different from his other numbers. Yet Wilkinson captured the characters’ longing and love for Bonnie, and yet also conveyed with his expression the self-assured, almost cocky nature of Clyde with how he knows that even while Bonnie deserves better, she “won’t do better than [him]”, because she loves him. Contrasting with Septembers’ unconditional love for Bonnie, this number was truly remarkable and it’s hard to describe the atmosphere in the theatre when it came to an end.

Naturally, the musical number I had most been anticipating going into the audience for this show was Raise a Little Hell - the song that could be considered the soundtrack to the musical. I must admit, I wasn’t sure that anyone would be able to perform it with the same intense fury and grim determination as Jeremy Jordan. And while I am still partial to Jordan’s performance of the song, Wilkinson’s rendition was spine-chilling. His voice alone more than enough to set me at the edge of my seat, my breath caught in my throat as I waited for his next move - desperately wanting him to fight back and to confide in Bonnie. This paired with the choreography and staging of the number - the dark lighting and the image of Clyde, alone in his cell, his back to the audience for the first chorus of the song - united to show Clyde in a far more sympathetic light than before. No longer was Wilkinson portraying a poor man who kept winding up in trouble, he was instead creating an understanding between Clyde and the audience with the understanding that he has been beaten down his entire life, and no matter what he does now, nothing will get the weight of his past off of his shoulders.

Wilkinson’s expression throughout the song, especially following his decision to take matters into his own hands and to “make Ed Crowder pay” is haunting. There’s something almost manic about it as he sings, capturing what one of the real-life friends of Clyde referred to as his change “from a schoolboy to a rattlesnake”.

And here I must add in the comment that my sister made to me during the interval, after Wilkinson’s spine-chilling numbers of both Raise a Little Hell, and This World Will Remember Us: “I’ve just realised that they die. I’ve been rooting for them, and I’ve just remembered they die.”

Jodie Steele and George Maguire as Blanche and Buck truly blew me away. Perhaps it’s biassed of me to say as such, considering these two roles were always my favourites, but the two of them together had incredible onstage chemistry and carefully walked the line between providing the comedic relief early on in the show and yet also being able to tug at the heartstrings of the audience in the second act. Steele’s rendition of Now That’s What You Call A Dream was utterly heart wrenching, bringing great sympathy to a character previously so adept at the more comedic numbers, such as You’re Going Back to Jail- and I’m certain that when the West End cast recording of the soundtrack comes off I will be listening to it on repeat.

George Maguire came alive in When I Drive, channelling the relationship between him and Clyde in this fun number, rolling around a tyre between them. From an audience perspective, it felt as though Maguire and Wilkinson were just having fun together, attempting to make each other laugh, and I spent the whole number grinning, utterly convinced of the brotherly relationship.

Maguire and McCann both excel at conveying to the audience their characters’ inner turmoil. Both of them having loyalties in two completely different walks of life - for Buck, he’s torn between his love for his wife and the life she wishes they could have together, and his brother, who is utterly convinced that that life is one completely unattainable for either of them. Whereas for Bonnie, she can either choose the safe option and marry Ted, or Clyde, who is offering her the life of fame and fortune she has always wanted, though in a completely different way to how she had imagined it.

So adept was Maguire at showing Buck’s inner monologue, that when he has to choose between following Clyde in the second act, or remaining with Blanche where the police still won’t trust him, the woman sitting to my left whispered: “no, don’t do it. Choose her”. I have to thank that random fellow audience member, for voicing my own exact thoughts.

The role of Bonnie comes with numerous challenges in regards to vocals - the haunting high notes of Dyin’ Aint So Bad which contrast so strongly with the far more upbeat, swing-like How ‘Bout a Dance ensure that whoever takes up the mantle of this role must be comfortable with singing in multiple genres and possess an impressive vocal range. Frances Mayli McCann excelled in this regard - her enthusiasm with the more upbeat songs, both early on and in the second act was infectious, her rendition of Picture Show both as child and adult Bonnie brought a huge smile to my face to watch her singing and dancing around the stage - the picture of childhood glee and innocence. 

McCall makes it impossible not to root for Bonnie - the slow transition from a dreaming girl trapped in a small-town life, unsure of the path of illegality Wilkinson’s Clyde is steering her down, to the quick-witted, devil-may-care woman who has accepted her fate and her love for Clyde. 

One aspect of the casting that cannot go unmentioned is Frances Mayli McCann and Julie Yammanee as Bonnie and Emma Parker respectively - two Asian women giving phenomenal performances in key roles in the production. Considering that McCann herself states that “it was never a dream of [hers] to play the role”, on account of her thinking it was not “in [her] casting”, despite how much she had loved the original soundtrack when it was released. McCann’s words and exceptional performance at Bonnie, in particular with the difficult vocals in songs such as Dyin’ Ain’t So Bad, can give hope for the future of theatre being more representative and inclusive. I can only hope that any aspiring actors or actresses who had the chance to witness McCann’s performance are able to see now that your race, gender, sexuality or anything else should not be seen as a reason why you cannot play a certain role - as Jordan Luke Gage said in the interview: “Anybody should be able to play Bonnie”.

There are not many ensemble numbers in this production, but the direction and choreography certainly made them memorable. Particularly Made in America, with its harsh movements, the cast practically stomping on the stage, worked wonderfully to show how Bonnie and Clyde’s frustration with the system and they way things are extends much further than just the two of them, and explains why so many people did support and idolise the two rebellious outlaws.

Overall, the West End production of Bonnie and Clyde at the Garrick Theatre is well-deserving of its WhatsOnStage award for “Best New Musical”. With the use of physical humour that sent audiences into stitches, impressive renditions of vocally challenging songs, and two objectively bad characters who become so sympathetic throughout the musical, there is no doubt that this production does the original Jeremy Jordan production justice. I can only hope that it doesn’t take another five years for the next professional production, as even though I only saw it recently, I am desperate to return to the lives of Bonnie and Clyde.

#west end #london theatre #bonnie and clyde #bonnie and clyde musical #garrick theatre #bonnie parker #clyde barrow #jordan luke gage #frances mayli mccann #george maguire #jodi steele #cleve september #barney wilkinson #west end musicals #broadway musicals #musical theatre #musical theater trash #musicals #theatre review #reviews

[watching-pictures-move]

Viddying the Nasties | Cannibal Terror (Deruelle, 1980)

This review contains mild spoilers.

When it comes to the cannibal genre, I'm getting the sense that there are a few main strands. One consists of movies that, while not devoid of exploitative elements, work on the strength of the filmmaking, that put actual effort into framing these elements into a compelling narrative experience. Mountain of the Cannibal God is one such recent viewing that falls into this category. Another consists of movies that are more purely exploitative experiences, that work on the pungency of the images they contain, no matter how well or poorly made the movie around them might be. Cannibal Ferox is a movie that I didn't like very much but will concede works on this level. And then there are movies that are neither well made nor noxious enough to work as effective examples of the genre, and the most you can hope for are some laughs. Cannibal Terror falls into this category.

Despite my distaste for some of the elements endemic to these movies, I've found them to have a baseline of watchability on the basis of their jungle settings. The jungle is an environment of such visual richness and such potent atmosphere that even captured through subpar filmmaking, it manages to have some presence. Of course, it helps quite a bit if you're working with a real jungle, instead of the Spanish countryside where this appears to have been filmed. Don't get me wrong, the scenery here looks nice, and you get to soak it in during the endless scenes in which the characters walk from one place to another, but this movie is very obviously not set anywhere south of the equator, so the tropical atmosphere I want from these movies is somewhat lacking.

These movies are fairly consistent in their view of the jungle being somewhere between an amoral canvas and an equalizing force, and this maybe goes a bit further in its anti-colonial critique than some of the others. One of the legacies of colonialism has been changing the demographics of the colonized regions, and this movie boldly acknowledges this by casting as the cannibals a bunch of white guys with sideburns and mustaches. Yeah, let's go with that. ***SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING*** Anyway, in most of these movies the cannibals are morally neutral and essentially act in accordance to their natures (as in, they eat people because that's what they do), but here, they take an actual moral stance, specifically targeting the villains who kidnapped a child, leaving the child unharmed, and giving her father a lead as to where she might be. The cannibal chief seems like a nice guy.***END SPOILERS*** Also, this might be mean, but I'm not sure that kid would have been a great loss to society. When her dad calls her and has her guess what present he got her, his increasingly obvious hints do not get her anywhere close to the answer. "When you stroke it, it goes meow... No, it isn't a zebra."

One other thing to appreciate about this one is the lack of animal cruelty, as the movie relies heavily on nonviolent stock footage to create the illusion that it's set in the jungle. You could argue that the relative mildness of most of the runtime helps the more outrageous content in the climax pop, in a way similar to Mountain of the Cannibal God. You could argue anything you want. Last I checked it's a free country. But you'd be wrong. Because while that movie is arguably lower key during its first two thirds, things still happen. There's an emphasis on survival elements and actual jungle atmosphere, not just characters walking and walking and walking and walking. And that movie definitely delivers in its climax. Here, the gore scenes consist of extras holding guts close to their mouth but being careful not to take any actual bites, all while struggling to keep a straight face, as well as an incompetently-edited shootout that blows away the 180 rule.

So this is very, very bad (to the point that the producer apparently threw the director under the bus when it played at Cannes), although you might get some chuckles here and there or at least enjoy zoning out to the pleasant scenery. On that note, this feels like something you should watch on some blurry as hell VHS tape, so it boggles my mind that it can be seen in a beautifully restored HD transfer. What an age we live in.

#film #movie review #viddying the nasties #cannibal terror #alain deruelle

[softinkshadows]

Jujutsu Kaisen astrology (sun/moon/rising)

Some sun-moon-rising speculations, according to the characters’ official birthdays as listed by Gege Akutami, with some mild spoilers ahead ~ (birth years not taken into account)

Gojo Satoru - Sagittarius sun, Gemini moon, Aquarius rising Quick, witty, and without a serious bone in his body, air and fire dominant Gojo Satoru is the epitome of avid communication and chaos. His flighty personality appears out of place in serious life or death circumstances, though his shallow behaviour often hides a darker, more serious side which he keeps to himself. His sun-moon opposition makes him someone who grows through oscillating between extremes, and in the mutable signs his moods are light and change lightning fast. Highly intellectual and often cocky, he is also detached, surprisingly stubborn and a believer in larger humanitarian goals (resetting the jujutsu system). His Aqua rising makes him somewhat of a loner at times. Probably also a Sag mercury for his dramatic, showy speeches, and a Sag venus with his love for freedom.  Itadori Yuuji - Aries sun, Libra moon, Pisces rising  Itadori is one of the few people whose energy (or childishness) can match Gojo Satoru. Like Gojo, his sun-moon fire-air opposition makes him eccentric and complex. Not especially comfortable with his own emotions, Itadori represses his own traumatic experiences. He also often finds himself in moral dilemmas, such as what is considered a proper death, or weighing the balance between saving lives and causing mass destruction as Sukuna’s vessel, a perpetual and difficult state for a Libra moon. Relationships with others are important because he gains self-awareness through them. His Pisces rising is seen in his soft, easygoing and impressionable social demeanour, which can be quite chameleon-like depending on who he’s with. Likely a Taurus mercury and venus. 

Fushiguro Megumi - Capricorn moon, Scorpio moon, Taurus rising Fushiguro is the definition of controlled intensity. Usually sporting a deadpan look, his emotions are firmly contained and his private life is kept intensely private (re: his past as high school gang beater, his sister). Known as the most sane/collected out of the main trio, the strength of his feelings are revealed when he flicks the emotional switch and overwhelms the special grade with his domain expansion. Like many Capricorn suns, he struggles with competitiveness, self-worth and becomes adorably shy when validated by others (Gojo and Sukuna). Scorpio moons often have difficult and complex familial relationships, and this is evident in the lack of parental figures throughout his life (and his indifference towards them). They also have a good deal of natural sex appeal, which explains his popularity in middle school and Itadori’s (and SUKUNA’S LOL) early affection for him. Likely Cap mercury and Aqua venus.  Kugisaki Nobara - Leo sun, Virgo moon, Aries rising  Loud, brash and expressive, Kugisaki is confident, although sometimes coming across as arrogant. She is extremely critical (a Virgo moon trait), sees herself as above the boys when she meets them, and is generous and warm to (female) figures whom she highly respects. Interestingly, despite her dramatic persona, she’s the most level-headed out of the three when it comes to a crisis. She focuses on getting the job done, even if it comes at great personal sacrifice, such as the fight against the death paintings where she did not hesitate to stab herself to defeat them. She hides her sadness because it makes her vulnerable, and strength is the image she wants to portray. Like many Virgo moons, she has a solid sense of duty - despite her injuries during the Shibuya arc, she refused to leave the battlefield when her friends were still fighting. Possibly Leo mercury and Virgo venus. Nanami Kento - Cancer sun, Virgo moon, Capricorn rising The morose salaryman sorcerer. Responsible, down-to-earth and favouring structures and rules, Nanami is a true blue Virgo moon. He operates out of a sense of obligation and duty to society, often struggling to find meaning in life, and is practical in the way he goes about making decisions. This moon makes him highly perceptive and analytical in a fight, as seen from his multiple brushes with Mahito, and its need for precision and detail is reflected in the way his cursed technique operates (along a fascinating 7:3 ratio scale). His emotional Cancerian traits are kept under wraps, though he is protective of people and his friends. Because of the depth of personal trauma with Haibara, he even ran away from the sorcerer line of work. As a Cap rising, he is workaholic, solemn and overly serious. Most likely a Cancer mercury and Taurus venus.  Getou Suguru - Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Virgo rising  As one of the most radical personalities, Getou’s sole focus is on how to achieve the greater good, although what he defines as good has become skewed to the extreme. Quiet, dignified, and self-reflective, he is the patient and level-headed counterpart to Gojo who understands what it feels like to be born with power. Fueled by his strong sense of injustice and need to protective fellow sorcerers, he is methodical and self-effacing in achieving his goals, sacrificing his relationships with his friends, family and his status in jujutsu society along the way. Likely Aqua mercury and Cap venus. Maki Zenin - Capricorn sun, Aries moon, Aries rising Maki’s blunt, fiery and stubborn personality makes her strive to prove herself to her family. Amongst all the students, she possesses the strongest leadership charisma and potential.  Inumaki Toge - Libra sun, Pisces moon, Scorpio rising  Mostly quiet, mysterious and strangely alluring. Very protective of his friends, as seen from his colder, distant personality towards Yuta in their early days.  Panda - Pisces sun, Taurus moon, Sagittarius rising  Panda is quite sage-like and wise in personality. They keep calm and grounded, yet knows when to chime in with a joke or two to diffuse conflict in a situation.  Aoi Todo - Virgo sun, Aquarius moon, Leo rising A deep eccentric with an overactive imagination. Extremely intelligent and analytical, with a penchant for bravado and showiness.  Mai Zenin - Capricorn sun, Aries moon, Taurus rising  The younger of the twins, born shy of a few minutes after Maki, Mai’s Taurus rising makes her graceful, elegant and sensual.  Miwa Kasumi - Aries sun, Pisces moon, Cancer rising The sweetest! Shy, really giving person with a girl-next-door look. Gets starry eyed and excited too easily. 

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen astrology #jjk astrology #gojo satoru #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #nobara kugisaki #nanami kento #maki zenin #inumaki toge #panda jjk #aoi todo #mai zenin #miwa kasumi #getou suguru

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

(image changed to show oldest message first)

So Enola Holmes... is... alright.

I definitely think I set myself up for disappointment by reading the first book however.  Then again it wouldn’t be the first time a movie adaptation failed to live up to my expectations, and it didn’t wander off from the novel as much as other movies have (that I still haven’t forgiven).  

This will contain some spoilers, and I’m still not sure if all my mental ducks are in a row.  And if anyone who has read the rest of the books can explain some of the additions to the movie please do!

Rant below.

When it came time to watch the movie I thought I would make notes while I was watching it, stayed up till it released at 2am my time, got some popcorn and prepared.  Though I honestly felt like I was not prepared for a nearly 2 hour movie.  The set up for her family dynamic was off from the get go.  Book wise, the issue was that her mother gave birth to Enola so late in her life that to others it was a scandal like how could this woman avoid having a child for so many years between Sherlock and Enola.  The way the movie presents it, it’s no different than me not knowing my youngest sibling well because I went off to college when he was 4.  It’s presented in the movie as the boys got busy in their own lives and never visited, and Mycroft had put an time limit over his mother’s head that she could live there until Enola became 16.  To make him look like an even bigger jerk.  In the book this was presented as an unfairness that Mycroft took ownership of the home after their father died due to being a male heir, but that he was still leaving the care of it to his mother.  There was no threat of possible homelessness after a while.

Adding this detail where the guys simply moved on with their lives, and removal of this potential scandal, removed the fact that Enola’s mother told the guys not to come around.  Which showed her mother plotting this escape for a long while, and now just shows how if the brothers had just spent more time with their family they would’ve realized what was happening.  Also making it their fault they don’t have a relationship with Enola, and not her mother’s.  

In the book Enola’s mom:

Left Enola alone to teach herself.

Left Enola alone most days so she could wander (she would bond over art)

Told Enola she was fine Alone, which can be a form of gas lighting when you combine the mother’s absentee behavior to the fact that 

She told the boys not to come visit, creating a wall between her children

It’s highly understandable, being the only family Enola’s known, that it would be important to find her mother.  But also why it wasn’t a big leap for Enola to start living on her own with the time came.  

The only connection Enola had with her brother was through the articles about his cases.  Which makes the cute scene with Lestrade later in the movie where they compare knowledge of Sherlock Holmes very odd.  Adorable, but odd.  Though Lestrade in this also has me a little ruffled with his henchmen like behavior later when he breaks down a door on a mission for Mycroft. 

Mycroft deserved better, but at least he got to act like a shady government big brother character, it was entertaining.  

They made comments about how Sherlock and Enola are more gifted than him.  They also made comments about he was a jerk and cruel to Enola and their mom with what he said about them staying until Enola was 16.  And I have a feeling they put in the finish school scenes so she could have the blow out with Mycroft as he brought her there.  Which would of course also include a space where Enola could be semi-rescued by her now love interest, and give reasoning to Mycroft later washing his hands of her, despite his adamant belief that he is responsible for her.  

Of course Mycroft’s reaction, Enola’s mother’s change of focus, and the new family dynamic set up for another change in Sherlock Holmes.  Now we have the middle child who was not as cruel as his brother, but was still at fault for not visiting.  But he remembered some things about Enola from the time they lived together that he would bring up to show he cared.  Would even be used as ammunition against her mom in their last scene together.  (though it is a fair not to be distracted by the far past kind of shut down instead of an accusation that her mother didn’t care)

Instead of being on the opposition of Enola, he seemed to be on her side.  Even in the last moment where he tried to trick her into coming to see him, it didn’t seem completely malicious.  He appeared to be proud of her when she beat him to solving the mystery, though he had not been active on it where she had been because he was busy trying to find her.  Not because she was curious and got herself involved, but because the guy was stowing away in her cabin and got her involved.  It was definitely her choice to step into it, but she had already turned away once before so she would meet her train.

This love interest character is not my favorite. In the book we have a kid who had some romanticized notions of seafaring and had his mistaken beliefs squashed by reality, hard.  He became determined to go home and actually talk it out with his mom how she was babying him.  Now we have a guy who is about Enola’s age (16, which was 14 in the books), who is knowledgeable in wild plants, willing to be adventurous, and even a little wild with Enola.  Even changing it up where his interest in being a sailor was a cover to send people in the wrong direction of the fact he would want to work with flowers. 

This all leads into the new piece of the Enola story.  The mystery.  Instead of a child running away, attempted kidnapping and ransoming, we have one murder and one attempted murder.  Which also ties into the big political part of the movie regarding voting.  It is revealed that there is a domestic terroristic plot due to not everyone having the right to vote (not said outright but hinted that this about giving women the right to vote).  It would be voted upon by the lords later. 

~~Politics~~

Which leads to a bit that gets me a touch upset.  There were a lot of ties between protests and this bomb making lab that were not said, just indicated with flyers and other signs.  Enola is later confronted about how they don’t have to set off the bomb because they thought they would have to make noise to be heard -rewatching that ending scene right now to make sure I remember it-

“You have to make some noise if you want to be heard. Oh, it’s funny. I thought I was the one that was going to change the world.  The reform bill, is it true what you did?”

This part got me so angry.  What Enola did was save her love interest who just happened to have a seat of power in which he could vote and help sway it in their favor with his one vote.  In a certain light it felt like they were saying that believing in those with the power to change will change is better than protesting.  The line is not wrong, but it felt like they were putting the bombs on the same stage as protests, which they are not.

It feels like they used the political aspect to help propel a more compelling mystery, which was definitely better suited for the big screen than the earnest story in the book.  However, I can’t help but feel that it was muddled and poorly done.  The fact they used politics doesn’t bother me as much as how they used it.  Politics is used in stories all the time.  Law making, what is just, what isn’t.  Driving to the grocery store and what I see there, who I see there.  It affects day to day life.  However, if they want to focus on the element of protesting versus voting for change there is a debate there that I have feelings on, but not in a position to debate it.

Though it was very odd that they would want to talk about politics in the time frame and not show them as much in the movie as they did in the book.  Keeping politics effects on life at arms length enough to use political shouting and protests without the more compare and contrast which THEY COULD’VE done with the love interest if they felt more inclined.  But while the book version of him actually seems to have learned more about the outside world, this one just came in mint woke condition and only needed saving from the murderer and some mild convincing to go back and vote because they didn’t want him to.

~~Less Politics~~

Which also brings in the humorous political and societal norm that was ignored in the movie but brought up in the book.  Women’s clothing.  Enola’s mother uses it as a mean to hide her essentials while running away, and Enola does the same.  She also does a good many things while dressed up as a woman, not bribing men to change clothes with her as often.  The clothes that Enola once had despised at the beginning of the book she would grow to appreciate, especially the corset whose ribbing protected her from death with a knife caught on it.  Honestly same though, it’s funny when a piece of sturdy material you’re wearing saves your life and stops a blade (personal experience, mine was metal).

It felt like a dishonor to change that thought process, especially when Book Enola also didn’t disguise herself as a guy because she thought it would be too obvious.  Where as a lady, or a nun, or a widow would make better disguises when they only see a child when they look at her and presume she doesn’t care for womanly attire. 

It is probably better to go book to movie in this case.  You get a different story that is more exciting for the screen.  Whereas going movie to book might be disappointing without the literature equivalent of jumping from a moving train..

The book was a fun read, Enola was a strong young woman who definitely feels like she is a Holmes without having to subject herself to them. 

The movie is exciting, with a fractured family feeling with some political commentary. 

Each of the pieces have their own positive traits and negative traits.  I can see why certain changes were made.  Though I may not agree with them. 

#not gms related #enola holmes #rant #long post

[sandersstudies]

CWs with timestamps for new video! Hope this helps!

I’m not tagging this post, as it’s likely that the people who need to see it most are those blocking tags. This post is ABOUT content warnings, and is meant to be informative and helpful, so proceed with caution or skip if it’s not relevant to you.

The list includes for each content warning a timestamp, brief description, and rating from “very mild” to “severe.” Almost entirely spoiler-free! Let me know if there is anything I missed.

(A few things are NOT marked - let me know if you need them to be: Weapons such as Roman’s sword being used for comedy or plot (not violence). Mentions of ghosts in a casual or humorous context. Implied alcohol mention. Plot-relevant discussion of Jeffrey Dahmer (murderer, sex offender) - any mentions of violence etc. surrounding him are included below, but mere mentions of his name are not.)

Continue below the cut!

Blood and Gore

7:19-7:23 Zombie imagery with some blood (moderate) (See “Disturbing Imagery”)

7:25 A very small amount of blood splashes from offscreen and remains on a character’s face until 7:35. (mild)

8:14-8:16 The first instance of a repeated flashback sequence which is scary but very blurry/unclear what is being shown. There is a small amount of blood and implied death, but the sequence is so brief/unclear at normal speed that it’s difficult to see. (moderate-to-severe) (The same sequence is repeated at 17:21-17:24 and at 19:38-19:41.) (See “Violence,” see “Disturbing Imagery,” see “Death”)

14:09-14:16 A character is seen in two shots with a fake dismembered hand covered in blood. There is also blood in/around their mouth. (moderate-to-severe) (See “Disturbing Imagery”)

25:22 A character has their teeth knockred out magically. There is a small-to-medium amount of blood on their face, but the character is calm and apparently not in pain. They are shown intermittently with the blood on their face until 26:22. (moderate-to-severe) (See “Violence”)

Death

5:45-50 Two death mentions, the first serious/spooky, the second casual/joking (moderate) (see “Violence”)

6:29 Shouted death mention, part of a joke (mild)

6:58-7:01 Comedic and cartoonish death, i.e. dramatically falling down, holding flowers (mild)

7:19-7:23 Exaggerated suffocation (moderate) (See “Violence”)

8:14-8:16 The first instance of a repeated flashback sequence which is scary but very blurry/unclear what is being shown. There is a small amount of blood and implied death, but the sequence is so brief/unclear at normal speed that it’s difficult to see. (moderate-to-severe) (The same sequence is repeated at 17:21-17:24 and at 19:38-19:41.) (See “Violence,” see “Blood and Gore,” see “Disturbing Imagery”)

8:24 Death mention. Character makes the motion of slitting a throat with one finger. Comedic. (mild)

8:53-8:55 A living character is put inside a coffin comedically (mild) 

8:55-8:58 A character choking, exaggerated, brief (mild-to-moderate)

8:58-9:00 Joking mention of animal death (mild-to-moderate)

15:44-15:50 Mentions of nudity and burning, possibly slight suicide implication (moderate) (See “Death”)

16:29 Death mention (mild). 

16:47-17:00 Ongoing metaphor involving death (moderate). 

19:16-19:20 Brief implied death mention. (mild-to-moderate)

26:53-26:55 Shouted death mention, part of a joke (mild).

Sexual Innuendo

7:24 The word “porn” is used (mild-to-moderate) (See “Crude Humor”)

9:50-9:57 Silly “sexy” dance and phrase “juicy stuff.” (mild)

10:22 Very brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it use of the phrase “brain sex” which is cut off (mild)

11:57-11:59 Use of the word “condom” in a joking context. (mild) (Repeated but “censored” in a joking context immediately afterward) (See “Crude Humor”)

13:52-13:57 Two uses of the word “penis.” (mild-to-moderate) (See “Crude Humor”)

20:09-20:14 A character is licked on the cheek, use of the word “smash” to imply sex. (moderate)

24:34-24:36 A character jokingly begins to get undressed, no actual exposure (mild).

24:52-24:55 Joke playing off the letter “D” being used to mean “penis.” (mild-to-moderate)

28:09-28:12 Use of the word “erection.” (moderate) (See “Crude Humor”)

Violence

5:45-5:50 Murder mention (moderate) (see “Death”)

6:20-6:27 A character is hit on the head and falls down, asleep. The character is not seriously harmed. (moderate)

7:19-7:23 Exaggerated suffocation (moderate) (See “Violence”)

7:25 Use of the word “impaled,” implied momentry violence offscreen (moderate) (See “Blood and Gore”)

7:34 A character is hit in the face with an object, which breaks. The character is unharmed. (mild)

7:53 A character is lightly hit in the face and falls down comedically. The character is unharmed. (very mild)

8:14-8:16 The first instance of a repeated flashback sequence which is scary but very blurry/unclear what is being shown. There is a small amount of blood and implied death, but the sequence is so brief/unclear at normal speed that it’s difficult to see. (moderate-to-severe) (The same sequence is repeated at 17:21-17:24 and at 19:38-19:41.) (See “Disturbing Imagery,” see “Blood and Gore,” see “Death”)

10:47-10:49 Mention of animal torture (mild) 

19:08-19:10 Brief mention of violence, used as a gross threat (mild-to-moderate) (See “Crude Humor.”)

20:20-20:26 Shaking of a character by the throat for comedic purposes (moderate).

22:30-22:34 Murder mentions, casual. (mild)

25:22 A character has their teeth knocked out magically. There is a small-to-medium amount of blood on their face, but the character is calm and apparently not in pain. They are shown intermittently with the blood on their face until 26:22. (moderate-to-severe) (See “Blood and Gore”)

26:50-26:55 A character is hit in the face with a sharp object and falls backward, apparently injured, but immediately gets up and is fine. No blood. (moderate-to-severe) 

30:15-30:20 Discussion of jumping out of a moving car. Non-violent. (mild) (mentioned again at 30:34-30:43)

Disturbing Imagery

5:57-6:00 Shot with hands “creeping” in the background (very mild)

6:09 A character appears in the background of the shot, grinning creepily. (mild) 

6:52 A song sequence begins and contains repeated mild to moderate disturbing imagery and language (think Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline, or Dr. Facilier aesthetic). If you are sensitive to this imagery, you may want to skip the entire song up until 9:20. The song is summarized and explained afterward. More details below.

6:52-7:00 Fake nudity for comedic purposes, male, waist up. (very mild)

7:07-7:10 Fake “puking,” not graphic (mild) (See “Crude Humor”)

7:19-7:23 Zombie imagery with some blood (moderate) (See “Blood and Gore”)

7:58-8:10 Implied Deceit (outline/silhouette, no face) (mild)

8:14-8:16 The first instance of a repeated flashback sequence which is scary but very blurry/unclear what is being shown. There is a small amount of blood and implied death, but the sequence is so brief/unclear at normal speed that it’s difficult to see. (moderate-to-severe) (The same sequence is repeated at 17:21-17:24 and at 19:38-19:41.) (See “Violence,” see “Blood and Gore,” see “Death”)

8:35-8:41 Images of a fire. No injuries.

9:09 A comedic head-without-body using digital editing. Non-graphic, no blood. (mild)

9:10-9:20 Images of a fire. No injuries. (mild)

9:20 A character shakes out of severe fear. (mild)

11:38 A character removes their ears from their head in a comedic fashion. Non-graphic, no blood. (mild)

13:30-13:45 Mentions of Deceit (never shown). (mild)

14:09-14:16 A character is seen in two shots with a fake dismembered hand covered in blood. There is also blood in/around their mouth. (moderate-to-severe) (See “Blood and Gore”)

20:29-20:33 A character is shown holding a baby doll and knife. They throw the objects. (mild-to-moderate) (Another character discusses the objects until 20:42)

27:48-27:53 Jumpscare. A character screams and the lighting changes and objects wobble. Nothing bad happens. (moderate)

29:06-29:10 Play off of “nails on a chalkboard,” as a gross joke, but no imagery. (mild-to-moderate)

41:15 Butt mention (mild-to-moderate)

End Card: A character lurks in the background creepily eating deodorant and at one point holds a knife, all comedic (mild)

Crude Humor 

7:07-7:10 Fake “puking,” not graphic (mild) (See “Disturbing Imagery”)

7:24 The word “porn” is used (mild) (See “Sexual Innuendo”)

7:34 The s-word, censored (mild)

8:44-8:50 Crude humor and imagery around butts (clothed). (mild)

9:56-9:57 The word “butthole” is used (mild-to-moderate) (It is repeated but censored as “b-hole” at 10:00-10:01 and 28:57-28:58) (it is repeated uncensored at 10:10-10:12 and 14:45-14:46)

11:57-11:59 Use of the word “condom” in a joking context. (mild) (Repeated but “censored” in a joking context immediately afterward) (See “Sexual Innuendo”)

13:28 The word “bulls***,” censored. (mild)

13:52-13:57 Two uses of the word “penis.” (mild-to-moderate) (See “Sexual Innuendo”)

14:09-14:11 Crude phrase referencing the idiom “stick up your butt.” (mild-to-moderate)

14:14-14:16 “Bird” or middle finger, censored. (mild)

15:44-15:50 Mentions of nudity and burning, possibly slight suicide implication (moderate) (See “Death”)

17:02 “B****,” censored. (mild)

19:08-19:10 Brief mention of violence, used as a gross threat (mild-to-moderate) (See “Violence.”)

25:54 Poop joke. (mild)

26:07-26:12 Poop joke. (very mild)

27:45 Censored s-word. (mild)

28:09-28:12 Use of the word “erection.” (moderate) (See “Sexual Innuendo”)

29:55-29:59 Dog butt-sniffing joke. (mild-to-moderate)

31:06 Use of the word “poopy.” (very mild) (repeated at 31:13 and 31:23)

35:28 Butt joke. (very mild)

35:40-35:45 Poop joke. (very mild)

Religious Commentary

6:52-7:00 Reference to Biblical storytelling (mild)

9:04-9:09 Religious metaphor (mild)

9:10-9:20 Hell mention (mild)

22:40-24:00 Ongoing discussion about how religion (specifically Catholicism) can impact views on morality. (moderate)

Hope these were helpful! Sorry you’ve been scrolling for ten years. Stay safe, kiddos. :)

@vividanxiety

[aion-rsa]

Star Trek’s Jeffrey Combs On Why Enterprise Deserves More Love

https://ift.tt/3lLbbwg

Mild spoilers ahead for Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 2, Episode 7, “Where Pleasant Fountains Lie.” 

Jeffrey Combs is Star Trek royalty. There’s just no other way to say it. Prior to 2021, Combs played eight distinct characters across three different series. But now, after his turn in the latest Star Trek: Lower Decks episode — “Where Pleasant Fountains Lie” — Combs has now played nine characters across four shows. If you loved Combs as Shran in Enterprise or Weyoun in DS9, you’re gonna love him as the voice of an evil and hilarious A.I. in Lower Decks. Den of Geek had a chance to chat with Combs about returning to the Trek universe, why he’s glad he didn’t get the role of Will Riker in 1987, and his firm belief that the prequel series Enterprise contains some of the best of Trek ever. 

In the latest episode of Lower Decks, Boimler and Mariner have to transport a rogue A.I. via shuttlecraft, to a secret Starfleet storage facility where, apparently, little evil computers are all stored. The twist is, that along the way, their shuttle crashes on an inhospitable planet — very reminiscent of Ceti Alpha V from The Wrath of Khan — leaving Boimler and Mariner stuck with the evil computer, who is trying to get in their head.

“I’m constantly just trying to get someone to plug me in,” Combs explains. “I cajole. I threaten. I charm. Just help me get off this planet! I’m the solution! It’s just a delicious note to play. I just keep trying to get them to do it. Then I can take over the multiverse.”

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Before playing the voice of this little evil computer, It’s been a while since we’ve heard from Jeffrey Combs in the Trek universe. His last appearance was in the Enterprise season finale in 2005, playing the cranky Andorian Shran, a role which Discovery’s most recent Andorian, Noah Averbach-Katz, said was his “template for the Über-Andorian.” Depending on your favorite era of Trek, you might have a different image of Combs in your mind. In Deep Space Nine, although he played the Ferengi Brunt his most affecting role was probably Weyoun, the duplicitous and scheming Vorta clone.

“With Weayoun, everyone was a snarling gravelly-voiced villain,” Combs says. “And I thought: ‘hmm maybe I do something different and play a different note.’ I always try and find that. It’s not always there. Shran was a little more of a serious take. But even he can get a dark joke in there, every once in a while.” 

When asked, Combs jumped at the chance to do Lower Decks, saying “After I hear the word ‘Star’ followed by the word ‘Trek,’ I’m completely enamored of the idea and eager to be a part of it.” That said, Combs admits that the tone of Lower Decks was, at first, tricky.

“My biggest challenge was meeting the tone of the script,” he says. “I hadn’t seen much of Lower Decks, so, at first,  I didn’t have much of a frame of reference.  It was a completely different kind of tone from what I’m used to with Star Treks. It’s a little sassy. A little irreverent. But it does have some honesty about it and some issues that people are dealing with. But I just kind of like the fast-paced sort of wry humor that’s mixed in. I think I hit their music. I tried to keep up with the very talented pack of actors.”

In 1986, when Lower Decks actors Tawny Newsome and Jack Quaid were still young kids, Jeffrey Combs was in a “crowded room,” waiting to audition for the role of Commander Will Riker in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Combs laughs off the memory, saying “Everybody auditioned for Riker. It was a cattle call. It was a room with a ton of guys and in a corner, in this big room, they would call you up and you’d read for 20 seconds. When my agent called me with an audition for a new Star Trek series and described the role, I said, ‘I am not right for that role. There must be something else in there I can do.’ It was described as a tall, leading man — hey hello! So I showed up in my cowboy boots, trying to get as much height as I could. Futile. I have to say… they chose the right person: Mr Frakes!” 

Of course, Combs reunited with Jonathan Frakes several times throughout his various appearances on Star Trek, starting with the DS9 episode, “Meridian,” which was directed by Frakes. And of course, Combs appeared onscreen with Frakes in the Enterprise series finale, “These Are the Voyages…” These days, the most misunderstood Trek series of them all is having something of a renaissance. 2021 marks the 20th anniversary of the debut of Enterprise, reasserting the enduring power of the series that was supposedly the one that fans liked the least. When I ask Combs what he thinks of the newfound adoration of Enterprise, his love of the series is unequivocal.

“Well, it should be praised. People were ambivalent about it at first. I really don’t know why. Let’s not forget The Original Series was canceled after three seasons,” Combs says. “I feel like Enterprise’s sea legs, and its voice, were just starting to happen when it was canceled. It did hit its stride in that last season. And I think the same thing can be said for DS9, Voyager, and maybe Next Generation. These things take some time to find their music. They pulled the trigger too fast. I feel strongly about this.”

The notion of a fifth season of Enterprise in the year 2006, would have certainly created an alternate universe of Trek production history. Had Enterprise lasted seven seasons, like its three predecessors, it would have gone off the air in 2008 or 2009, which certainly changes the trajectory of the reboot films. It’s a tough world to imagine, but if you love Star Trek, Combs does have a point. The third and fourth seasons of Enterprise are utterly re-watchable, and some of the episodes in those seasons, like “Demons” and “Terra Prime,” represent just how powerful and intelligent Star Trek can be. 

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“I think it holds up quite nicely,” affirms Combs. “There’s no marked difference in any of them, and in fact, some of the best episodes of Star Trek are on Enterprise.” 

The post Star Trek’s Jeffrey Combs On Why Enterprise Deserves More Love appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3kw9GCW

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[lethesomething]

Bakugou and his dads

Still not a dream daddy post.

Midoriya is far from the only character who gets a lot of mentoring help throughout the BnHA series. So let's talk about Bakugou for a(nother) moment, shall we?

I don't know what it is about middle school in Japan, but it seems to really suck? In every high school anime I watch, all the drama always happens in middle school, and the teaching staff is highly lax, if not completely irresponsible. They certainly didn't do much to quell a young Bakugou's more violent tendencies, or help a young Midoriya with what is very obviously a bullying problem. It's fairly safe to say that until he goes to UA, Bakugou basically lacks in authority figures, which is one (not all) of the reasons he got to act as bad as he did.

Since the start of the series, he's gotten a bit better. So let's examine his dads (and one mum).  

How to contain an explosion

The first time we see an actual authority figure reign in Bakugou, is when he hits UA. And in this case you can take that quite literally.  

That person is, of course, Aizawa. Now I friggin love Aizawa because he is one of the most underrated characters in the series and I will shout that to the rooftops for all eternity but also, Aizawa is, for his students and specifically for Bakugou, a constant source of lowkey support. His teaching method is very much hands-off, letting his students make mistakes and figure out solutions for themselves, which seems to be the go-to for all anime mentors everywhere, but his support is definitely there. Because, and this is important, he looks beyond posing. Beyond attitudes and images. He has reason to, of course. Aizawa looks and acts like a drunken hobo half the time, but he is actually one of the better teachers and heroes as UA. He knows a thing or two about appearances.

And honestly, it is very much needed. UA and the entirety of the story are, remember, utterly brutal to Bakugou and his self-esteem. It's a pretty classic 'break him down before you can build him up' sort of theme. But Aizawa is not part of this. He restrains the kid exactly twice. Once, when he was about to (possibly) murder Midoriya, and a second time when he was blatantly breaking UA rules. Aizawa does not belittle Bakugou, he does not fear him and most of all, he does not underestimate him.

He knows him, advises him. He defends him.

He will scold him, but mostly he has a certain amount of respect for the kid. He trusts him.

I think for Bakugou that is incredibly important. Because Aizawa is someone he respects. Here is a pro hero who has taken the time to get to actually know him.

Aizawa is someone who puts down clear boundaries and then gives him the freedom to stay within them. Whether out of disinterest or fear, that middle school teacher way back in the first episode wasn't even trying to stop him from hurting Midoriya. That sort of shit would not fly in Aizawa's class. But he's also not going to lay it out for him.  He trusts that Bakugou will, in fact, sort himself out. Once your core is on the right track, the rest will follow.

We are shown, in a very real way, that this is how you get the best results with Bakugou. Horikoshi does this by showing us how NOT to do it. For instance, while Best Jeanist certainly has the intentions and the authority as a Pro Hero to mentor him, he goes about it all wrong.

Because what he does is exactly that: micromanage, completely make over the outside, not the inside.

You can't just expect the kid to change his entire being like that. Certainly not because it's fairly clear that Best Jeanist, well-meaning as he is, is not exactly trying to understand Bakugou.

Manga spoilers under the cut

In a way, Best Jeanist is allowing himself to be led by the image of Bakugou on that podium at the Sports Festival. The same image the League uses when they decide to kidnap the kid. The very same one, also, that causes everyone else to be really worried that the villains now have an Evil King of Explodo Kills in their ranks. And Aizawa shuts them the hell down.

I love that scene, because it's the friggin second time that Aizawa has to stand up and defend Bakugou's character and intelligence against people who misinterpret it from his attitude. It's the scene that shows, again, how much better Aizawa understands this kid than almost everyone else, and it has far reaching consequences. One: it gives Bakugou hope while he sits as a hostage in the League of Villains headquarters.

Look at that reaction. He was hoping, expecting even, that Aizawa would act like this. Because he *knows* deep down that Aizawa trusts him and considers him decent at heart. He's not about to let that man down.

Two: it is also this scene that is later brought up by his parents.

  The Bakugous

Let's talk about them for a minute. Because while Bakugou's problems run deep, he does have two caring parents. Sadly, both of them are badly equipped to deal with a kid like him. It's hard enough to raise a rebellious teen who hangs out with the wrong friends. Now imagine if that teen could literally burn down the house if he had a bad day.

We're shown that his mother has his general disposition, turning any conversation between the two into a shouting match. His father, meanwhile, is a bit too mild of a character to stand up to his son. One lacks attitude, the other lacks authority and you can imagine this brewing and festering for YEARS, making his home life less than ideal. In the words of All Might, they're dysfunctional.

Which doesn't mean they're bad people. It's fairly obvious to me that they love their son.

It's interesting to note that they realize their issues, are even willing to own up to them, in a roundabout way. Specifically his mother is adamant about getting what's best for her son. She knows he's been spoiled. She is very aware that not many people in his life have really tried to get under Bakugou's skin the way Aizawa seems to be able to.

She probably also realizes, even if she doesn't put it that way, that she and her husband have not been capable of providing him with whatever it was he needed to grow, to calm down, to find some form of inner peace. They're literally putting him in the hands of Aizawa and the UA staff, in the hopes that they can do what the Bakugous themselves couldn't. That they'll understand him.

So let's talk about All Might

Speaking of understanding Bakugou. You can't really talk about BnHA without involving All Might somewhere, because he's at the core of so much of the plot.   For Midoriya he is the hero that saves everyone and never gives up, while for Bakugou he's the hero that always wins. He's the big symbol of peace for half the cast, for others he's a rival, a prize, the only worthy hero or the only one worth killing, you name it. All Might is a canvas upon which other people project their own dreams and insecurities. But most importantly: he's Bakugou's hero, and the one who chose Midoriya as his successor. And once Bakugou realizes that, being the smart AF kid he is, it becomes a major source of pain for him.

So let's say that Bakugou's relationship with All Might is… complicated.

You see, mhile, Aizawa and Bakugou can sort of be cold and distant and Tsun As All Hell at each other, All Might is a very different sort of teacher/father figure. He's generally a softer, remarkably gentle person, even as a hero. He's warmer than Aizawa. He has trouble being stern and his standard mode is 'comfort. There's a reason his slogan is 'It's alright now'.

That is hard for someone like Bakugou, who is averse to touch, who is scared of emotion, to deal with.

But All Might’s demeanour translates into the way he teaches, too. He cares a bit Too Much. Which is lovely, but not always practical? I hate to say this, but he's terrible at being a responsible adult and if this wasn't a ridiculous shounen universe school, he'd have been fired by now.

For instance, he fails more than once to stop exercises that have gone WAY out of hand. From the first Villains vs Heroes exercise where Midoriya squares off against Bakugou, to things like the OVA above. Literal zombies have taken over a forest and Aizawa's all 'yeah we should get them out now' but then All Might persuades him to just let it go on as a 'survival exercise'. Everything turns out alright, of course, but you can't always rely on the power of shounen to assume your students will survive every time. All Might doesn't even stop the after curfew fight between Midoriya and Bakugou until it's run its course. He does this, of course, because he wants them to process their feelings and all that.

And again, it works. For the hero and the person of All Might, this was probably the right decision. But for a teacher, two kids sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to beat each other up is a 'stop immediately' sort of thing, not a 'wait until they've opened up their hearts to each other' situation.

I don't know if it's the innate wisdom of All Might, like he just knows these kids that well, or if he's just lucky that his plans keep working out for the best. But the series does make it very clear that All Might is a human being, with flaws. He has a lot of baggage, he’s honestly quite a mess. I can't… really blame him for this.

This man is a pretty amazing character, who has been going through a lot lately, and as such he was, understandably, very focused on Midoriya. So focused, in fact, that he failed to see the effect on Bakugou until they were already rolling on the ground having a fist/kick fight.

And Bakugou really wants few things more in life than for the people he respects to make time for him. To understand him. For Bakugou, All Might's singular focus on the green haired kid only made things worse.

But All Might, like so many characters in this series, grows. He's starting to get some glimpse as to what the hell is going on between those two and he probably realizes that he has some role to play in that. He's becoming a better teacher, a better father figure, which is a really good thing because honestly, Bakugou can use all the help he gets, ok? Yes, he needs someone to understand him and place boundaries, like Aizawa does. But he also needs someone to understand him and offer hugs, whether he will admit that or not.

PS: I am in BnHA hell and I have a lot of these.

#bakugou katsuki #all might #aizawa shouta #bnha #boku no hero academia #just... hug bakugou ok #someone #wear like a fireproof vest #and hug the kid #all might also #he's a pretty tragic character #he deserves better

[shakespeareanhoneybadgers]

Fic: Stockholm

Summary: Batman AU. Six months after the Enchanted Forest Massacre, surviving hostage Erzabel French is admitted to the ICU after what appears to be an especially brutal attack by her keeper. Her word written off as delirium, she is quickly scooped up by Mayor Mills who intends to play her as a pawn in Storybrooke's political games. Meanwhile the Black Swan is determined to keep her eye on the Dark One, who doesn't seem to be quite finished with Belle. Is Belle French crazy? Or is there more to the story of the prison librarian and the asylum prisoner?

Rating: M for very Much Mature. TW include super graphic violence, dubious consent, rape allegations, attempted rape, and torture.

((The latest entry for "Which Plot Rabbit Hole Did Shakes Fall Into?". Somehow I didn't realize the worldbuilding was going to be so intense... This is the brainchild combo of me being sick of Stockholm Syndrome being applied to Beauty and the Beast/Rumbelle and curiosity about how fitting Rumbelle into the Joker and Harley Quinn roles would look (spoiler alert: didn't really nail it). Heavily influenced by the Gotham t.v. series, the Nolan trilogy, "Skin Deep", "Mad Love", Suicide Squad, and Season 4 Belle. Mildly influenced by the rest of Batman The Animated Series and Once Upon a Time, plus a whole lot of other subconscious sources. Mood setting songs: "Crazy in Love" (50 Shades Remix) by Beyonce, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane))

Ao3 link

I

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, or the hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were strained from staring out the tower window unblinkingly at the road that came up to the Dark Castle. He hadn’t moved since...oh, he didn’t know the exact time she had left yesterday, but he was pretty sure before it had gotten too dark. Now the sun was rising and his mind was full of jitters. He couldn’t go spin to try and calm himself down, or else he might miss her. So he made up a jingle to sing to himself.

“Be-elle loves me, this I know. Fo-or she-e told me so. My-y heart to hers belongs. I may be weak but she is strong. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me. Yes, my Belle loves me-” His voice broke, because he knew it was wrong. He knew she was fragile, so fragile, and she had never actually said the words to him. But she promised… She promised she’d come back and yet she hadn’t, and he felt if he sang it over and over then it’d come true, “...for she-e told. Me. So…”

III

“I think you should see this, Emma.”

    If it hadn’t been Mary Margaret saying this Emma would have seriously considered turning around and going back to bed. These late nights were going to be the death of her… That or having to get up at nine when she’d sprawled out costume and all on her bed at seven. She sighed, changing her course from the fridge to the breakfast bar. Neal was already sitting there, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Hey girl wonder,” he mumbled, offering her the tray of bagels. She took one and dropped down onto the stool next to him, glancing at the screen at the end of the table.

“...six months after the riot at the Enchanted Forest, Erzabel French has resurfaced. The only hostage of the massacre, she was used as a human shield to aid the escape of the Dark One.”

It cut from the newsroom to a clip that Emma remembered well enough; an aerial shot above the asylum, showing the swarm of officers at the gates. A small woman in heels and secretary-esque clothes held her hands up, begging them not to shoot. Right behind her, with one scaly hand around her throat was the convict in question, the only details visible his orange jumpsuit and wild mess of hair.

“Makes her sound like the only survivor,” Neal muttered.

“Well it’s not like there were a ton of workers that did. I mean it’s basically her father and a handful mor-”

“Shush, you two,” Mary Margaret scolded from her spot near the counter, turning up the volume.

“Assumed dead, Miss French was found unconscious in an alley a few blocks from Avonlea. She was rushed to the hospital where she remained in the intensive care unit overnight, treated for blood loss caused by gashes all over her body.” An image of the woman, a beaming brunette with bright blue eyes, was shown. It looked like she was just at the beach, a book in her lap and the sunlight giving her curls a halo effect, “Doctors claim that it was an animal attack, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume it was the work of her captor. We’ll update the story as it progresses.”

    Mary Margaret flicked the t.v. off, closing the panels over it so there was nothing but a seam in the wall to show where it had been, “You can be sure the mayor will be scrambling over there now that the poor woman’s stable.”

    Emma grimaced at the mention of basically her arch nemesis, “Leech.” She hopped off the barstool, “Mary Margaret, get the Bug, I’ll be ready in five.”

“No shower?” She asked.

“No time,” she glanced at Neal, “You coming, Skippy?”

“I probably should.” He grabbed a poppyseed bagel and the container of cream cheese, “I think that’s my actual job, bodyguarding.”

II

“I’m surprised you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

    Erzabel French glanced up at him, turning her attention away from the rows of cells, “Well it’s not technically following in your footsteps, papa; I’m not becoming a security guard.”

“That’s right you’re not,” he said gruffly, paying no mind to the convicts that eyed him, “And honestly even working in the library is too close for my comfort.”

“It's a government job being around what I love. You should be proud of me.”

“I AM proud of you, Belle.” He stopped, turning to face her, “...but these aren't wounded animals that you can nurse back to health. They're dangerous criminals that eat sweet girls like you for breakfast.”

She glanced behind him to see a dark-haired man watching her intently, “... they're sick, and they need help. This isn’t just a prison, it’s also an asylum.”

“An asylum that specializes in the criminally insane.” He abruptly started walking again and she jogged a few paces to keep up, “The minor offenders can go to the library under guard supervision. Heavier offenders will require you deliver them to their cells. Make sure they're on the far side when you slide the book through the meal slot; if they're too big to fit then you find a guard to go into the cell and deliver it for you. Don't tell them anything personal about yourself…”

“I’ve read “Silence of the Lambs”,” she teased, “I won't let them get inside my head.”

“This isn't one of your books,” he snarled, “These are sociopaths in the flesh. They are arsonists and thieves and rapists and murderers and everything in between. You're not on an adventure, you’re just doing your job and praying that the doors stay locked.”

Belle took his hand as they rounded a corner, squeezing it, “I know the risks, papa. I’ll be careful.”

Maurice French didn't show his love very eloquently; Belle had learned early on that it often took the form of lectures and nagging. While her mother told her stories and dried her tears, her father taught her how to defend herself and made sure she never left home with nothing less than a full can of mace. They stayed there for a moment, with only the eye of a camera to see them. His hand reached up as if to cradle her cheek...but he merely plucked a fallen eyelash and flicked it away.

“I never should have let you stay in Storybrooke,” he muttered.

They continued away from the majority of the cells, heading deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. They hit a security checkpoint that was far more thorough than the others in the Enchanted Forest; Belle had to surrender everything she had on her, and it seemed excessive to do both an x-ray scan AND a hand wand AND a fingerprint scan.

“Where are we going?” She asked as they met on the other side.

Maurice frowned, “The West Wing.” They descended a staircase to the bowels of the asylum, lit sparsely by fluorescents, “The worst of the worst are down here,” he said under his breath and Belle shivered at the sudden chill, “The Queen of Hearts, the Camelot Killer, the Sweettooth Cannibal… Left here to rot.”

“You wouldn't let ME rot, now would you, darling?”

Belle glanced to her left and was surprised to see a thick plexiglass wall instead of the usual iron bars, the cell lit like a hospital room. A woman stood near the meal slot, blood red lips hovering next to the ventilation holes. The stark contrast of black and white hair immediately identified her as Cruella DeVille, a woman neck-deep in rumors compared to only a handful of convictions. She leaned against the plastic, eyeing Belle.

“Who’s your pet there?”

“What, are you jealous?”

    Belle followed the voice to the other side of the corridor, where a woman sat cross-legged on the floor. She had to do a double-take but yes, the other prisoner had a fishbowl in her lap and within the fishbowl a brilliantly-colored beta. She swirled her finger on the surface of the water to the fish’s annoyance, not bothering to look up at Cruella's reaction.

Cruella straightened, clearly offended by the insinuation, “Oh please, I have much bigger fish to fry.”

Belle wanted to hang back, watch to see the rebuttal, but her father walked on, paying no mind to their banter.

She tried to ignore them as he did, but this wasn't the mild curiosity the inmates above showed towards a new face. It was the perverse interest of a psycho, someone already sizing you up for what you could offer them. They were high profile criminals, their front page exploits major news until the next villain stepped up to out-crazy them.

Her heart was racing as they came towards a dead end, the last cell far removed from the others. As they drew closer Belle still failed to see anyone occupying it.

Maurice’s jaw clenched, “Rumplestiltskin!”

There was no answer.

“Rumplestiltskin, show yourself!”

Belle took a step closer to the barrier, craning her neck to see if maybe he had found a cranny to hide away in. Maurice clicked the radio clipped to his shoulder on with one hand, the other trying to pull Belle away.

“We have a Code-”

With the grace of a cat, the prisoner dropped from the ceiling onto his feet before the partition. Belle jerked back and even Maurice startled, causing the creature to burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles, straightening up and flailing his hands like an excited child. It was such a contrast from his grotesque appearance and the setting, Belle gave a shocked guffaw.

“You son of a…”

“Pardon your french, Mr. French,” he chirped, “Surely you know better than for such language in front of...ladies.”

His eyes flicked from Maurice to Belle and she met his reptilian gaze. He silently took her in and she found herself holding her breath, trying to hide the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Is she adopted?” He asked, keeping his attention on her, “I have a hard time believing such a beauty is your flesh and blood. Uh uh uh.” He waggled his finger as she opened her mouth, “A magician never reveals his secrets. I make it my business to know things; secrets are worth their weight in gold.”

“She is the new librarian,” Maurice cut in, “You will listen to her the same as any staff member, or there will be severe consequences.”

“Oh, severe consequences, I see; I was assuming they’d be mildly inconvenient consequences,” His gaze trailed down her body, resting somewhere on her hips, “...good. The former librarian didn’t like me very much for some reason. I hope we can be…” It moved up to her chest, “...close friends, Beauty.”

“All depends on how you behave, Dark One,” she said and his attention snapped back to her face, “I don’t suffer time-wasters.”

He smirked, “...no, I don’t see that at all, dearie.”

Belle felt a hand clamp around her arm as Maurice practically dragged her away, muttering a harsh “we have to go”. She still felt Rumplestiltskin’s eyes on her as she struggled to keep up with her father, fighting the temptation to glance back.

“Don’t you forget about me now, Beauty!” He cried shrilly, “I have quite a lot of reading to catch up on! Save me, Belle French, you’re my only hope!”

She didn’t know how he knew her name; she didn’t even have her i.d. tag yet. Maybe he had somehow studied up... But such details about the Enchanted Forest’s guard staff couldn’t be easy to get ahold of, right? And why was she more curious about the imp that scarcely resembled a man than terrified of him, especially knowing all he was capable of? Years had been spent trying to track him down and incarcerate him; his kill list was easily one if not the longest in the city. And yet, there was something charismatic about his mannerisms that spoke to her.

She had just got done assuring her father she knew better… But here was an enigma too tantalizing to ignore.

III

Emma Charming was not the sort of person who could slip in undetected anywhere; price of being Storybrooke’s wealthiest heiress. Honestly she didn't even know she was anyone but a foster kid who couldn't keep a home to save her life until the founders of the Charming Corporation were murdered and their will pointed to her as their next of kin. It had taken some time to figure things out, but with her foster siblings and the closest people she had to family, she managed not to bankrupt the company that she had taken on.

The only mystery she had left was why they had given her up in the first place.

Neal and Mary Margaret flanked her protectively while the media’s attention turned away from hounding the hospital staff to questioning the billionaire heiress's unexpected arrival. She ignored the camera flashes, the shouting and the microphones as she went to inquire where Miss French was. The nurses, who had been cold and tight-lipped to the journalists, quickly offered to show Emma to the room.

“She's stable,” The nurse confided once they had put some distance between them and the lobby, “Lost a lot of blood though… And a few bites taken out of her.”

“Bites?” Neal echoed.

She nodded solemnly, “Arms, legs, torso…” Her chin quivered, “I mean, it's obvious he’s not human, but to actually see the damage…”

She’d seen worse, Emma told herself. Everyday people dying in the most brutal ways imaginable at the hands of creeps like the Dark One. A few bites were nothing compared to a body post Jafar hypnosis.

The nurse had them wait outside while she checked on the freshly-free hostage. They glanced at each other, holding a silent conversation as they wondered what exactly they should be bracing themselves for. When she returned, she ushered them in.

There were no other patients in the room; just a single woman with long brown hair staring out the window. She turned as they came in, claw marks down one side of her face and a black eye on the other. Her split lips puckered in an “oh” as she recognized Emma.

“Miss Charming. I should’ve realized this would catch your eye.”

“Survivors tend to get a lot of attention,” she said dismissively, taking a seat next to the bed, “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” she joked. Her smile wavered, “I should probably just be glad I’m alive, right?”

“No, you can whine a little,” she assured her, leaning onto the arm of the chair, “...how did you get away, Miss French?”

“It’s Belle,” she corrected softly, “And I...I don’t remember. I...passed out… Someone must have brought me here.”

Well it wasn’t the Dark One, Emma thought bitterly. Front desk would have definitely noticed if it had been.

“Do you remember the attack?” Mary Margaret asked.

Belle stared straight ahead, fingers curling into the sheets, “I was on my way back… I don’t know which street it was, just downtown, next to Mr. Gold’s Pawnshop… I thought I saw someone in the alley so I went to investigate…” Her eyes welled up with tears, “And then they were on me… I don’t even know where they came from...biting and shaking and clawing…”

“So you escaped from the Dark One,” Emma said.

Belle was snapped back to the present, perplexed by the statement. “I didn’t escape.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, “...he let me go.”

It was Emma’s turn to be confused. The Dark One had held her hostage for months… Why would he suddenly let her go? If he wanted to get rid of her he could’ve just killed her; he wasn’t above that. Unless he was cruelly giving her the illusion that he had let her go only to punish her, an elaborate ploy.

Her eyebrows knit together as she read Emma’s silence, “...you think he did this to me,” she said.

“He probably did,” she admitted.

She shook her head vehemently, “No...no he would never… He’s not like that.”

“He used you as a human shield.”

“Because he knew…” She twisted towards the IV in her arm, picking at the bandages that held it in place, “I have to go back, he’s going to be worried.”

Emma rounded the hospital bed, “Belle.”

“No you don’t understand, I promised him!”

    Emma rested her hand over Belle’s and she jerked back as though she had struck her instead. She glared up at her, a cobra ready to strike.

“I. Need. To. Leave.”

“Nurse!” Mary Margaret called.

    Belle sprang to her feet much quicker than Emma anticipated from a woman recovering from an animal attack. She held her by the forearms as she fought against her, machines insisting that something was wrong as Belle thrashed around.

“You don’t understand!” She cried, “If I don’t go back he’ll start looking for me! He’ll burn this city to the ground-”

“He won’t,” Emma said sternly.

“You can’t promise that! You can’t promise anything when it comes to him, only I can!”

    The nurse entered and Emma shifted around to let her get closer. Belle struck out weakly, attempting to shove her arms away.

“I won’t go back to sleep!” She sobbed, “I need to see him… I need to see him…”

“We know, sweetie,” The nurse said dully, exposing a vein to administer the tranquilizer.

    It worked quickly. After a few long seconds Emma felt the small brunette sink against her. With the help of the nurse they set her back into the bed, covering her up.

“I didn’t think she was that out of touch,” Emma confessed apologetically.

The nurse didn’t seem surprised by the outburst and she wondered if it had happened before, or if she was just used to that sort of behavior at Storybrooke General.

“They think she’s gotten Stockholm’s syndrome,” she said, checking the monitors as they settled back down to their normal levels, “You know, when the victim falls for the captor. Apparently it’s pretty common.”

“Who thinks this?”

“The therapist assigned to her case, and Mayor Mills.”

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret and noticed her pursed lips. It figured Regina was in the middle of this.

II

    Belle was surprised how fast she adapted to her new job at the Enchanted Forest. Within a few weeks she had a good idea of which inmates had no interest in books, which ones actually did, and which ones just wanted to waste her time. There were an odd lack of challenge to dealing with them… The only one who caught her curiosity was the Dark One.

“Now Keith, I know you don’t want to check any novel out,” she lightly scolded as he tried to get her attention, shifting her tablet to her other arm. She didn’t have to look back to know he was glaring at her, furious she wasn’t giving him the attention he wanted.

    If his pick-up lines were any indication, he had been in here for awhile.

    As she made her way towards the final check point, her heart fluttered. The Dark One continued to intrigue her, a mix of contradictions and opposites. Arguably the most dangerous man here, he had no escape attempts on his record. There was one assault but he had left the guard alive despite the dozens of murders he had committed outside of the Enchanted Forest. Was the isolation taming him, or was he simply biding his time?

“Darling… Darling!”

    Belle kept her eyes focused ahead, ignoring Cruella De Ville. She didn’t want to check out whatever sordid material she was interested in. She had already given her a book on taxidermy and the Donner Party; she didn’t want to see what came next. Cruella hit the glass with her fist as she continued to shout after her, causing the Sea Witch to snicker at the scene.

    Finally, she came to the last cell on her route, her stomach flipping as she saw she was anticipated. He was standing with his hands behind his back, grinning at her in a way that promised trouble.

“Hello Rumplestiltskin.”

“Mm, hello dearie. I have something to give back to you.”

“Finished already?”

“Oh I couldn’t put it down. Not that there’s much else to do.” He frowned and glanced up, “Come to think of it, it’s been something like three days since I’ve last counted the ceiling tiles.”

Belle smirked, “Well, you know the drill. Set it by the meal slot and then go to the other side of the cell.”

    He frowned, “But what if it falls on the floor?”

“I know there’s a shelf just in front of the meal slot; you’ve done this before,” she gestured towards the mentioned shelf on his side of the glass.

    Rumplestiltskin glanced at it, then looked back at her with full, concerned eyes, “I don’t trust it.”

“You don’t trust it?” She echoed, doing her best not to smile.

“I just don’t. I’d rather hand it off to you directly.”

“I think you’re full of it.”

“I might be.” He went over to the slot but continued to hold the book, an inch or so above the shelf.

    Belle shook her head, “I’m not that naive. The rules are there for a reason.” She turned to walk away, “I guess you want to keep it another day, then.”

“Wait! Uncle! Monkey’s uncle!”

    She glanced back and watched as he gingerly set the paperback on the shelf, holding his hands up in surrender before retreating to the far wall. She felt a thrill of victory as she went to pull it out, her fingers momentarily in the crocodile’s den.

“See? The book is fine.” She held it up for him to inspect. He glanced at her with such a childishly sullen expression she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, “Now, since you returned it, would you like to pick a new one out for tomorrow?”

“...yes,” he decided, coming out of his corner. Belle pulled out her tablet, opening up the application that showcased the asylum’s library.

    The weeks turned into months without her realizing it. Belle’s recommendations were getting better and better the more she got to know her patrons. All except for Rumplestiltskin, who went from one genre to another with each choice. He blazed through each book, attempting to get her to agree to let him hand it back to her each time. Each time she refused and, as penalty she supposed, he took longer and longer to pick out a new book.

    It was starting to get rather ridiculous one day when Rumplestiltskin met Belle’s eyes and she saw him nervous for the first time.

“...there’s no children’s books, are there?”

    If he hadn’t of looked so vulnerable Belle might have made a remark about how he really was trying to hit every genre under the sun. Instead she shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

    He took a deep breath, “Is there any way I could… Have one brought in? From a library branch or something? It’s almost his birthday.”

“Whose birthday?”

“Dr. Seuss. “Green Eggs and Ham”.” She waited for him to make a quip. But all he added was, “Please. It’s important.”

    Maybe it was shock that caused her to go track down a worn copy of the classic. Maybe it was curiosity. Either way she brought it to him the next day and he checked out no other book for a week. She arrived on the birthday of the celebrated author only to see the Dark One on his cot, rocking back and forth with the book in his lap, reading it out loud under his breath.

    That time, when he finally was ready to give it up, she didn’t demand he set it down and move away. She wordlessly reached into the slot and, after taking a moment to comprehend, Rumplestiltskin went to give it to her. His hand purposefully brushed against hers and it felt cool and smooth, more like a snake than a crocodile. She let the touch linger for a moment before pulling away, glancing up at him as she released a breath she had been holding.

    There was a hunger in his eyes; not the lustful gaze she was so used to getting from a lot of the inmates. A desperate desire for connection, to reach out and fulfill the undeniable need to not be alone. Belle wondered the last time he had felt that, when had he experienced someone willing to touch him and not just having to in order to do their job. Maybe he wasn’t such a monster that the isolation wasn’t affecting him… That he was a lonely man whose only interaction came from the guards and her.

“...thank you,” he murmured.

    She nodded, holding the tablet up to the meal slot so he could use his own finger to search through the library’s database for his next read.

    It was the beginning of the end of the life she knew, and the start of her journey to the Storybrooke’s darker side.

III

Emma found Neal hadn't gone far, just to a couple chairs in the hall. He was smiling so whatever had caused him to walk out wasn't too big of a deal.

“Yeah but WHICH Lost Boy? I don't want to be like Nibs or something.”

Her heart clenched as she saw who Neal was talking to. She always felt that ache when she saw Henry, especially when he was dragged along on his mother's business. He was a bright boy, charmingly precocious for a ten-year-old but obviously damaged from Regina's overbearing child-rearing. In his lap was his ever-present book of fairy tales, his personal Bible.

He glanced up and smiled when he recognized her, “Hi Emma.”

“Hey kid,” she murmured, folding her arms, “You telling Neal here who he was before the curse?”

“Yup,” he chirped, completely sincere, “The book told me today he was a Lost Boy who followed the Pied Piper and once he realized what was happening he was turned into a donkey.”

“Hey, you didn't tell me that part!” Neal protested.

Emma smirked, “Well you can be an...donkey.” She caught herself just in time.

“An donkey? That's not grammatically correct,” Neal teased. Emma kicked him and Henry giggled, the subtext going right over his head.

“Miss Charming.”

The merriment of the moment was sucked out of the air as Regina Mills appeared, all pants suit and business. Even if child neglect wasn't part of the picture, Emma was pretty sure she’d still hate this woman.

“Madame Mayor, I didn't realize you were holding a press conference,” Emma said. On instinct Neal stood, his smile gone.

“I'm not,” she said flatly, “Though I suppose you're looking for your next pet project.”

“It's not a pet project. She's been through a lot, she could use a friend.”

“And what do you think I’m trying to do?” She took a dramatic deep breath, “There are things about Storybrooke you couldn't begin to comprehend. That monster that took her? You think he’s done with her?”

“That would be why he'd toss her out on the streets…” Neal muttered.

Regina gave him a cutting look, “I for one am not going to gamble on this poor girl’s life. She needs protection, the sort even a billionaire playgirl philanthropist can't give her.”

“The playgirl bit is a vicious rumor,” Emma corrected offhandedly, “What about her father? If you think the Dark One’ll be after her then surely he’ll go after him too.”

“We’ll keep an eye on Mr. French,” she said dismissively, gesturing to Henry. He stood obediently, one hand taking hers, the other arm wrapped tightly around “Once Upon a Time”, “I'm sure Belle appreciates your effort, but she's in good hands.”

Neal snorted derisively. Emma opened her mouth to retort but Henry looked over his shoulder.

“Bye Emma,” he murmured.

The harsh words died on on her lips, “...bye, kid.”

Some days she just wanted to grab him and take him home with her and never let Regina touch him again.

A few blocks away that night Maurice French went about closing up Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership. It would’ve been the smarter thing for him to stick with his job at the Enchanted Forest; help train all the new guards who had no idea what they were in for, spend a couple more decades dealing with the scum of the earth, receive his decent retirement package at 65 and never look back. But after what had happened to Belle… He couldn’t make himself go back and he spent six months wondering if his only daughter was dead and how everything could have changed if he had only been there that day. But Belle was alive…

Of course he had tried going to see her once he saw the story on the news, but she’d been labeled “dangerously unbalanced”, the staff at the hospital explained. They told him her captivity had taken its toll. They told him she was convinced she was in love with her abductor. They told him that she’d need extensive therapy, and to be kept somewhere secure lest he try to reclaim his prisoner. And so he felt more like an observer than family, kept from interfering in case he should trigger a bad reaction. They hadn’t even accepted his offer of Belle’s favorite book, and so he held it close as a substitute to her. “Her Handsome Hero”...and instead she had gotten her deformed devil.

He went to the back and picked up where he had left off with an old Cogsworth clock. Honestly this pawn shop was the oddest thing… A “concerned citizen” had mailed him a key after the news of his resignation had gotten out, along with the deed to the shop. Dubious at first, Maurice didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to pay his bills, and nothing had come of it yet.

Until tonight.

He glanced up as he thought he saw something move out of the corner from his eye, “Hello?” Predictably there was no answer and yet, Maurice set down his tools and went to check the front of the store. A couple were passing by, the woman laughing so enthusiastically he could hear it through the glass.

“Where. Is. She?”

Maurice turned to see him crouched on the counter, a shadow cast by the back room’s light. His blood went cold as he watched the head tilt, teeth bared like the creature he was. There was no barrier between them; no back up that would come fast enough to save him. The Dark One was free and nothing could stop him.

Maurice straightened, trying to feel for a weapon, “Even if I knew… I wouldn’t tell you.”

The beast lashed out before Maurice had noticed he moved, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. He braced his hands on the case and struggled to stand upright, but the monster’s grip was harder, forcing his knees to bend.

“That...is not a very good first sentence,” he drawled, “Now...you...are going to tell me where I can find her… Or there’s going to be a clean-up on Aisle Moe.”

“Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell it to the likes of you,” he glared up at him, “She's finally free of you, and soon whatever spell you put her under will be broken.” He had the satisfaction of watching the beast scowl at him for a moment before he had his head slammed down onto the display case.

“YOU. ARE. HER. FATHER.” He punctuated each word with another slam, “Of course you know where she is!”

    Maurice tried to focus through the searing pain and disorientation, vaguely aware that he was bleeding. The monster pulled his head back and he had just enough time to shut his eyelid before two clawlike nails rested on either side of his eye.

“Moe, Moe, stubbed toe, full of woe, Woe-y Moe-y,” he sang, “Your mind’s tooooo small to understand your little girl’s a big girl now. Everyone and their cousins think she was a poor wittle hostage but you know, there was a distinct lack of locks and chains once I got her home. She could’ve escaped at aaaaaany time if she twuly wanted to… But she stayed. She stayed because she was willing. She...she chose me…”

    He seemed to be lost inside of himself, and Moe thought he could use it to his advantage. But as he tried to move the claws squeezed and the pressure made stars dance against his eyelid.

“Shall I tell you about your daughter’s advances? I’m sure you were aware how naughty she was in the asylum. Does it torture you, how she went into my cell, without any back-up? Do you think about all the things I could have done to her, wandering into the dragon’s den so brazenly? I certainly do.”

“Bastard,” Maurice hissed.

“I’m aware.” He tightened his grip on Moe’s eye and he gasped, “Now, tell me where my beauty is or I’ll squish your peeper like a grape!”

    There was the sound of glass shattering, then the clatter of a bell as the front door was forced open. The beast giggled, releasing his eye and turning Maurice around to face whoever had broken in.

“Look! It’s Miss Swan, a grown woman who dresses up in a costume and runs around doing illegal vigilantism!”

“As opposed to assault and battery.” The dark figure moved closer.

    He blinked and then defended in a ridiculously innocuous voice, “I’m just looking for my girlfriend.”

“Let go of Mr. French before I make you.”

    He considered it for a moment then released Maurice, “I wasn’t getting anywhere with him anyway. In-laws, am I right?”

    There was a rush of air and a swirl of purple smoke, and when Maurice looked back, there was no trace of the mad creature.

“Are you alright, Mr. French?”

    He looked at the woman clad all in black, her face obscured by a mask reminiscent of a Venetian masquerade. Her outfit was a mix of armor and fabric, letting her move freely but still protecting her vital organs. The etched feather designs and the shape of the mask confirmed it was none other than the Black Swan visiting him.

“I’ve been worse,” he insisted, going to dab at the blood on his forehead with his sleeve. She brought her cape around and helped wipe it up, “He’s trying to find Belle…”

“He won’t,” she promised him.

    He shook his head, “You can’t be certain of that. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“No, HE has no idea what I’M capable of. That disappearing act won’t work twice, and she’s got the city of Storybrooke looking out for her,” she rested a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll protect her, and help her get well.”

    Emma could see though that he wasn’t convinced.

    She hadn’t seen Neal at all that night and while thankfully she hadn’t needed backup, it was weird he hadn’t immediately responded to her text about a sighting of the Dark One. When she did see him again at home, he was nursing a drink and staring at a spot on the wall.

“Where were you, Boy Wonder? You missed a highly anticlimactic standoff with a Big Bad.”

“I was with a contact seeing if he knew where Belle had gone to,” he finished off his drink, frowning, “I don’t want you dealing with him on your own; he’s not like the rest of the crazies we deal with.”

“Then come with me next time.”

    It had been an offhanded statement but Neal gripped the glass as though he were going to throw it.

“I don’t want to face him if I don’t have to,” he muttered.

    He’d never been one for cowardice, but Emma felt she had pressed too hard already. He had his clammed-up face on, and asking more wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.

“...I do not like it, Sam I am,” he said absently.

“Neither do I,” she said, “Not on a boat, not on a goat.”

    At least that managed to get him to smile.

II

    Belle had gotten drunk off of power. Not in general; she was still plenty careful around the other inmates and only interacted with them as much as she needed to. But at the end of her rounds, when she neared the last cell in the furthest depths of the Enchanted Forest, her pulse quickened for a completely different reason. Her Rumple would be waiting for her, regardless of whether he was done with his book or not, and they’d waste time pretending he was debating on a new one. She enjoyed the hungry way he watched her, drawn to her like she was drawn to him. She knew he acted the predator but, when it came down to it, she was his master.

    She was beginning to wonder if her lust and fondness was turning into something else, something more serious.

“Belle…” She turned from where she was packing her lunch to see her father in the doorway, looking nervous. Internally she began to panic, “We need to talk.”

“...about what?” She asked, setting a fruit cup in the paper bag before rolling the top of it.

    He took a deep breath, “There are...rumors going around. That you’re...going into the Dark One’s cell.”

    She laughed, and hoped it didn’t sound nervous, “That’s ridiculous. How would I even get a key?” By stopping by the master collection and “borrowing” it until she had a copy made. The master keys were only used when a guard forgot theirs anyway, and it had been easy enough to convince security it was for her stubborn father who wouldn’t admit he lost it.

“I don’t know, but you’re a clever girl.”

“I didn’t, papa.” She lied firmly, “I know how dangerous it is.”

    And yet, she had done it anyway. Knowing the risks she had gone in after telling him to put his hands against the far wall, back to her. She had gone in and gingerly touched him, felt along his scaly skin and listened to how tight his breathing got as he stole glances at her.

    He might be called a crocodile, but he had behaved like a lamb towards her.

“I hope you remember that,” he moved closer to her, “If anything were to happen to you…”

“I know, papa,” she went over and kissed his cheek, “I love you, worry warts and all.”

    He gave her a small smile, “I love you too.”

    She brushed past him, grabbing her coat, “Off to work I go. You want me to grab anything while I’m out?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a six-pack,” he said.

    Belle giggled and shrugged her coat on, walking out the door. It was the last conversation they had before she was taken hostage.

    The details as to how the riot began weren’t clear; something had happened to the plumbing system, so major that it distracted most of the personnel. Electricity became spotty and, in between power outages, cells started to open up.

    Belle hadn’t gotten to her rounds yet; she was busy reshelving books when the lights flickered and died. She paused and waited; sure enough the backup generator kicked in and she continued. She managed to shelve a few more books before the power failed again, this time staying off.

    She opened her tablet and used its light to guide herself back to the checkout desk, searching for the phone. She picked the receiver up only to hear silence, not so much as a dial tone. She went for her cell phone, trying to remember maintenance’s number…

Gunshots rang out. She quickly sank behind the counter, holding her breath. The volley didn’t last long though, hopefully meaning that whatever the disturbance had been it was dealt with. She took a few deep breaths, and was just about to stand again when she heard it. Quiet at first, barely discernable, the noise grew louder and louder. Laughter. Cheering. Chanting. Shouting. Moving closer to the library.

The door opened and Belle jerked, wishing she had had the presence of mind to lock it. She strained to hear footsteps but whoever they were they were careful about staying quiet. She shielded the light of her phone and scrolled to her father’s number, starting to text “I lov-”.

The phone was smacked out of her grasp, skidding across the floor. Before she could move away a hand was on her throat.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” Keith growled, pressing himself against her.

    Belle clawed at him, but it didn’t seem to deter him. His hips ground against hers while he twisted her face to the side, running his tongue along her cheek. She struggled to breathe and to keep his free hand away from her breasts. She was beginning to feel lightheaded when he was suddenly pulled off of her.

    Keith barely had time to process the change before his neck was snapped, body tossed aside without a second thought. Fingertips gently took her face, frantically checking her over.

“Pretty, pretty Belle,” he crooned, “Sweet, sweet Belle…”

    A sob choked out of her and while she should be relieved he had come to save her… He was out of his cell. They could all be out of their cells. She was almost… And gunshots…

    Rumplestiltskin scooped her up, carrying her out of the library. The halls had quieted, even in the few minutes since the riot began. (Because that was what had happened, right? A prison riot?) Some of the truly insane lingered even though all of the cell doors were wide open. Blood and bodies littered the ground; not just guards, but other inmates, killed either in defense or for kicks she had no way of knowing. Belle struggled in her friend’s arms, weeping at the sudden tragedy, imagining the surviving inmates scattering like cockroaches into the city ready to bring hell to Storybrooke.

“Shh, shh, pretty Belle, perfect Belle,” he cooed, “You’re mine now… All mine.”

    As they neared the entrance to the Enchanted Forest she could see the flashing lights of police cars, hear them shouting over each other. Rumplestiltskin set her down on her feet and pressed her back against his front, a hand around her throat.

“Just an act, my dear,” he assured her, “We have to make them believe.”

    Belle was not acting as she was led out, sobbing at the sight of all those guns trained on them.

“Please, please!”  She begged as the Dark One carefully maneuvered them past the blockade, keeping her always facing the danger. She didn’t know whose life she was pleading for harder and, when she had time to reflect on it in the Dark Castle later, she realized they had been so intertwined one bullet could have possibly gone through both of them.

    It was almost poetic, in a Romeo and Juliet morbid way.

III

    Sometimes Henry felt like he was the only one who really saw things the way they were, and he wondered if it was because of his book. He hadn’t met anyone else who could read it and sometimes that scared him, like he really was crazy. But no, of course the Evil Queen would want him to think he was, because it gave her control. And if there was one thing he knew about his mother, it was that she loved control.

    Belle had come to live with them shortly after she’d been found. His mother said it was because she wasn’t safe anywhere else; his book told him it was because of her relationship to the Dark One. Belle and the Dark One were a modern day Beauty and the Beast; he didn’t know who that made his mom in their story.

Belle was...quiet, and by herself a lot, when she wasn’t in the dungeon. She didn’t seem like a person; she had no energy, and there was always a twinge of sadness around her. She was a ghost that stared out the window as if waiting for someone to come find her.

When he asked Archie about it during therapy, he seemed to hem and haw more than usual. He said that the mind tries to adapt to situations in order to survive, that Belle’s mind had deceived her into thinking she loved the man that had done horrible things to her.

Henry asked if his mind did that. Archie admitted that it might.

III

    Hook didn’t like to think of himself as easily persuaded, but he couldn’t deny he had a weakness for Baeran Gold. Well, now he went by Neal Cassidy, or “Baelfire”, which Hook failed to understand the reasoning of. At least his moniker made sense.

    The bloody thing was that Bae knew he had a weakness for him, and he exploited it ruthlessly. He was his mother’s child in that regard… So when he met with Hook to ask him to check on that woman of interest’s living situation, he had reluctantly agreed, knowing that meant dealing with Regina. She wasn’t bad to look at but she was fickle and didn’t take to his charm as quickly as he’d like.

    He dropped by when it was convenient for him, which irked the mayor.

“Honestly, Hook, there’s nothing wrong with picking up the phone and calling ahead,” she scolded as she found him snooping around the hallways, not even surprised to see him.

    Hook pouted, “That would take all the fun out of it.”

“What do you want, I have an appointment,” she said, brushing past him.

    He followed her, “Rumor has it you’re the one keeping the French girl.”

“It’s not a rumor if I told the press directly about it.”

“Now why would you go and do a thing like that? Are you trying to provoke the Dark One?”

“He wouldn’t dare come after me,” she insisted, “You weren’t there to see how he was around her, it was nauseating,” she shook her head, “I think he’d cry if anything happened to her.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered under his breath. He’d probably kill her.

    She led him down a staircase to what he imagined had been a cellar at some point. There was a chill in the air with only sporadic lighting, mostly around an exam table. A woman was bound to it, quiet and still as she stared up at the ceiling.

    So this was Erzabel French. The crocodile certainly had a thing for dark-haired bright-eyed beauties, even if this one had much more of a baby face. She glanced lazily at them, as much as she could with her head being restrained.

“Who’s leather daddy?” She asked dryly.

He gave a small bow, “Captain Hook, at your service.”

She burst into a fit of giggles that, while he was used to groans and chuckles, seemed uncalled for. It persisted as Regina came closer, starting to apply electrical pads to her temples.

“Honestly she’s getting as nutty as he is,” she muttered. She sighed before leaning over the incapacitated woman, “So, Belle, is today finally going to be the day you talk?”

“What’s there to talk about?” She retorted, “How useless this is? How it’s only stroking your feminine rage boner?”

    Regina turned on a machine that Hook hadn’t paid much notice to. It was small, but with some intimidating looking gauges and knobs. Belle’s nervous giggles died on her lips.

“What do you know about the Dark One?”

“...I don’t know anything,” She said quietly, her voice quivering slightly.

“You were his captive for six months, surely you picked up on something.” Regina’s fingers traced a dial.

    Belle’s hands clenched into fists, “Not a thing.”

“I think we need to jog your memory…”

    Hook wasn’t stupid; he had a good idea of what sort of machine she was attached to before Regina twisted the dial. But to watch the poor woman suddenly convulse and scream in agony quickly put him off whatever apathy he had come into the situation with. It was perhaps a few seconds of electrical current, but he felt trapped in those slivers of time.

Her body went slack as she gasped for air. Madame Mayor seemed hardly perturbed, “What can you tell me about Rumplestiltskin?”

“He has horrible morning breath! You could weaponize it!”

Belle hardly had the time to chuckle at her joke before Regina rolled her eyes and twisted the dial further along the scale. Hook must’ve counted ten seconds before Belle’s body collapsed again.

“You tell them you keep me here to protect me.” The words tumbled out of Belle’s mouth as she tried to rock from side to side, “You put up an act with me like it’s for information, but really you just want to keep me away from anyone I might tell about your after-office-hours activities. Mayor Mills can’t be affiliated with the likes of-”

    Regina cut her off with what looked to be very close to the extreme side of the dial. He stood there motionlessly as the poor girl screamed and spasmed, pulling at her restraints.

“Regina…” He said. Her face was completely focused on Belle’s, a scowl on her lips, “Regina, stop, you’re going to fry her brain!”

    Like a pouting child she relented, clicking the machine off.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” she assured Belle, patting her on the head before going to leave. Hook hesitated, his eyes still on the dark-haired beauty.

    She was giggling to herself relentlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes flicked towards him, completely vacant as if she had retreated into herself. The Dark One could go die in an acid bath, but this woman’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    He turned to pursue Regina, waiting until they had left the girl behind to speak, “She has a point. Why press for more weaknesses when you know she IS one?”

“Just trying to get the most out of my investment,” she said coolly, “Anyway, it makes for good press. Mayor not only taking interest in a victim of abuse, but sheltering them? It’s downright charitable of me. Speaking of, you don’t plan on coming to my charity gala next week, right?”

“I have better things to do,” he promised.

    However, he could think of a pair that would be interested in dropping by.

II

    For six months, Rumplestiltskin felt like a man again. Belle remained in his keep, a handful of starlight to ward off the darkness. She let the world believe that she was a hostage as she kept his castle in order, stealing away to little nooks to read when he was busy. She paid no mind to his work or to the company that visited, continuing on as if there was no crime lord over for tea. He could have easily been projecting, but he was pretty sure she was happy too.

    She told him everything about her; she invited herself into his bed. She let him touch and explore and take, and with that came an even deeper devotion than he had already had for the woman who showed him kindness while the rest of the world regarded him as a monster.

    He immediately picked up on her restlessness as they approached the end of their half-a-versary of freedom, and he feared his days of bliss were numbered. When he caught her staring out the window one night instead of at the book in her lap, he knew he had to comment.

“Something the matter, dearie?” He asked from the comfort of their bed.

    She sighed and shook her head, stepping down from the sill and setting the book aside, “It’s nothing…”

“My interpersonal instincts might be a tad rusty, but isn’t “it’s nothing” code for “it’s a big something”?”

    Belle rewarded his joke with a small smile, going to sit on the bed. It took what scraps of pride he still had to keep from crawling towards her, automatically gravitating towards the center of his world. She bit her lip before finally looking at him.

“I’m worried about my father.” That’s right, she had one of those… And she even liked him. She took his silence as a cue to continue, “You see, after my mother died I’m the only family he has. I know he’s been worried sick but…” She trailed off, and even if he’d been given a multiple choice style menu to pick from he doubted he’d choose correctly what she was thinking.

    Pins and needles seemed to press into his innards at the thought of sharing his treasure. But he couldn’t deny her such a reasonable request, such a human request.

He drew in a long breath, bracing himself, “...then you should visit him.”

    Belle did a double-take and Rumplestiltskin carefully crafted his features to resemble something close to casual. She gave him the sweetest smile in return.

“You mean it?”

“Course I mean it,” he scoffed, “I don’t want you moping about because I didn’t let you run out and say “hi” real quick.”

    She rocked forward and kissed him, and it felt just as magical as the first time. “You want me to be happy,” she teased.

    He wrinkled his nose, “Well… I don’t want you unhappy.”

    She giggled and went to push him back against the bed, swinging a leg over to straddle him, “You make me very not-unhappy,” she assured him.

    He clung to those words as she prepared to leave the next day, and he reminded himself of them as he waited for her at the window to return. He made her very not-unhappy; surely that meant she wouldn’t leave for good. Surely that meant she loved him, like he loved her.

    Belle didn’t look back once she was outside the formidable stone mansion that very much could pass as a Dark Castle; she doubted she could bear the sight of seeing him watching her leave. It had been hard enough when she had been getting ready; putting her hair up, wearing a hoodie, generally just trying not to advertise the fact that the lone survivor of the Enchanted Forest massacre was going out on the town.

    Despite his act of nonchalance, she could sense his fear. Honestly it could be why she had put this off for so long, or maybe she hoped with enough time passing her father would accept her decision to stay with Rumple. Or maybe she had just been avoiding the rest of the world in favor of the seclusion being the Dark One’s “hostage” had offered. He certainly had no shortage of books...

    She took the Cadillac that sat mostly forgotten in the garage, driving out of the foothills and to the metropolis that was Storybrooke. She was careful to avoid the main roads, though she had no idea if it made a difference. She was less concerned with traffic cams spotting her and more concerned with them catching the license plate numbers; how did one register a car for a super villain?

Maybe the media had moved on; assumed she was dead or simply found another scandal to move onto. She could only imagine what they had said about the poor defenseless woman being used as a meat shield… The few pages they knew of her and Rumple’s story.

The area Mr. Gold's Pawnshop and Antiquities Dealership resided in wasn't one of the busier ones, especially this time of night. She parked a few blocks away just to be safe, hoping her father hadn’t called it an early night. She practiced what she was going to say to him as she walked. Hello, Papa… Hey Papa… I know it’s been awhile. I’m sure you’ve been worried but I’ve been alright, more than alright…

Papa, I love-

She was startled from her thoughts by someone knocking into her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” she mumbled, hardly thinking twice about it as she tried to keep going.

    A well-manicured hand rested on her shoulder, keeping her from walking away, “...is that you, Miss French?”

    Her blood chilled as she turned towards the speaker. She had never paid too much attention to the politics of Storybrooke growing up; mostly she had just listened to her father’s muttering about the corruption of the Mills family all her life, and it seemed like no matter who went up against them they always still won the election. But then as she stayed in Rumple’s keep, she started noticing how often Regina came to call on him, and the sorts of people who came with her.

“Mayor Mills,” she gave her an awkward smile, “Nice to see you…”

“And nice to see you,” Her saccharine grin didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Is he letting you out now?”

“For errands. Surprised to see you around here.”

“Needed some fresh air, stretch my legs. Can I walk with you?”

    No. No she absolutely didn’t want to walk with this wolf in sheepskin clothing. But before Belle could really object, Regina had her arm entwined with hers and was steering the both of them along the direction Belle had been heading.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she mused, “Then again he must be, keeping you around, letting you see behind the curtain of Storybrooke…”

“What curtain?”

    Regina’s grip tightened on her arm, “Oh, you know… How it really is.”

“I have no idea what you’re inferring.”

    Belle cringed as Regina stopped, twisting around to face her, “Don’t play me for a fool… You may have pretended to be reading during our meetings, but I know better than to believe that charade.”

“You flatter yourself, Mayor Mills; you nor any of his business associates are all that interesting,” she tried to brush past her, “I’m a glorified maid, that’s it.”

    She was honestly a little surprised when Regina let her, her grip sliding off like water off a duck’s feather.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she called over her shoulder, “We could work together, help each other out.”

    Belle rolled her eyes, “No thanks. I prefer the devil I know to the one that just so “happens” to bump into me at night.”

    The fact Regina let her go without another word should have been a warning.

    She didn’t have to double-check the address; a hanging glowing sign announced that this was the antiquities dealership Rumple had jotted down, her father’s new place of business. No light came from inside, the shades were drawn, and when she checked the hours she saw she had just missed closing. But maybe he was still in the back...

    She circled around to the alley beside it and spotted a back door. There were still no lights on but she tried the doorknob anyway. Locked. She sighed; all of those precautions and mental speech drafts for nothing. She’d have to catch him some other time.

    Snarls reverberated from one brick wall to the other. Belle turned to see three shadows at the mouth of the alley, blocking her exit.

“You really should’ve gotten me that book, darling.” The tallest drawled, before snapping her fingers and pointing at Belle. Her sidekicks immediately charged, their barks booming across the distance.

    Belle twisted around to flee, knocking into a trash can. She recovered and sprinted, continuing even when she saw it was a dead end.

“HELP!” She screamed, trying to find something to stand on to scale the fence, “HELP ME, SOMEONE, PLEASE!”

    The first clamped its jaws around her calf and pulled her leg out from underneath her. She hit the cement with a hard thud and tried to kick free, but that only seemed to excite the dog more. She went to claw at its face when the second caught her forearm in its mouth. She screamed as they pulled in opposite directions, playing tug-o-war with her body and shaking her about as if she were just a stuffed animal left in a puppy’s reach.

    They raked at her skin, chomping at new parts of her body and trying to rip the meat right off her bones. It was all Belle could do to scream and hope somebody, anybody would save her before she bled out.

    The only person who heard her cries was Cruella, who watched in grotesque fascination. Belle wavered in and out of consciousness, her wails turning into quiet sobs and half-thought prayers.

    She heard Cruella make a call over the sounds of the Rottweilers’ snuffling and growling. She stared at a pool of her own blood as pain rang through her.

“Alright, she’s exactly where you want her… Yes, Jasper and Horace were good boys and did their jobs… Are you sure I can’t let them kill her? ...what makes you think he still cares, he let her go.”

    It was because he let her go that she knew he cared. She squeezed her eyes shut as the stupid mutts started clawing at her face, trying to get a rise out of her.

    The last thing she heard before she finally passed out was Cruella accusing the person on the other end of the line for being tacky in deciding to have a shrimp hors d'oeuvre served at her gala.

III

“One pill makes you larger, aaaaaand one pill makes you small. And the ones that… Mother gives you. Don’t doooo anything. At allllll.”

    He hated that fucking song, and should’ve long ago taken it off the jukebox, but he’d sooner gouge his own tongue out before giving Chelsea Catone the satisfaction. Her entire life revolved around tormenting whatever patron dared to venture into the Rabbit Hole, and himself if he wasn’t careful. The regulars had long since gotten used to her, then again most of his regulars had their own annoying ticks that they inflicted on whoever was unlucky enough to engage them.

           It really wasn’t surprising that his customers tended to be a little off; he was in the heart of the party district known (only somewhat ironically) as Wonderland. Left to its own devices for the most part, at least it was cheap to live in… It had been perfect in his younger years, and he’d been so excited to take over and reinvent this bar. Now the surrealistic design and technicolors gave him a headache.

           He probably wouldn’t have paid any mind to the next fool who stumbled in if the entire Rabbit Hole didn’t freeze. The crack of table croquet stopped, and not because of the twins breaking out into a fight. Catherine’s stream of vapor leaked past her lips instead of in the rings and figures she liked to practice. The absurd confusing drinking game that was like musical chairs on crack ended as the line of racers crashed into one another.

    Jefferson took one look at the arrival and sighed, “Alright, everyone out.”

    He’d never seen all those misfits listen at the same time before. Such was the fear of the Dark One.

“You too, dormouse,” he flipped Grace’s textbook closed.

    She turned away from her staring and gave him a pointed look, “You said I can stay down here if I did my homework.”

“And you also know I have Daddy Veto Powers. Go upstairs, now.”

“Listen to your father.”

    Grace was startled to see the Dark One in all his glittering glory suddenly standing beside her at the bar. He stared back at her, raising an eyebrow. She grabbed her book, slid off her stool and disappeared through the “Hatters Only” door.

    Rumplestiltskin took her seat, folding his arms on the bar. Jefferson crossed his.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again,” he muttered.

“I thought that was a hyperbole,” he mumbled, his eyes wandering towards “Hatters Only”, “...she’s grown up quite a bit.”

“Yeah… Went by too fast,” he said.

The Dark One shrugged, “At least she got her looks from her mother.”

“You going to order something or not, you scaly bastard?”

“Whatever you have that’s strong.”

    Jefferson went over to his wall of liquors, grabbing and pouring like a painter with his palette, “It’s been what, eight, nine years, and tonight you just wander in without warning?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he claimed, claws scratching at the table’s varnish, “...seeing if Cora was in.”

    Jefferson’s grip tightened on the glass, looking ready to hurl it at him, “What the fuck. Did you not learn your lesson?”

“Ew, not like that.” He waved off the notion, “Like in an intelligence gathering way. But it doesn’t matter, she wasn’t in.”

“And what information could you possibly need THAT badly?”

           His face crumpled and Jefferson almost regretted asking. He hadn’t seen lizard eyes that sad since… Well, ever, he guessed.

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, leaning in as Jefferson set down his drink, “…have you ever been in love before?” He just about whispered.

           Jefferson gave a small smile and nodded, “Yeah, once. You took her seat.”

“But never the romantic sort?” He continued, “Where you’re just…sitting, minding your own business, and a butterfly lands on your arm. It’s so delicate, and perfect… You’re terrified to move, terrified to breathe, lest the moment end and it flits away. Touching it, tainting its purity… Feels wrong. But you want to… Need to…”

           No, he hadn’t felt that way towards Grace’s mother; she had been a fun fling that had ended in tragedy. Grace was the only butterfly in his life and as far as he could see she’d remain the only one. Purity was in short supply in the circles he ran in… And he’d do whatever he could to protect his little dormouse.

           Rumplestiltskin downed his drink and set the glass back on the table, tapping at the rim as if trying to crack it, “…I’d settle for just knowing she’s alright,” he murmured.

    Jefferson frowned, “...I can put feelers out. Who is it?”

    The Dark One’s attention was diverted by the small television he kept in the corner for Grace to watch cartoons. For some reason it had been switched to the local news channel, and it looked like a young lady was speaking to a group of reporters at a press conference. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

“...with Mayor Mills’ help I have been recovering from my incident, and I hope with some more time I will be able to move past what happened…”

    The bartender frowned, recognizing her, “Is that-”

    His voice was cut off by a choking sensation, Rumple’s hand held up in a clenching motion as he stared enraptured by the screen.

    Erzabel French continued, her words hollow as she read from something on the podium, “This is my first public appearance since my…abduction. I hope to continue to heal and eventually go back to being the woman I was before.” There was a pause, a glance away from the written speech, “I look forward to the Everyday Heroes Gala, Mayor Mills’ annual fundraiser for the Neverland Foster Center.”

           She stepped away from the podium and polite applause followed before Regina took the stage again and went on her usual anti-crime tirade.

           Jefferson gasped as Rumplestiltskin released his hold, giggling.

“My clever Belle. Clever, clever Belle,” he trilled, sliding off the stool, “You’ve been a great help Jeffy, we should double-date some time.”

           He glanced between the television and the Dark One’s retreating back, rapidly trying to catch up. Of course he didn’t want to believe whatever propaganda Regina was spewing this week… But he couldn’t deny that the closest thing he had to a best friend was extremely unstable. That wasn’t even touching the idea Rumple was a victim of some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome…

“Are you going after her?” He asked.

           The Dark One considered his question, head tilting to the side, “Yes, I’m going to make her suffer… Suffer more than she ever knew was possible. She’ll be begging for death by the time I’m through with her,” he glanced over his shoulder, “Unless you’re talking about Belle, then not yet. I don’t even know what I’d wear!”

           He giggled, slipping out of the Rabbit Hole. Maybe if he liked Regina better, or maybe if he thought Rumplestiltskin was capable of rape, he would’ve tried harder to stop him. Instead he turned the television off and noticed the empty glass.

           Bastard didn’t pay his tab. Could pull gold out of his ass, but apparently preferred drinking and dashing.

III

           Henry knew the drill by now; his main job was to stay out of the way while everyone else set up for the night’s party. Bored, he watched the small army prepare for battle against the…what was the word Neal had used? The bushwa? The upper class, basically the royalty of Storybrooke.

           Only some of them were actual royalty though, at least from what he could figure out. It was like playing detective, but he had to be very careful about getting new clues. Most people thought he was crazy, but they were just cursed. He was the only believer, but Neal seemed to want to believe.

           The world couldn’t really be like this, Henry insisted. It couldn’t really let the bad guys win while the good guys were screwed over. That just wasn’t right.

“It wasn’t bold, it was brash.”

           The voice sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. He quickly ducked into the nearest room, leaving the door open a crack. Sure enough, his mom and grandmother stepped into view, raven black and blood red.

           What kind of crummy luck did he have, with the Evil Queen being his mother and the Queen of Hearts being his grandmother?

           Cora turned towards her daughter, her bright lips pulled into a frown, “You’re antagonizing him.”

“I’m making a statement,” Regina folded her arms, facing her mother head on, “It’s an open secret how he feels about her… And now she’s in my possession. Soon enough he’ll know it too.”

“And he’ll destroy you if you aren’t careful.”

Regina scoffed, “Coming from the woman who boasts about how she outsmarted him.”

“Because I knew what I was doing. You, however, don’t.” She reached out and rested a hand on Regina’s shoulder, and Henry tensed up as if she were touching him, “I say this because I love you. Turn this around; offer her to him. Blame the puppy butcher for the attack.”

“No,” she brushed the hand off of her, “He needs to know that I’m not his apprentice anymore. This is my city, and he’s just another criminal I need to keep under my thumb.”

“Regina-“

“Mother,” she cut her off, “You had your terms as mayor. Now it’s my turn. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.”

           Cora’s mouth twitched, clearly wanting to continue the argument. Instead she gave a tight smile, “Yes dear.”

           Henry slowly, quietly closed the door. He didn’t want to listen anymore about evil plans, especially ones where the Dark One would be coming after his mother. As bad as she was, everyone seemed to think he was worse. And a beast without his beauty…

           A derisive snort warned Henry he wasn’t alone.

           He nearly jumped out of his skin, twisting around to see where the noise had come from. In the corner like a forgotten doll, their “guest” sat, back against the wall and legs spread out in front of her. Her long curls hung from her bent head but he could still see her smirk and vacant eyes. A book was in her lap as if she had been reading, but she looked as posed and lifeless as a marionette.

           Her head slowly lifted and her eyes flicked up. They sat in silence, regarding each other, until he finally spoke.

“So you’re Belle.”

           She mulled over the statement for a moment, “I suppose I am… I don’t feel very Belle-like right now, though.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not with your Beast,” he offered.

“Maybe,” she said, in that gentle adult “no but I’m not going to treat you like an idiot” way.

           Maybe the Evil Queen had stolen her heart, and that’s why she looked like a cracked porcelain doll, one more fall away from breaking.

III

           It wasn’t the first time Emma had ever seen Neal in a monkey suit, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But there was definitely something to be said about his innate ability to pull off a three-piece. It was like seeing the boy-next-door skater punk suddenly on the cover of GQ adjusting his cuff links. He glanced up at the uneven click of her heels and took her in.

“You clean up nice, Girl Wonder,” he commented.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret gushed, unable to keep from brushing stray strands back into her up-do and smooth creases that came from something as simple as walking from the bathroom to the Autoswan, “You look stunning… I knew that dress would look lovely on you.”

“Thanks Mary Margaret,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed.

           Eventually her assistant stopped fussing over her, standing back and glancing between the pair, “I feel like I should be taking pictures of you while Neal slides a corsage on your wrist.”

“As great as smuggling a flask of peppermint schnapps in sounds, I don’t think “prom” is the theme Regina’s going with.”

           The trio made their way to the garage where Emma’s baby sat. It was a goofy stretched-out Bug painted bright yellow, modified to at least attempt to look like the sort of sports car a celebrity would have. But Emma hadn’t let her technician go too crazy; yellow bugs were special to her and Neal and besides, no one suspected Herbie’s drunk cousin of being anything more than tacky and fuel-efficient.

The Autoswan’s twin doors rose Delorean-style and Emma followed Neal around to the passenger’s side. Mary Margaret paused for a moment, then gleefully clapped her hands together.

“I can text David to come up here and he can give the Overprotective Dad Speech!”

“NO!” They snapped in unison. Mary Margaret pouted as she slid into the driver’s seat, Neal taking the passenger’s and Emma getting into the back.

           The ride to Regina’s estate was quiet, and shorter than Emma would’ve liked. Not that she wanted to get there after shit had gone down, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to schmoozing the other socialites while she waited for the explosions. She wasn’t a great schmoozer to begin with and every one of these events came with the mild threat of her offending someone she shouldn’t have because she was a little too blunt.

           Mary Margaret had tried her best to teach her the ways of the upper class, but Emma was starting to think it was something you either got or you didn’t. It wasn’t her style to sweep things under the rug.

           She pulled up to the beginning of the expansive walkway that led up to Regina’s mansion, twisting around in her seat and looking at both of them in turn, “Now don’t have too much fun you two. I have a novel I’d like to finish reading, and honestly I don’t much feel like having to carry your unconscious bodies out of a burning building.”

“Yes, Mary Margaret.” They drawled in unison. The doors rose and Neal slid out, offering his hand to Emma. She took it and let him help steady her.

Time to enter the fray.

As she suspected, there were tons of press lurking near the mansion’s entrance, swarming each new arrival like ants on dropped fruit. Neal stayed a step behind, keeping an eye on the crowd while Emma picked and chose the snippets of interviews she’d engage in.

Yes, she was excited to be here, supporting this worthy cause that was close to her heart. Why yes, Neverland was where she had grown up, and she wished it wasn’t as crowded as it was. Every child deserved a chance to grow up in a safe environment, and sadly most of the adolescents were all but forgotten when it came time for adop- Who made her dress? She’d have to ask her personal assistant, haha. Yes, still single. Please excuse her, and have a lovely evening.

Rinse. Repeat. Until she was finally inside and could breathe for a moment.

“Is it the blonde hair? Or do I just have “bimbo” written on my chest?” She vented as Neal stepped into his more natural position at her side, “Seriously, you’ll never hear them ask a male CEO if he’s thinking about starting a family.”

“It’s the lack of suits,” he insisted, “I keep telling you that.”

“I shouldn’t have to wear a suit to remind them of my position,” she protested, glancing around. This might’ve been a living room in a standard house, but she didn’t see any furniture that suggested what this giant place was used for when parties weren’t being thrown. Right now it seemed to be the church foyer, a place for meeting and greeting before heading into the main event.

“So what’s our game plan?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“We find Regina,” Emma said simply, “She doesn’t take a step without us knowing about it. Where she is, I’m sure the Dark One will follow.”

“Sensible enough,” Neal scanned the crowd, “Bet she’s in the ballroom.”

“I’ll go check it out,” she offered, “You should scout for the catering trays.”

“You want your bodyguard to abandon you for snacks?”

“What, I’m hungry,” she raised an eyebrow, “Do you really care how you earn your paycheck?”

“I just really hope nothing happens in the five minutes it’ll take me to hunt it down. I’m pretty sure it’s Emma Charming writing my checks, NOT the Charming Corporation,” he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around, “...I bet she sprung for the good stuff. You know, for the orphans.”

    With that epiphany Neal was off, weaving his way through the crowd. Emma smiled to herself, because he was being so Neal in that moment, but it immediately vanished when she noticed a man with a cane staring after him as if he were witnessing the second coming of Christ.

    There was something very familiar about the man and yet Emma’s mind was drawing a blank at a name. He looked as though he belonged there in his tailored suit and his kept appearance, but the other patrons had given him a surreal berth. An island in the middle of a sea of people, only his eyes moving as he watched after Neal. They stayed fixed for a moment and then, reluctantly, they broke away.

    He didn’t seem to see her at first; more like stared through her. But his dark eyes came back into focus and he gave her a humorless smirk.

“Miss Swan,” he mouthed across the distance.

    Emma’s heart raced. If it had been any other random surname she would’ve brushed it off as him confusing her with some other blonde in a dress. But paranoia about her crime-stopping activities refused to let her just dismiss it. She cut through the distance, keeping her sights straight on him.

    And yet, as she got within whisper-hissing range, he vanished as if he had taken the opportunity of a blink to disappear.

    Regina was pleased with the turnout, she decided as she looked over the ocean of influence that flooded the ballroom. The band swelled over the multitude of conversations and slowly pairs started to dance. She stood above them, on a platform near the pledge table where she thanked each additional donation that the attendees offered. At this rate they might actually be able to do something about that old orphanage, and she wouldn’t just be spouting empty promises.

    Assuming some miscreant wouldn’t force her to use it as hush money. Try as she might, it seemed like that was where the majority of Storybrooke’s funding went to. Maybe she should consider cracking down on readmittance to the Enchanted Forest…

    ...honestly the little hostage might be the first one she sent. She may have pushed the poor thing too hard in their sessions; it seemed like something had snapped and disconnected her from the rest of the world. The whole evening she hadn’t even tried leaving her side, staring vacantly across the room, shifting her focus every so often so as to not be mistaken for a mannequin.

Regina was wondering if she had been wrong, that Rumple really didn’t care about the asylum librarian, though she’d never admit it to her mother. For such a powerful being, he sure was taking his time.

    She frowned as she realized she hadn’t seen Henry in awhile. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten into any trouble, what with the mixed company of the honest and corrupt socialites. Maybe he had disappeared back to his room to read that book of his (which, by the way, she did NOT look like the illustration of the Evil Queen).

    Another man wrote down his name, contact, billing information and the amount he was giving so he could sign off on it on next year’s tax return. From the emphatic thank yous of the volunteers manning the table it must’ve been a fairly impressive amount. Regina plastered a smile on her face and turned to greet the man.

“Thank you so much for your donation, Mr. …?”

“Gold,” he said, shaking the offered hand.

“How fitting,” she joked.

    Beside her, the blue-eyed puppet stirred.

“Well I like to do what I can for children in unfortunate circumstances.” The words rolled off his tongue with a delightfully thick brogue, “Seems odd that the previous Mayor Mills isn’t here tonight, or have I just missed her?”

    Regina’s smile tightened, her teeth clenching momentarily, “Unfortunately my mother couldn’t make it,” she lied. Cora hadn’t wanted to make it tonight, claiming she wasn’t in the mood for the masquerade.

    Or she thought the event would flop, even though Regina had been doing this for five years now.

“That’s a pity,” he said, his thumb running over the grooves of his cane’s handle, “...honestly I was hoping that your partner might honor me with a dance.”

    It took her a few moments to realize he meant Belle. She glanced to her side, trying to see her through an outsider’s perspective. Belle seemed equally surprised, sizing up the man.

“Well I suppose it’s up to her,” Regina admitted, “Belle?” It would free her up to go make a quick tour of the room, see if she could find Henry…

Her voice cracked as if she hadn’t spoken in a week, “...alright.”

    Mr. Gold grinned, “Excellent.” He offered his hand to her and she took it, letting herself be led away from Regina.

    Elsewhere, Emma was also scanning the room, half looking for Regina, half looking for the creep who might’ve been hinting at her vigilante pseudonym but had definitely been gaping at Neal. There wasn’t much in the way of raised platforms in the room except for where the band was playing and where donations were being accepted (as if the tickets weren’t pricey enough). She dodged conversations as politely as she could, playing with the bracelet on her wrist and thinking maybe she should’ve field-tested it before tonight.

“Good evening, Miss Charming.”

    She turned to see who was addressing her...and then looked down when she heard giggles.

“Hey kid,” she greeted Henry, looking him up and down, “Look at you in your little monkey suit…”

“I know, Mom made me wear it,” he explained, “I like your dress, it’s pretty.”

“Mary Margaret made me wear it,” she joked.

    He rocked up onto the balls of his feet, “Do you wanna dance?”

    She looked at him dubiously, “Do you even know how?”

“No,” he admitted, “But you can teach me.”

“But I don’t know how either.” She scanned the room again, but unless Regina was wearing 12-inch heels she wasn’t going to spot her that easily, “We could always try to get the electric slide going.”

“What’s the electric slide?” He asked.

“A relative of the cupid shuffle. Come on, we’re going to need room for this…”

    Rumple’s mind felt as if someone had taken his skull and shaken it like a snowglobe, but he forced himself to focus. Forced himself to remember to limp, to go first to the donation table instead of grabbing his Belle immediately and taking her away. He saw her heeled to Regina, and he wanted to destroy the Mayor.

    Instead, he made small talk to ensure Cora wouldn’t be a problem. Regina didn’t notice anything amiss about his request to dance with Miss French.

    His precious, precious Belle… She was so far retreated into herself it was like no one was home. Her gold silk dress, laced with rhinestones, cut in such a tempting way… Her long brown curls cascading over her pale shoulders, blue eyes staring.

    They started to focus on him and he could see she was trying to place him. His heart thrilled at the fact he was showing her that she didn’t have to put up with crocodile chic; he could look nice and ordinary for her, be seen in public with her, have everyone stare at her beauty instead of his beastliness like she deserved.

    Lightning shot through his blood when she took his hand, and he led her deep into the mob. No one took notice of his prop cane disappearing, not even his precious Belle. He turned to face her when they were in the dead center of the room, unclasping her hand to rest both of his on her hips.

    She stared up at him as her own rested on his shoulders, her brow knitting together, “I know you,” she murmured.

    He nodded, maybe a little more enthusiastically than called for, “You do...you do,” he promised.

    A new song began and they swayed, eyes locked. He didn’t dare miss a moment, even if her gaze was powerful enough to make the Dark One shy away.

“You came for me,” she stated.

“Of course I did.”

“Why?”

    He frowned, “Because I had to. What other choice is there?”

    The tempo picked up and Belle moved closer, closing the chaste distance between them. Her nails dug into his shoulders, chin trembling, “Why did you wait so long?”

“I’m sorry. If I had known there was a problem I wouldn’t have wasted that first night. I looked in all the wrong places, thinking a woman who ran a city would have more brains than to touch you.”

    Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, breasts pressed against him. He held her tightly, feeling their hips move in sync with each step and twist. They writhed as one, the strings of the music swelling and climbing in time with each turn.

    Tears spilled out, “I’m not the same. Something’s...broken.”

“Dearie dearie dear,” he cooed, “You will never be broken. Only a little chipped.”

    She fisted his hair in her hand, forcing his head down to meet her mouth at the song’s crescendo. Their teeth clacked together, and they were both kissing as though it was all that could save them. Their bodies stilled, clinging to each other while their lips said everything words failed to. He felt the glamour slipping but couldn’t summon a damn, the magic peeling back the mask to expose what he truly was. Belle’s hand squeezed as crimps rippled along the formerly straight hair.

    She pulled away and he opened his eyes, ready for her disgust. Her face split into a wide grin, bringing back his true love as she started to cry and stroke his ugly glittery cheeks.

“It is you,” she said emphatically, “My beastie.”

He pulled her back into a tight embrace, feeling his own sobs spill out. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her, mixing with her tears of joy. The other guests were starting to notice the transformation and were retreating as far as they could from the couple. Rumple felt the beginnings of panic and reveled in it.

He leaned close to Belle’s ear, his voice a deep growl, “What would you have me do, my beauty?”

Still laughing, still crying, she exclaimed, “Burn it. Burn. It. Down!”

As much as she would’ve liked to forget why she was there, Emma couldn’t. While she smiled and laughed as she and Henry cut a rug off to the side of the main party, she was also keeping an eye on the donation table Regina and Belle were hovering by. Chained pet or bait? Either way, Belle being stuck to Regina’s side was alarming, and not just because of the mayor’s sheer arrogance. The woman she had met in the hospital didn’t seem particularly passive, despite the mental conditioning the Dark One had put her through.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

    Emma turned to her dance partner, whose face was uncharacteristically emotionless.

“I think you’ve got some crazy moves,” she said, sidestepping the question. He stared her down and she relented, “I think...we all have our way of coping with things.”

    Like how she dressed up and fought criminals. Not the healthiest but a coping mechanism nonetheless.

The way he looked at her, with the quiet solemnity of a sentenced prisoner, told her that her tactful answer wasn't what he needed to hear.

“That's alright if you don't believe,” he murmured, “The hero rarely does at first, or else it wouldn't be much of a story. But you'll see… Your parents gave you up because they had to.”

The scabs over her heart felt like they had been picked off with his words. How many times had she told herself the same lies? And with the grand reveal of her origins it only seemed more likely that she had just been an inconvenience, that she hadn't been tragically ripped from their arms and lost or whatever other story she had concocted to comfort herself.

Henry, bless him, was still young enough to believe that where he came from was better than where he was as a Mills.

She reached out and took him in her arms, holding him the way she wish she had been held when she had gotten lonely. He hugged her back, generously not complaining about the beadwork pressing into his face. The world was theirs for a moment, two lost children finding solace with each other.

Then the screams started.

Emma turned to see the crowd clawing away from the center, desperate for the doors. They shut and locked without explanation. There was a single pair of giggles weaving through the growing hysteria, manic and pleased. A split second glimpse between passing bodies showed the Dark One had appeared in the middle of it all, dressed to the nines and clutching some poor woman. Was that-

The curtains caught fire, and the tablecloths. The potted plants and decorations went up next, including a giant “welcome” banner. Equipment started to explode and the poor musicians went flying.

The panic only grew, and people were starting to shove and barrel through. Emma shielded Henry with her body, rushing him to one of the fallen speakers.

“Hide behind this,” she said, “I’ll come back for you.”

Wild eyes looked up at her as she pulled away from him, “What about my mom?!”

“I’ll get her out too, just stay out of the way.”

The smoke was thickening, only sending the trapped into a larger frenzy. Even in this chaos she couldn't switch personas, and hoped Neal was in a better position.

She covered her mouth and nose, one look telling her she wasn't getting anywhere near the door. The windows though… Some of the men were using chairs to try and break them, but there were openings. She ran across the room, fidgeting with her ring. The diamond rotated in its setting, a sharp point of it now protruding. The layperson, had they been watching, might've thought Emma punched the glass with her bare fist, but it was the diamond edge that met with the window. A spiderweb of cracks formed, reaching to beyond Emma's height, and when she pulled the ring out the shards of glass rained down, leaving an adequate gap.

“Hurry!” She yelled, shepherding whoever she could find to the opening. Gratefully they poured out onto the mayor's lawn, running as far as they needed to for safety. She coughed and blinked back tears, but refused to leave until she could no longer see any stragglers.

She stumbled to where she had left Henry and found him, his head turtled into his dress shirt. She tried to pick him up but she couldn't, he was too big.

“HENRY!” She shouted, but either he had passed out or he was too frozen to comply, “Henry you gotta help me buddy…”

A second pair of arms joined hers and when she looked up, she looked into the determined eyes of her partner.

“I’ve got him!” He yelled and Emma let go. Neal scooped him up into a fireman's carry and rushed towards the escape, Emma only a step behind.

She gulped in air as they hit the outdoors, neither of them stopping until they were well clear of it. Neal bent to set Henry down, checking him over.

Emma took a quick survey of the group who were standing nearby, trying to come to terms with the sudden sequence of events and watching the mayor's home slowly go up in flames. Without a head count Emma couldn't tell for certain who all they were missing… But there was at least one obvious person who wasn’t out.

Before she could make it two steps Neal had grabbed her arm.

“Regina's still in there!” She protested, “She could be stuck!”

“You’re not going back into that death trap!” He snapped.

Emma tried to break free. Neal twisted her around to face him, “You know what my job is, right?”

“To protect me…” She muttered.

“To protect you,” he agreed, “And sometimes that means I gotta save you from your own stupid self.”

“I promised Henry,” she defended weakly.

Neal didn't budge, “I’m sure she'll make it out. Cockroaches survive practically anything, right?”

Emma couldn't even fake a laugh. She stared helplessly at where she had been dancing not that long ago. Regina may have been a heartless narcissistic diva… But she didn't deserve to go out like that.

Regina's evening might have been literally going up in flames around her, but all she could hear was her mother's “I told you so”. As the fire continued to eat up her home, she attempted to focus enough to conjure water to try and put it out. All she could manage was wind, which only exacerbated the problem.

If she didn't know any better, she would think it was a coincidence that the fire was pressing her farther away from the exits and deep into one of the corners. She wondered if he was going to kill her. She knew it had to be him, and not just a bad wiring job. Her mind turned to Henry. Oh god Henry…

           The fire stopped its advance and even the smoke kept a respectful distance. The curtain of flames parted and her former hostage stepped through, the gold dress shimmering as though she herself was on fire.

“They say Emperor Nero played the fiddle while Rome burned around him,” she remarked calmly. Behind her Regina could see the Dark One, the ordinary suit a jarring contrast from his glittering complexion. He paced back and forth, his eyes fixed on her predatorily, “Most historians today disagree; Nero wasn’t even in Rome at the time. But that’s not nearly as compelling an image, is it?”

           Belle walked closer and Regina pressed herself against the wall, causing a sinister giggle to slip out of the brunette.

“You’d know all about propaganda though, wouldn’t you? Exaggerating and lying to make a sensational story, working it to your advantage...”

“His brainwashing was not my doing,” Regina protested, “You can’t blame me for that.”

           All it took was a glance and suddenly Rumple was at her throat, choking her and snarling like the rabid animal he was. She clawed at his hand, unable to breathe.

“From the moment I stepped into the Dark Castle I haven’t done a thing that I didn’t want to do,” Belle insisted, “Which is more than I can say since coming back from the hospital with you.”

“Please,” Rumple hissed, “Pleasepleasepleaseprettyprettypleasewithsugarontopletmeripherthroatout.”

           Silence filled the small battlefield. Regina tried to look past her hate-filled mentor, to the woman she was beginning to feel she had underestimated, but Rumplestiltskin refused, forcing her to look into his eyes. He loathed her for this, and clearly wanted that hatred to be the last thing Regina ever saw.

“No.”

           Rumple’s face scrunched up, “But…but poopsie-kins… She deserves to die.”

“Yes, she does,” Belle agreed, “But I’d much rather her live and know that her comfortable ivory tower is going to come crashing down one day. I want her to exist to fear our retribution, to wake up every day wondering what on earth is in store for her.”

           He trilled at her words, looking over his shoulder, “Have you always been this devious, dearie?”

“Yes, so don’t cross me. Now I’m tired, hungry, in need of a hot shower and a hard fuck. We’ll play with our mouse later.”

           Regina was dropped like a piece of trash, and the Dark One pranced over to his mistress’s side. She took his hand and wrapped the arm around her, nestling into him as intimately as any couple. The fire’s smoke pillared around them, growing thicker and thicker before it rushed out, putting out the inferno that had once been her ballroom.

           The ambulances and fire trucks arrived as the inferno mysteriously went out as suddenly as if it was just a candle. Emma looked up from where she had been cradling Henry and sighed in relief at the sight of medics. She wasn’t liking how he was breathing, or how he was pretty out of it, and didn’t have anything on her to help. Neal immediately went to scoop him up again.

“He’ll be alright,” he assured Emma, “Kid’s as tough as they get.”

“I should have gotten him out first,” she muttered, walking with him to the line that was starting to queue for EMTs.

“You got him and everyone else out, that’s what matters.”

           Ready to contradict him, Mayor Mills stormed towards them, “Miss Charming, Mr. Cassidy, may I ask what you’re doing with my child?”

“We’re hoping they’ll use chest compressors on him, ma’am. Otherwise he’s a goner,” Neal deadpanned.

           Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes, “We were just looking out for him. Not planning on kidnapping him or anything.”

           Regina opened her mouth but Henry let out a rough cough, glancing towards her, “Mom, you made it out…”

           The mayor’s demeanor softened, “Well I had to make sure you were okay, didn’t I?”

           Neal gently set Henry down and he went to hug onto his mother. He looked up at Emma with a reverence that made her insides squeeze together.

“You saved us,” he murmured.

Emma shrugged, “I guess so,” she admitted.

“I knew you were a hero.”

           And, despite the fact she had saved hundreds of lives before this doomed event, his words warmed her heart.

III

“Well that was a waste of time,” Commissioner Lucas declared as she started the patrol car. Her deputy buckled her seatbelt, “Can’t say I feel too sorry for her, and she’s lucky no one died. You hungry, Ruby?”

“A little,” she admitted, even if it was 3 in the morning. The fact her grandmother asked her was a formality; cases like this meant the Widow Lucas wasn’t going to sleep, and when she didn’t sleep she went to her favorite haunt, a 24-hour diner called Granny’s.

           Ruby had pointed out on several occasions the irony of that being her favorite restaurant, given what Ruby had always called her. The humor was lost on the old wolf.

           She picked at the fabric of her pants, staring out the window, “…he took her again, the French woman.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going after him this time, aren’t we? We know she’s alive, we can’t just let him get away with, with what he’s doing to her.”

           The Commissioner was silent, watching the road more than strictly necessary, “…I would have gone after her right away if I could have,” she confessed, “He’d be back in the Enchanted Forest, they all would be. But it’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is,” Ruby insisted, “That’s our job, isn’t it? To serve and protect?”

“And not be foolish,” she pulled into a parking space, turning off the car and looking at her granddaughter, “I’ve seen the Dark One take out small armies; I’m not sending my men and women on a half-baked suicide mission.”

“It really makes it that much better to let someone suffer?”

“The needs of the many, Red. You can’t just focus on one person.” She stepped out.

           Ruby huffed, jamming the release on her seatbelt, “Don’t give me that “childhood nickname” crap; you’re still wrong,” she muttered under her breath.

           Granny had been in the system too long; she was a regular bureaucrat. They needed a little less pussyfooting and a little more actually doing something to help the people of Storybrooke.

           She trailed after her grandmother, “You’re gonna be sorry when I work my way up the ladder a bit more and have actual power,” she warned, hopping up on the stool next to her, “Because I won’t just sit on my thumbs and hope for an opening. No ma’am, I’m going to actually-“

“Hush.”

           The severity of the command was harsher than usual, which was saying something. Ruby turned to her only to watch her staring intensely at the napkin dispenser. She tapped a finger against her forearm twice and Ruby glanced in the direction she was “pointing”. Sitting in a booth plain as day was Erzabel French, a little sooty and still in her gala get-up. Outstretched clawed scaly hands showed who was sitting across from her.

           Belle watched her partner, unable to keep a straight face. Her hands, hovering underneath his, suddenly twisted up to slap his. He was too quick however and pulled them away, causing him to giggle and flail his arms like a small child. They had to take a break from whatever game they were playing when the server dropped off a strawberry shake with, naturally, two straws.

           It almost looked like a normal couple having a date… If it wasn’t for that pesky arson crime a few hours ago.

           Ruby reached for her belt but her grandmother rested a hand on her arm.

“Granny,” she hissed, “He’s right there, we could end this.”

“You’ll get both of us killed.”

“Not if I get him first.”

    Commissioner Lucas looked her in the eye, “You might be going after the victim.”

    Granny had lost it. There was no way that a woman used as a human shield and held hostage could be the one with the power. But while Granny had her decaf coffee, Ruby watched the pair as much as she could. And while Belle seemed happy, Rumplestiltskin was the one hanging on her every word and movement.

#ouat #once upon a time #rumbelle fic #Nanananananana nananananana Bat-Man A-U

[bellabooks]

Billie Jean King – Love: The Queer Gaze in “Battle of the Sexes”

*Contains some mild spoilers for Battle of the Sexes   Battle of the Sexes (2017) has been advertised as a tennis movie, which is unsurprising given that it’s a retelling of the infamous 1973 match between Bobby Riggs (Steve Carrell) and Billie Jean King (Emma Stone). But in the midst of all of that tennis, there is a surprisingly beautiful queer love story that hasn’t garnered nearly as much attention as the numerous clips of Bobby Riggs spewing misogyny. It’s 2017 and it’s frustrating to feel surprise when a queer romance is portrayed well onscreen, but Battle of the Sexes is almost exhilarating at times because the relationship between Billie Jean and her hairdresser, Marilyn Barnett (Andrea Riseborough), is portrayed with such delicacy and respect that it’s easy to forget about the tennis completely and instead focus on the film’s refreshingly queer gaze. It would be easy for Battle of the Sexes to fall into tropes typical of queer cinema. After all, it dances around many themes that are all too common (and increasingly tired) when it comes to chronicling the gay experience: gay panic, sexual confusion, and homophobia. Not that these are unimportant, quite the opposite, but the way they are interpreted needs reconsideration and new life. Billie Jean is a married woman, her husband, Larry (Austin Stowell), is, in her own words, “a good man.” She is undoubtedly confused by her own longings and frightened, a fear made manifest by her tennis rival, Australian champion, Margaret Court (Jessica McNamee), who describes Billie Jean’s rumored lesbianism as sinful and immoral. But Battle of the Sexes reclaims these stereotypical narratives by carefully shifting how these tropes play out. Billie Jean certainly experiences panic in her burgeoning relationship with Marilyn, but there is also a sense that she is aware of the inevitability of her desire. She is scared because she knows that being openly queer will lead to the loss of her career and, to a lesser extent, her family, but she also recognizes that what is happening between her and Marilyn is important and undeniable. The depiction of Margaret Court is also notable because while it may seem that Bobby Riggs is supposed to be the villain, it’s Court’s homophobia that makes her an unsympathetic figure. When she loses her own tennis match with Bobby Riggs, the women of the film are devastated, concerned that her loss will set the Women’s Liberation Movement back, but for an audience that knows Court frowns upon Billie Jean, it’s difficult to feel any compassion for her. The great love of Billie Jean’s life is tennis and her laser focus on the game stands in stark contrast to how she is depicted when Marilyn appears on camera. Their first scene together takes place in a hair salon. It’s an obvious safe-space for women as they discuss their upcoming tennis tournament and their dissatisfaction with their male lovers. Marilyn is present the entire time, slightly out of focus, darting about Billie Jean as she cuts her hair, but it is only when Marilyn makes a quip about men that Billie Jean turns from her friends and really focuses on her. And that’s when the tone of the film changes entirely. The camera finds Marilyn in close-up, the focus is on her eyes, her lips, her wrist. Billie Jean is suddenly surrounded by this woman. The scene is sensual in the literal sense of the word, visually the tight close up shots of Billie Jean’s eyes meeting Marilyn’s in the mirror are claustrophobic. The soundtrack swells in what quickly becomes familiar as the film’s Billie Jean and Marilyn love theme. Billie Jean asks about Marilyn’s perfume and the camera lingers on Marilyn’s wrist and hands, there are numerous shots of Marilyn gently touching Billie Jean’s hair. Their meet/cute is not so much ‘cute’ as it is all-consuming. Marilyn is omnipresent in Billie Jean’s world because the camera makes it so. There is nowhere else to look, nowhere else Billie Jean, and by extension, the audience, is invited to look. Marilyn appears fractured, a collection of body parts that only come into view when Billie Jean looks at her. And it’s that look, Billie Jean’s dreamy gaze that elevates their relationship from a subplot to the heart of the film. Their one love scene is again shot in close up. Marilyn removes Billie Jean’s glasses, her armor, her identifier, and it is only then that Billie Jean lets go and allows herself to take what she wants. Like their first meeting, the scene does not focus on the eroticism of their union, but rather the intimacy of the exchange. This is not about nudity or cheap titillation – for a film that spends a lot of time on the chauvinist rhetoric of Bobby Riggs and his ilk, it’s a testament to the sensitivity of the filmmakers that Billie Jean and Marilyn are given an extraordinary amount of dignity in their moment of truest vulnerability. The real love triangle of Battle of the Sexes is not between two women and a man, but rather, between Billie Jean, her love for tennis, and her personal struggle with her sexuality. Larry and Marilyn could be ciphers, both blonde and blue-eyed and inherently kind. They cannot compete with Billie Jean’s dedication to her sport and her cause, but they serve as a visual representation of Billie Jean’s internal struggle. Larry knows her better than anyone. He ices he knees and accompanies her to business meetings. But it’s Marilyn that she seeks with her eyes, Marilyn who sometimes blends into the crowd until Billie Jean looks for her with a gaze that brings her into sharp focus. As the film ends, Ted Tinling (Alan Cumming), who is both the designer of Billie Jean’s uniforms and her queer fairy-godfather tells her, “Times change, you should know, you just changed them.” And that message feels especially relevant when juxtaposed with the image of Emma Stone and Andrea Riseborough nestled together in bold black and white on a recent cover of Out Magazine. Battle of the Sexes does not get trapped by its historical setting, it looks to the future and sees a world Billie Jean King had a hand in creating. And it does this by celebrating its heroine’s queerness, making it as integral and important to the plot as her tennis serve.   All photos via Twentieth Century Fox http://dlvr.it/PvKXZK

#Movies #News #Andrea Riseborough

[heartofhryule]

Heart of Wisdom - Chapter 15

Chapter 15 - Contains mild language, implied sexual themes and depicts fighting violence.

WARNINGS: Contains Hyrule Warriors spoilers and story items. I highly recommend playing the game if you haven’t! It’s complete fluff, but fun fluff…. minus Lana.

_____________________________________

Heart of Wisdom | Chapter 15 | Revelation and Resolve

Zelda watched as the preparations for ‘the wedding’ were made in the throne room. Decorations and flowers and people rushing everywhere. Ganon had been seeking her all morning… and had come to her bed room last night to loom over what he had assumed was her sleeping form. It was disturbing and infuriating… but she’d expected it. The illusion she’d created of herself sleeping would have fallen apart if he’d touched it, and she and Mida had sat in Twilight holding their collected breath until he left.

She sat on the throne, wearing her battle accoutrement and crown, holding the Mirror of Twilight and scrying where Ganon was in the castle -in order to avoid him. Not that he could find her just now. Midna had pulled her into Twilight to hide until the last moment they could get away with it. Normal folk became spirits in Twilight, but Zelda possessed the Triforce of Wisdom and was as she had ever been.

“So how are you so certain this isn’t the worst idea ever?” Midna asked from where she float upside down above the throne and watching the mirror as well.

Zelda smiled. “Were you not the one who said Link wouldn’t keep us waiting?” she asked with a grin, waving her hand over the mirror to change the image. What Midna saw pulled her down closer and drew a smile from the Twili. Even in her full form, beautiful and exotic as she was, there was always something impish about her. Moreso when she smiled like that.

“Oooooooooh. Oh, I see!”

Nodding slowly, Zelda beamed at her friend. “It’s almost time to begin.”

-

Ganon stood at the foot of the Dais, trying to maintain his expression of ambivalence as the crowd drew in. Nobles were announced one by one as they were allowed into the throne room, the Sage beside him smiling indifferently and Naburoo watching the crowd for anything and everything suspicious. But in reality. Ganon was irritated. The Princess had not been seen all day, and he suspected she was backing out. No matter, he could turn it to his advantage if she had - he was the to be ruler of Hyrule, and in her absence could take it by force until he hunted her down and dragged her back… but that would take time.

Naburoo had been on edge the whole time. She’d heard nothing of the Hero or the Dragonknight, other than the boy had taken off in a frenzy the last he’d been seen. If there was a ploy, no one at the castle knew it as all serfs and servants, soldiers and Council seemed to truly believe he’d left.

They knew he’d gone for the sword. Ganon had felt his power restored that morning. It had erased the last of Naburoo’s doubts when she’d borne witness to the black lighting and purple fire of the Demon King wreathing his form as he lift from the ground, roaring in laughter. The boy had made it there, but by the time he’d make it back not only would Ganon be King of Hyrule, but he would be ready and with the full power of his legacy at his whim.

“Lord and Lady Gaepora of the Cloudlands,” the herald called as a tall elderly man with a wide belly and his little old hooded wife shuffled in and took their places near the front.

Well his plans would be wonderful if this pomp and circumstance would ever end.

After but a few more nobles, the doors to outside closed and the trumpets sounded, heralding the arrival of the bride. Zelda, the presence of her Triforce thrumming palpably in the air to him and even stronger than before, walked around the corner of the hall at the far end. Wearing not a bridal gown, but that of her warriors’ garb she held her royal rapier, blade pointed to the heavens with both hands in place of a bouquet. It was a statement - that this was for duty and not desire. Ganon smirked and repressed a chortle. Precious. Well she could be defiant for a bit longer. That would be beaten from her eventually.

Impa walked behind her, but did not give her away. Coming to stand by her side as Zelda, cold and distant, turned to face Ganon. He offered his hand, but her gaze was unwavering, as was her hold on her rapier. He sneered and reached out to take her hand by the wrist and try to force it, but as he did so the eerie echo of her imposter from the night before brought  the hairs on his arms up. This time, it did not come from Zelda, but instead all around them, echoing in the throne room.

The moment he touched her wrist, the Sage to marry them disappeared… as did most of the guests save a few Rito, Gorons and Zora who suddenly wore armor and were armed in the seats. That and the Lord and lady Gaepora. From the corners of the room where there were the deepest shadows began to pour forth the black creatures which they’d fought on Hyrule field the day before. It was a different kind of black magic from that which Ganon wielded, but no less old.

“What is this?” Ganon demanded, trying to jerk Zelda to him, but she fought, her face now a mask of anger.

“Your end, Demon.” However it was not Zelda who spoke.

-

It was good that Ganon lashed out when he had, as Link would not have been able to hold his tongue any longer. Throwing off his disguise of the Lady Gaepora, Link drew the Master Sword and kicked the chairs out of his way as he stalked forward.

“Impossible,” Ganon spat, and yanked Zelda hard enough that she cried out, wrapping his arm round her throat to shield himself from the Hero. “You, boy are a pain in my side that I intend to end.”

“I will be a thorn in your side every time, Demon. Every life,” he said, drawing up his sword into a two handed grip and beginning to circle his nemesis, “Anywhere, any time, every time, until I find a way to bind or destroy you forever.”

The warlord chuckled and leaned in to brush his mouth over Zelda’s ear as her face was turning colors from the lack of air he gave her. “Watch as I slaughter your hero, Goddess. This time, I will win.”

Throwing Zelda to Naburoo, Ganon drew the large sword at his belt and laughed slowly as he approached Link… his aura erupting into purple fire.

Chaos broke out in the throne room.

From the high windows and hidden places in the room, Gerudan soldiers appeared and began fighting the Zora, Rito and Goron allies in addition the the beasts of Twilight. Impa charged forward to aid Zelda who had elbowed Naburoo in the ribs and was currently wrestling for her sword to fight the woman. Volga was wielding his great spear and taking on as many Gerudans as he could manage whilst Midna blinked into and out of existence firing weaponized light at their foes from the Mirror of Twilight.

Princes Ruto appeared when the throne room doors were thrown open and a new wave of Zora fighters rushed into the chamber. “Stop the attackers!” Ruto called to her men, “I want them taken prisoner - they will answer for their crimes!”

A flash of gold light shone blindingly from aside the throne, as Zelda freed herself from Naburoo’s grasp. The princess leapt back and leveled her sword at the woman, Naburoo’s scimitar drawn as Zelda squared off… in time for Naburoo to turn and run. The Gerudan woman was darting for the side door in the hopes of making her escape, thinking she would live to fight another day.

Until Impa stepped in her path. Zambato sword slung over her shoulder, the General of the Hyrulean army smirked as Naburoo skid to a halt. “I don’t think so, traitor,” the Sheikah sneered.

Holding her scimitar at ready, Naburoo growled. “Stupid witch, you’re as irrelevant as your dead tribe. I’ll happily end you.”

Bending her knees into a deep stance, one hand out in a mudra before her, Impa nodded. “You may try.” When the Gerudan charged with a wail of fury, Impa did not move. She waited, holding her stance and patience until the very last moment. With one great swing of her sword, Naburoo went flying backwards like a flung ragdoll, landing on her back with a cracking sound as her head hit the stones. The slice would have cut her in half, but Impa had used only the flat of her blade.

Striding forward to loom over her new prisoner, Impa put her foot on the Gerudan’s chest. “You should stay down,” she leered to the breathless woman, gasping now that she’d had the wind knocked from her.

Across the chamber, Zelda had joined the fight with Link. Despite the anarchy around them, the Hero fought the Demon King uninterrupted. Harried by slices and stabs of the sword of Evil’s Bane, Ganon also parried and dodged attacks from Zelda. His great sword rang with the parried blows and grooves made in the stone where his deflected attacks landed. Arrows of light rained down from overhead as Zelda lept off the dais, landing in a roll on the other side of him. Forced to shield himself with his gauntleted arm, Ganon never saw the wave of blue energy from the Master sword coming.

Knocked back to sprawling on the ground, he tried to recover rapidly, but Link was on top of him with a downward stab that took the Demon King in his shoulder. With a great roar of anger and pain, Ganon kicked his feet up, knocking the hero off balance. The warlord then released a blast of power from his magic and the Triforce, throwing Link back against the thrown in a burst of read and purple energy.

The Master Sword dropped during impact, Link’s vision blacking out a moment as a new pain blossomed in his back and head. Distantly he knew Ganon would be charging him and he needed to get it together, but it was difficult in the wake of having hit his head. As the blood rushing in his ears receded and his hearing returned, he heard the Demon King’s roar and clanging armor and opened his eyes just in time to see Zelda land in front of him from somewhere outside his field of vision. She held up a hand and as Ganon swung his sword downwards in a killing blow, the blade wreathed in purple flames struck a barrier.

Gold and blue energy encircled Link and Zelda, the Princess completely confident and unfazed by the blade near her face. Ganon was still roaring, pressing the blade with all of his power down into the magical shield Zelda held effortlessly. “Give up, Demon,” she said, her voice echoing slightly which power.

“Never!” he erupted furiously, spittle evaporating as his aura burst with the purple and black energies he commanded. “You will never destroy me! I AM POWER!”

Link stood and stepped forward, bloodied and panting, but gaze steel and resolute. Gannon gave a cruel and strained chuckle.

“You don’t have it in you boy. You can’t. I am too powerful now-”

However a bolt of pure white light struck him in the back at the same time true orange and red flame assaulted him. Third and finally, blue daggers made of ice and water rained down from overhead and took the warlord to a knee. However his roar of rage and anger was silenced, as the blade of the Master Sword pierced his chest, through to his back and through the plates of his armor. Eyes wide in a moment of shock, Ganon looked from Zelda’s dispassionate expression, the resolve of the Hero who had just skewered him.

“I will rise again,” he coughed, blood running from the corner of his mouth, the man’s strength seeping from him rapidly.

“Not in this life,” a soft, feminine voice said, and around the dying Warlord, an orb of pure magic appeared. Lana stepped from behind the throne, her book open and fingers working the spell, trapping him.

“And one day,” Link seethed from between clenched teeth, “Not ever again.”

With one last choked gurgling noise, Ganon’s eyes unfocused and his body slumped forward. Retrieving the master sword, Link stood as Lana’s orb shrank to encase the pure dark energy the Demon King’s body evaporated into. Midna, having tucked the Mirror of Twilight away, float in the air next to Volga and Impa who’d added their strength to that of Link’s. He smiled and nodded to them, with every intention of apologizing to Zelda for taking so long, when suddenly he was tackled.

Still a bit jumpy from battle, he tensed a moment before his arms came up around the weeping princess who’d wrapped herself around him. “I think my ribs are broken,” he groaned but was grinning against her shoulder.

“You should be more careful,” she sobbed, the edge of laughter shaking her voice.

“Well I don’t mean to interrupt,” Princess Ruto said, sauntering forward, the remaining Gerudans having surrendered in the face of Ganon’s defeat, and Ruto’s personal guard holding up the now unconscious Naburoo, “But what would the Princess of Hyrule like down with the traitors.

Zelda released her grip on Link, but not without stealing a brief kiss before she turned to face the Zoran royalty. Wiping her eyes, Link reached down and took her other hand. Zelda smiled as she nodded to Ruto. “I will have them escorted back to their people. The Gerudans have their ways of dispensing Justice, and I will allow them to police their own as all here are exiled extremists. Captain?” she called, and Impa’s second appeared, slightly battered but no worse for the wear, at full attention. “Please send a missive to the Gerudan Chiefs that we will be transporting their criminals to them. Their Elders will decide their fates.”

“Yes, majesty,” he said with a bow and set off to see it done.

“We’ll need to return this to the Sacred Grove,” Lana said, brushing her blue bangs out of her face and nodding to the soul of Ganon she still had bobbing in midair. “The Triforce will go with it, but that is as it should be.”

“He’s Dinn’s problem now,” Impa grumbled.

“Again,” Zelda corrected.

“And we’ll seal it with the Master Sword.” Link rubbed his forehead with a sigh. His wounds were starting to hurt as his adrenaline began to fade.

“Excellent!” Ruto clapped happily. “So… now that business is settled and we’re all here under the pretense of a wedding, why don’t we actually have one?!”

Despite Ruto’s excitement, everyone just stared at her a moment. There were varied levels of injury from Zelda’s somewhat bruised to Link and Volga’s bleeding and possibly broken bones. Link looked to Zelda and smirked, finding her eyes were also twinkling as she looked back to him. “We have a Noble and Military witness,” he said recalling her words from Snowpeak.

“We have no Sage,” Impa chuckled.

“Yes we do,” Zelda smiled and looked over her shoulder to Lana. “The Sage of Time.”

There was a moment of hesitation from the Sorceress, as Midna, Impa and Volga watched her intensely, Link hoping that this was not too much to ask of his friend. To his surprise and delight however, Lana’s face blossomed into a grin.

Reaching out, she took the now fist sized orb of Ganon’s soul and tucked it into her pouch, runes flashing as she tied it closed with a spell of containment. Coming to stand between Link and Zelda, the sorceress pushed them gently so that they stood a step down on the dais from her, as the illusory Sage had been earlier.

Without discussion or coordination, Midna, Ruto and the soldiers that could, all righted chairs and made the best showing the gathered could manage in the debris of battle, While Impa came to Zelda’s side, and Volga to Link’s.

Link sheathed the Master sword, Zelda her rapier, and joined hands with growing smiles as Lana began. “It has been longer than the reckoning of Time since the Goddess chose her hero,” Lana started, and instantly tears came to Zelda’s eyes… even Link was worried he might cry.

With the most beautiful speech Hyrule had yet to hear, Lana performed the ceremony with grace and eloquence, leaving the gathered joyful and emotional, despite Midna’s attempts to try and hide it. When the blessing were said and traditional vows exchanged, the Sorceress paused. “Link, you have anything to say? Make it good,” she added with a forced whisper, the gathered laughing. Zelda just beamed at him.

“I do.” Clearing his voice, Link brought Zelda’s hand to his lips, brushing her knuckles. “I have always, and will always find you, aid you, save you on the rare occasion you might need it, and time and again, I will love you. Forever.”

Tears refreshed with the swell of love and joy Zelda felt at his words, she nodded. Lana was also choked up, the back of her hand pressed to her lips as she attempted not to blubber. She waved at Zelda, managed a muffed, “Same question…”

Zelda laughed and squeezed Link’s hands. “It is said there was a time that I chose you as my hero. Though none now live who recall the truth of that first life, in my heart I know it doesn’t matter. Because I will always choose you. I will always love you, my Hero.” Link’s smile was warm and bright at her words, his aches entirely forgotten for the moment.

“Oh I can’t even,” Lana wept. “By the power invested in me by Hylia and the three Golden Goddesses as the Guardian Sage of Time, I pronounce you married. Now kiss already!”

With laughter and cheers from the crowd echoing the throne room around them, Link pulled Zelda against his chest as her arms encircled his neck. The world faded around them as his lips pressed to hers, for there was no greater fanfare than the beat of their hearts in that moment, together as one as it always should, and would be.

#zelink #hwzelink #legend of zelda #hyrule warriors #zelda #link #heart of wisdon #volga #impa #midna #ganon #lana #fanfic #fanfiction

[fitnessexpert00-blog]

5 Fitness Products That Are A Total Scam Betches

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5 Fitness Products That Are A Total Scam Betches

Nicole Nam has a Bachelors of Science in Public Health Nutrition Specialization and a Masters of Science in Kinesiology. She has a personal training certification from the American Council of Exercise, and has trained a variety of clients, including a contestant in this year’s Miss Nevada competition. Follow her on Instagram here.

Before we even get into the nitty gritty of this article, I want to really quickly touch on something that recently happened in the fitness influencer world. This past week, a huge IG fitness influencer, Brittany Dawn, made headlines for scamming her followers out of hundreds of dollars by selling them what was supposed to be “personalized” workout and meal plans but instead were just basically the standard fitness ebooks. A word of warning: please do your research on the person you’re “hiring” to become your trainer! Even if they’re online. Choose quality over appearance—some people look good and don’t have the certification or training themselves to be able to spot correct form or even guide you on proper movement.

That being said, I would love to tell you that every fitness product being promoted and sold on IG is legitimate. I get it, there are so many products that look so damn good, but they just don’t make any sense. Trust me, I’ve tried quite a few products myself out of curiosity. I’m here to give you the full review on some trendy fitness products that I’ve tried over the years and whether they work (spoiler: most don’t) and the “science” behind the products (or, more accurately, lack thereof).

1. Weight Loss Protein Powder

I’ll start with this: there was this one particular protein powder that was DELICIOUS. For fear of legal repercussions I can’t really, like, name-name them…but it was a UK-based company and every IG influencer was at one point promoting the living crap out of it. Good marketing, as we will come to learn, does not a good product make. I did further research on said product, and found out that their whole nutrition label was a potentially (most likely?) a lie. As in, their shakes allegedly contained wayyy more carbs, and less protein, than were disclosed on the label.

That said, I used the protein powder as a post-workout supplement and NOT as a meal replacement, and it provided a better alternative for a sweet tooth craving (because this powder did taste really, REALLY good). I do not suggest ever using protein powder as a meal replacement if the powder is considered to be a low-calorie, fat burning powder with a high caffeine content. Also, the FDA does not regulate these supplement claims, so whatever you see on the nutrition labels and the miracle working promises are all up to the discretion of the company…meaning they could easily bullsh*t the whole thing. This applies for ALL supplements for sale in the USA, like in your GNC stores and stuff, not just the products you see on Instagram. The more you know.

2. Waist Trainer

I truly blame the Kardashians for this trend. A waist trainer basically makes you sweat more in your midsection, which is great… but SWEAT IS NOT FAT. Sweat is water mixed with tiny amounts of ammonia, salt and sugar molecules. So just because you sweat more does not mean you’re losing fat. If sweating more motivates you to work harder (it happens), then by all means. Just know that that’s not fat that’s seeping out from your pores.

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#ad I’m really obsessed with waist training! Thank you @premadonna87 for my new waist shapers! #whatsawaist

A post shared by Kim Kardashian West (@kimkardashian) on Oct 29, 2014 at 9:23am PDT

Now, I won’t lie…I do use a waist trainer, but not for the same reasons it’s being marketed for. I use a waist trainer as a back support for certain exercises such as squats, deadlifts, and certain abdominal exercises. If you want to use one, for whatever reason, I suggest using ones that do not have hard boning as that can restrict your movement and breathing.

3. Detox Tea

Good ol’ poop tea. That’s all that it is, and you could literally get it at an Asian supermarket for a fraction of the price. It’s called like, the Ballerina Dieter’s Tea or something like that, but I swear it’s been in Asian culture—or at least in MY Asian family’s culture—for ages. We whip it out whenever someone can’t, ya know, go.

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#ad using @fittea before my shoots is my favorite ☺

A post shared by Kylie (@kyliejenner) on Apr 28, 2016 at 8:00am PDT

So, yes, I use detox tea and I grew up around it (although the packaging was way less sexy)…BUT there’s something inherently very dangerous about people using laxative products to lose weight, because that’s actually a form of purging, so I advise caution. I think these teas are great for when you need them (aka when you are constipated), but do you REALLY need to detox everyday for 14 days as per most detox tea “instructions”? No, you don’t. I wouldn’t use them for 3 days straight, let alone 14. Using even a mild form of laxative for that long just cannot be good for your digestive system. At the end of the day, you want to still be able to go without any help, right? Don’t do it.

4. Appetite Suppressant Coffee Creamer

What a novel f*cking concept. So novel, in fact, I bought one at my local Gelson’s and I don’t even normally use creamer in my coffee (guess I was feeling spend-y that day). Remember when I talked about products that don’t make sense? This is one of them. So the creamer has ingredients such as hoodia and green tea extract that are in a lot of popular fat burner pills. The main ingredient is coconut oil, which is arguably better than your Coffee-Mate bullsh*t.

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Stay cozy this Saturday with our fan favorites. Hazelnut, Original, and Birthday Cake! Which is your favorite?

A post shared by Leaner Creamer Coffee (@leanercreamer) on Jan 12, 2019 at 10:35am PST

I stuck to the serving size which is a measly 2 teaspoons and the only difference it made was turn my coffee from black to a dark milky brown. I prefer my coffee black anyway, but there was literally no noticeable change in the taste of my coffee. I tried it three times and threw the bottle out, because it was useless. I mean, it barely made a change in my coffee so it’s definitely not doing anything for my body. Save your money, and learn to like your coffee without all the cream and sugar. All the caffeine without any of the crap.

5. Celery Juice

I swear, people are always trying to find a way to juice something. I can’t throw a bigger eye roll at this trend. This sh*t blew up on IG, and now EVERYONE is drinking neon green juice in the morning that is completely FIBERLESS and actually just like 90% water anyway. The dude who started off this trend is a health “guru” who is neither certified nor trained, btw, but claims to hear a voice that tells him about other people’s health status. He literally just started drinking the sh*t one day when he was 8 years old because he said a “voice” told him to. Is that who you want to take health advice from? Like, really?

There is absolutely no science backing celery juice as anything else but mostly water, because duh, celery is made up of mostly water. Unless you’re drinking this because you enjoy the taste (and let’s face it, you don’t), I suggest you stop juicing celery and start eating it whole because the fiber is the most valuable part of the celery. And PLEASE PEOPLE, stop trying to juice everything like you don’t have time to eat the actual fruit or vegetable. You’re not that busy, sweetie.

Images: @rawpixel/Unsplash

Read more: https://www.betches.com

[morrisbrokaw]

On Making New Friends as an Adult

It was an unusually warm February day in 2017 when I walked into Studio 2, a quaint coffee shop in South Minneapolis, and nervously scanned the room. I was looking for a maybe (?), potentially (??), soon-to-be new friend. I didn’t see her. I pulled out my phone and glanced at my Instagram messages, double checking (fine, triple checking), that I was indeed in the right place. I was, of course, but it never hurts to make sure.

I stood there, unsuccessfully trying to fit in, my mind beginning to perform the mental gymnastics it likes to do before any social encounter—’What will we talk about?’ ‘Do we shake hands? Hug? Not engage in physical contact at all?’ ‘Will they like me? As a human???’—until my maybe, potentially, soon-to-be new friend walked in.

“Kendall! Hi!!” I yelled across the crowded space, with an overeager wave to match. We exchanged greetings, ordered coffee, sat down, talked. We covered all the usual bases, and for an hour and a half we got to know each other there, from across the table next to the window. Some time later, we got up to leave, exchanged numbers, hugged, and went our separate ways. And NOT TO BREAK THE MAGIC WITH A BUNCH OF SPOILERS, but in the year and a half since that balmy February day, Kendall and I have become actual friends. I’m going to be in her wedding next June. I cannot wait.

So that’s it, really. My journey in making new friends as an adult. You grab coffee. You click. You get to be in their wedding. Everything is perfect!!

No, just kidding. The road to friendship bliss can be a bit more meandering than that, as it turns out.

It had first occurred to me a few years prior, this inkling to make new friends. I had been out of school for a while, in the midst of a weird post-college friendship limbo. The majority of my friends were often busy—with long-term relationships, with family, with work, with travel. I was busy, too, sure, but there were still plenty of weekends when I found myself entirely alone. I wanted to meet new people. I wanted to expand my community, if you will. But I had no idea where to start. Where does one even make friends as an adult?? I had no idea.

Growing up (at least for me), new friendships were made in rather formulaic environments. You went to daycare, you made friends there. You went to school, you made a few more. You went to summer camp, you latched onto a few new people. You participated in extracurriculars, you made friends with shared interests. On and on it went, with more of the same in middle school, and in high school, and then, if you decided to go to college and live in the very small, contained spaces known as dorm rooms, you had the chance to make even more friends. You were set. It’s not that it was always easy, the business of making friends during school. But there were plenty of built-in opportunities—nuggets of time and proximity that were sure to render you at least a few confidants.

That all seemed to change after school. Unless you worked in an office with a lot of people around your age (whose company you also happened to enjoy??), or you were coordinated enough to participate in a sporting league, or outgoing enough that you simply happened to, I don’t know, meet people in the public realm (?!), the task of making new friends could feel daunting. Which is exactly the predicament I found myself in prior to that February day.

“So, how did you do it?” you may find yourself asking. “How did you overcome your mild fear of human interaction plus occasional social ineptitude long enough to convince people to give you a chance over coffee??” Terrific questions. A+ inquiries. The thing that allowed me to meet most of my new friends was, actually, the internet.

A friend (/mentor/former boss) named Danielle had published a blog post titled Find a Friend in Your City, hoping to respond to the exact quandary I described above. Her goal was exactly as it sounds—to connect people who were interested in meeting new friends in their respective cities. Over the course of the next few months, I connected with multiple women through that means alone (Kendall included!), all of whom are still good friends of mine today.

I’ve met folks in the comments section of other blogs, too. And if at this point you’re thinking, ‘Jackie, do you just… prowl the various comments sections of the internet in your spare time, hoping to lure in new friends??’, the answer is a definitive yes. Or, I mean, not really. But comments sections of websites you love actually aren’t a bad place to meet people. After all, you already know you share similar interests, in at least some respects; that common ground can be a good place from which to begin a relationship. I would recommend.

Another way I’ve met people online? Through the apps on my phone that occupy so damn much of my time—through social media. Often the people I meet via Instagram or Twitter are those I’ve known for years, before one of us finally caves, slides into the ol’ DMs, and says, “Would you want to grab drinks sometime?”  Social media platforms can be great, connective places in their own right. But getting to know people in person? That’s generally even better.

I’ve realized over this past year and a half the value of both well-established friendships and newer ones. The friends I’ve had since high school and college know me. They’re aware of my quirks and shortcomings; they could list off many an embarrassing story that should never see the light of day. As far as relationships go, they’re the easy, comfortable kind, grounded by a strong foundation built brick by brick over the years.

The friendships I’ve made more recently? They’ve opened my eyes to new ways of living and being in the world. They’ve changed my perspective and made me examine my own patterns and habits more closely. Every time I meet someone new, every time we click, I’m wholly amazed all over again. There are so many people floating around these places in which we live—people with diverse backgrounds and viewpoints and with stories to share—and I’ve realized I’m doing myself a disservice if I don’t at least try to get to know a few more of them.

If you are not in the market for new friends right now? That is fine! That is cool. I understand it and I respect it. If you are? This is the part where I distill down a few of my own suggestions for how to do so. There is no set strategy, no predetermined path everyone must take to make new friends, to build their respective communities. So take mine with a grain of salt, and let me know if you have any of your own (please and thank you!!). Alright, here we go:

Hop into the comments section of your favorite blog. Mention the city you live in, ask if anyone else lives there, too. If you get a response, connect with that person on social media. Meet up face-to-face if it feels right. This method might sound weird on paper but hey, sometimes it works.

If social media is more your jam, think of the people you interact with most on your platforms of choice. Send them a DM. Ask if they’d like to meet for coffee or drinks sometime. The worst that can happen is they don’t respond, or they say no. (Believe me, I’ve long gone over all the worst possible outcomes in my head; the legwork has been done.) You can survive a no, I promise.

It is also possible—rare though it may seem!!—to encounter people out in the wild, in person. I’ve met folks through mutual friends and on planes and at various public locales and at the extremely niche event that was the live taping of a podcast. The key to meeting people in real life is, in my experience, to be present; to put down your electronic devices; to pay attention as the world spins around you. I am not trying to lecture, I swear (I generally maintain a vice grip on my phone, too! I am working on it!)—I am more so issuing a gentle reminder. People will approach you with much more ease if you’re not engrossed in a screen at all times.

These circles of relationships we make and foster over the years don’t have to close up after high school or college. They can keep expanding and contracting, ebbing and flowing with whatever stage of life we happen to be in right now. We grow, we change, and we can continue to invite new people in. Who knows: the next person you meet might be exactly the one you need in that moment. They might not be, and that’s okay, too. Either way, by my calculation, you may very well get some coffee out of the deal. And coffee? Coffee is always a good idea.

Images via: 1 / 2 / 3

Jackie Saffert is a human person who lives in Minneapolis. In her spare time, you can find her running along the river road, loitering in the vicinity of the nearest puppy at a local brewery, or recharging her soul (?!) in her tiny sanctuary of an apartment. She likes to write; she thinks you are very kind for reading the words above.

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