#and of course morgana posting isn’t really. The Horrors. because we like morgana more. you know

[livvyofthelake]

morgana pendragon voice it’s been said the worlds a stage and everyone must play their part well if that’s true i’ll act with all my heart…. i’ll be the loser in this game i’ll be the bad guy in the play i’ll be the water main that’s burst and flooding you’ll be by the window only watching i’ll be the only heartbreaker…. it was always going to happen this way. ok so i’m the dragon big deal you still get to be the hero. this is a very old story there is no other version of this story.

[rohanrider3]

Brace Yourselves, I have THOUGHTS on this guy

Okay so I just watched Wizards (Tales of Arcadia) and I, along with many other folks, adore one (1) wizard in particular--Hisirdoux Casperan, better known as Douxie. I’m sure you’ve seen the art, the posts, and, well, the internet lately.

BUT HERE’S THE THING. One of the (many) reasons I love this guy. He’s not what one typically gets in a main character, AND he’s very different than other protagonists we’ve met in Arcadia. 

TLDR: Protective, kind-as-summer, ultimate “good older brother vibes” wizard who simultaneously 1) doesn’t think much of himself, 2) tries his hardest, and 3) is actually SUPER FREAKING POWERFUL is unique and I love him for all those reasons and more!! (Details (and spoilers) below the cut)

1: He’s young, yes, but he’s extremely experienced. He looks 19, but is 919. As the first episode shows, he’s been doing his best to live a good life and master magic for NINE CENTURIES. All the while looking like a kid! Douxie lived through the fall of Camelot, has seen technology blossom and evolve, AND has seen countless people come and go, all the while completely on his own except for Archie.

2: He’s extremely humble. He’s apparently been working odd jobs FOR ALMOST A MILENNIUM--so he can work from the shadows to protect people from terrors they don’t even know about--and works hard AT ALL OF IT. Menial jobs AND demon-fighting. First episode, he clearly WANTS to use magic to clean up the cafe (and as a former customer service worker I would have sold my wisdom teeth for magic, LET ALONE magic clean-up help!) but he refrains from doing so, because he really took Merlin’s advice to heart.

(Side note: IMO, Merlin’s an ASS. But the advice he gives in the beginning of “Wizards”--along the lines of “Relying on magic alone isn’t enough, first you have to master how to live well and THEN you can master magic, hard work is extremely important and not to be skipped”--is good. AND DOUXIE STICKS WITH IT FOR OVER 900 YEARS. OF HIS OWN VOLITION. Merlin’s in a tomb, he hasn’t been glaring over Douxie’s shoulder all this time!) Which brings me to-

3) Douxie, although a hard worker, sincerely good guy, and all around badass wizard, doubts himself a LOT (thanks Merlin’s endless snarking and yelling.) BUT, instead of always fighting/planning to get Merlin to approve of him, Douxie instead focuses on doing the right thing. But it isn’t easy and Merlin’s dismissal of him/his ideas/Merlin’s constant disparaging put-downs hurts him. But he doesn’t let it stop him.

4) Douxie CARES. A LOT. He’s patient, kind, eager to help, works hard, and has protected humanity from horrors it didn’t even know about for CENTURIES. While he was still an apprentice, with no master, and no other magic users (that we’ve really seen) that could teach him more about his own magic or how to use it. The hedge wizards are cool, but we don’t get to see much of them and it looks like they’re more of a side society in Arcadia than something Douxie’s strictly a part of.

5) Douxie protects whoever he can whenever he can. To him, all life is precious, and he gives off major “is anyone else protecting this person or trying to make things better okay cool cool cool, I’m gonna try to do that as much as I can for as many as I can right now!” attitude. Which gives off major older sibling vibes to me. 

(To emphasize, he cares about EVERYONE. He’s distraught at the thought of Arthur’s death, HE’S the one who uses his magic to remind--not enchant, REMIND--Arthur and Morgana of their old love of the forest and of Gwen (apparently the glue that held their trio together) and how, each in their own way, they miss her and still love each other. HE’S the one who’s constantly checking the time continuum, and keeps trying to tell Merlin that it doesn’t have to be Arthur vs. Morgana. But Merlin outright pushes him aside/ignores him, and events take their course. Interesting note: Right during the big fight scene in the past with Arthur vs. Morgana, just before Arthur cuts off Morgana’s hand with Excaliber and she falls to her death, you’ll notice the time continuum is blue. Which means it’s fine. The future is good. Douxie could go back to his future no problem. BUT WHEN HE SEES MORGANA’S DEAD FORM as part of the repaired timeline, HE SHOUTS AND RUNS TOWARD THEM TO TRY AND STOP IT. Morgana being DEAD didn’t mess up the timeline. Excaliber being broken did. But Douxie was still trying to save Morgana AND Arthur, and only the blast of magic from their fight knocked him back. And he still grieves her death as one of the parts of his failure, even while Merlin pushes him aside and focuses on Arthur and Excaliber in the aftermath of the battle.

6) Does anyone else think Douxie has a major guilt complex/super messed up self esteem? Because Douxie tearfully shouting “I’m so sorry! This is all my fault!” to Merlin, AS DOUXIE’S OWN LIFE IS IN DANGER AFTER HE TRIED TO SAVE HIS FRIENDS and keep the Arcane Order from destroying the world...that hit hard. His life is on the line and (most likely) his last words are a plea for forgiveness to the Master that routinely dismissed him as an incompetent idiot and was more than happy to leave teenagers (!TEENAGERS!) who’d fought and risked everything to protect the world to die horribly at the hands of his enemies. Douxie--caring, kind-hearted, I-get-my-ass-rountinely-handed-to-me-but-always-get-up-again DOUXIE was the one who ran back to get Jim and Claire. Not Merlin. Merlin was *this close* to leaving to protect Nari for the greater good, and only reconsidered because Douxie had thrown himself into the fray (and despite his best efforts got thrown hard into a rock wall by The Green Knight. And then volleyball spiked into the (equally hard rock) floor and crushed by MindControlledTrollJim.

7) Douxie DOES NOT GIVE UP. Merlin writes Jim’s injuries off as hopeless and him as a lost cause, but Douxie relentlessly tries to figure out ways to fix things. Arthur and Morgana’s relationship, Jim’s injury/worsening curse, all the scenarios where they (it looks like) have to choose between saving their friends AND the world. He doesn’t just shrug and write off losses the way Merlin does. Douxie keeps throwing himself at problems and putting himself at risk to solve them.

8) He’s honest. (Certain Lad of Fortune bowl games aside ;) ) Merlin only told Jim the problem with the wound and left it at that. Douxie makes sure that Claire knows the reality of the situation and promises he’ll find a way to fix it. He knows their situation isn’t ideal, but he refuses to just shrug and leave things as they are. He’s more than willing to throw himself wholeheartedly into finding a way to fix things and refuses to let defeat stop him. Which leads me to, finally--

9) Douxie willingly, without flinching or making a big deal about it, walks into the jaws of death for his friends and the world. For Pete’s sake, he does it with a SMILE. He KNOWS getting his friends back is a long shot. He KNOWS the Arcane Order cannot get Nari AND the Seals, or else the world is doomed--AND he could easily have chosen to go on the run, with the Seals, for the rest of his life. His friends would have died (or worse), Nari would have been trapped with the Order for the rest of time, but the world (and Douxie) would have been safe. Why? The Order doesn’t know he has the seals. Merlin said they could be FOUND if his staff was destroyed, he didn’t say they were STORED there. (And yeah, I wanted Douxie to trick the Order with fake Seals too, but after some thought I’d argue that they’re ancient and powerful enough where they probably wouldn’t have been fooled by or chased after a fake.) Also, going on the run with inanimate objects your hunters don’t know you have and having the kind of magic Douxie does--he could have had a niiiiiice life. Maybe a little mobile, but arguably MUCH easier than constantly making sure a small forest spirit doesn’t get snatched up by her angry brethren. In any case--

Douxie’s plan included--and even hinged on--his willingness to die buying his friends and Nari time to escape. He BUILT IT INTO HIS PLAN. And that bravery, courage, and matter of fact heroism--along with that defiant smirk he gives the Order when they threaten to kill him--is why I love this guy so much. 

[rechoired]

A problem with the Tales Of Arcadia community

First and foremost, I’d like to ask anyone taking the time to read this to please read the post all the way through before commenting on the matter. There is a lot of dirty laundry to unpack here, and some points will be building off previous ones.

I’ll get right to the point. Most everybody in the Tales of Arcadia fandom will have heard of the blog imthegingerninja / ginger-le-gay. She is one of the most well-known ToA-centric blogs, after all. (If you’re wanting to avoid her on Twitter as well, her account is Margaret Bell, or @The_Book_Bell.)

This is your PSA, TOA fandom: Ginger is a toxic, manipulative person.

This is not a claim I like to make lightly, but it’s long overdue that this issue is properly brought up within the fandom. 

I’ve seen so many people wonder why the Tales of Arcadia fandom is so small. Well, I and many others very strongly believe that Ginger is one of the main reasons for that, if not the main one. To make matters easier, I’ve tried to break this down into some main points. So let’s take a look at how Ginger falls under this category.

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT look at this post as an excuse to harass Ginger or any other blog mentioned here. This sort of behavior is NOT acceptable. The point of this post is to educate those who may not know the extent of her harrowing behavior, nothing more.

1. Dishonesty and Death Threats

[EDIT: Shortly after this post went up, she started blatantly lying about me to try to cover for herself. You can see those lies being easily disproven here]

Ginger has been kicked from at least three Tales of Arcadia servers, all for similar reasons of violence. While I cannot provide screenshots as I am no longer part of the servers they were in, there are multiple witnesses that can verify the disgusting behavior she engaged in. The one I saw specifically was her saying that certain members of the fandom should be gathered up and hunted for sport, among other gross things. (Elaboration of why can be found in point 3, though it still doesn’t excuse this kind of talk)

Here is some points made by another blog that also sums up similar issues with Ginger, though:

While there were multiple instances of her inciting violence towards others, this is unfortunately one topic I cannot provide specific screenshots for at this time. But I will add them in as I can find them. That being said, I want to move to the dishonesty, something I do have a screenshot for.

While you could argue that people sometimes notice the similar things, this is far too close together to be considered an “original find”. The reblog button is there for a reason, but she instead decides to steal the OP’s premise and present it as her own original thought.

There have been a couple other blogs that have confirmed that their theories and analysis posts were often stolen and presented as Ginger’s own as well, to the point where they stopped bothering even making such posts, as the above blog points out. (Out of respect for their privacy, I will not be naming these blogs. Say what you will about that possibly weakening my point, but if she’s willing to so blatantly steal from that person shown above, it shouldn’t surprise you that she’s so willing to do it to others.)

Theory-making and analysis posts aren’t as solidly “original content” as a piece of art or fanfiction, sure, but it’s still common fandom courtesy to give credit where it’s due. Ginger has intentionally avoided extending that courtesy far too many times.

2. Hypocrisy

Most of this is going to be about past Merlin vs. Morgana drama, though there are also words to be said for the incredibly shaky relationships she forms with “friends”.

But first let’s talk about those wizards.

This is a topic I’ve tried to approach with Ginger before, but she borderline refused to acknowledge any of the points I was trying to make, and when she did, I don’t know if I just wasn’t being clear or what, but it honestly looked as though she was purposefully trying to misunderstand what I was saying in her bizarre responses. (To be fair, I was sending messages out of anger because she vagueposted about a blog I admired, calling them a “disgusting creep” because of them simply saying they’d hoped Jim and Merlin would be able to actually bond at some point... Not really a justifiable reaction to such a harmless thought, in my opinion. But my point is, I recognize that the circumstances may have clouded my ability to vocalize my thoughts clearly.)

That aside, we should first acknowledge this post Ginger made to save face after having gotten some backlash about hate-train related things (Side note: I couldn’t find the original post, so this is a screenshot I got from someone else. I did not add the writing. The text underneath it should still be slightly readable, I hope.):

Taken at face value, this is a very reasonable post. I think everybody would and should be able to agree on it. Hate-meme him for fun, sure, but don’t actually harass or insult others over a fictional character. Simple, right?

Apparently not, because Ginger’s done loads of that to others. Probably why the “LOL” was added in, I bet.

This post confused me. First of all, exploring dark topics (”angst”, as you put it) has never been a rare occurrence, every fandom has that content, most in heavy abundance. I’ve noticed no staggering difference in volume of this fandom compared to others I’ve been in. People enjoy angst not because they think the character “deserves to be in pain”, they enjoy a fictional blow to their own emotions. There’s lots of different reasons people like angst, but it’s barely ever been out of a genuine hate for whatever character’s the focus, from all the things I’ve seen. Your own friends have indulged in Jim angst and body horror posts before, does that mean you think they’re awful people? I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain something like this.

Also, way to basically admit you think all Merlin stans get off on child torture. So much for “If you like Merlin as a character, you’re valid”, am I right? God, what a mess of a post. (It’s been very recently deleted, which makes me wonder if she got more backlash on it, but just... wow.)

Let’s look at another one.

Again. Vagueposting about someone specific, I’d wager, since most of the people I’ve seen comment on this topic either think both characters are morally gray, or hate both. 

But of course, when it comes to Morgana, suddenly excusing bad behavior can be justified. Ginger can call someone a disgusting creep because they want a familial bond between Jim and Merlin, that’s just wrong, but pushing the Mom-gana narrative with the genocidal abuser and Toby is completely fine, folks.

(Note: I would like to point out that I really don’t care about what theories and hopes people have for Morgana. You should be allowed to love that character in any way you want, same as I would say for Merlin. My issue with these examples is the completely brazen hypocrisy in which these two characters are treated. You’re obviously allowed to love Morgana without consequence, but the same should be said for any character of the show, and yet it’s not.)

The most obvious instance of this double-standard is well observable here, I believe: 

... I think this mostly speaks for itself. Sorry, but this is very blatantly trying to excuse Morgana’s actions, here.

Oh hey, remember that post about Ginger saying that liking Merlin must mean you want to see Jim in horrible pain? 

Say anything similar about her with Morgana, and suddenly she takes issue with this line of reasoning! 

I’m sorry, but if you can’t take this sort of thing, then you shouldn’t be dishing it out. One of your own friends is still getting hate over the simple fact of liking Merlin, and all this mentality is exactly why.

Let’s look at one more.

Fun fact! Morgana horrifically abused somebody for centuries, tried to kill multiple kids, took horrible advantage of Claire (probably traumatized her), and canonically wanted to genocide humanity, not to mention all the OTHER murders she's committed, both directly and indirectly.

But somehow pointing any of this out “doesn’t count”. This is why the fandom keeps saying more and more things like this: 

And this:

I could be going through her constant hating on Merlin and people who like Merlin for days straight, but I hope you all get the idea by now.

Again, I would like to just reiterate: You can like whatever character you want for whatever reason you want. The problem with this case is the hypocrisy and mistreatment of others, not your taste in characters.

Now interestingly enough, she’s lately been singing a different tune about the guy, switching from the “I hate Merlin I hope he dies!!!” mentality to “Oh he should get a redemption arc too :)” sort of thing.

I’m highly convinced that the only reasons for this “change of heart” is because of the constant backlash she was getting for the obnoxious amount of hate posts being thrown around all the time, but also because Aaron Waltke keeps tabs on the fandom more lately, and has spoken himself about Merlin not being a villain.

I could go on about this point forever, but I think I’ll just leave the Merlin topic with this post going through the hypocrisy of the Merlin Hate Train. In fact, here’s two just for fun.

Now onto more real-world focused areas of hypocrisy. One such instance can be found in Ginger’s Janus Disorder server. 

Just take a look at this post.

While the offender in this case isn’t Ginger specifically, it still takes place in her server, and she made no moves to enforce her “No discourse” rule. All over... what? A random kudos on a fanfiction that’s not even about anything controversial since all characters involved are adults? I immensely don’t understand the point of why this ever had to be an issue, or why nobody spoke up about how ridiculous this is.

I’d also like to point out a certain user called firecat17. For some quick context, waaay back in the Kung Fu Panda fandom (around 2018), this user had been harassing people and saying incredibly vile things, a person of which Ginger had a bit of a feud, but firecat’s anon threats had gotten to the point where Ginger ended up having to block their IP. 

Obviously, the user firecat was the one in the wrong, here. (Also, the irony in this comment is through the roof...)

Interesting point there, Ginger. Sure would be nice if you practiced what you preached.

Why am I bringing this random old drama up, you may ask? Well, it just strikes me as strange that someone who was so vile to Ginger is suddenly on her okay-list again, sending her asks and getting casual responses as if nothing ever happened.

To be fair, there is the possibility that they worked out their differences in private. But given the severity of the kinds of words being exchanged, I would still find that rather suspicious.

When someone who’s said things so vile can be so easily forgiven, yet something as harmless as leaving a kudos on some random fanfiction is considered grounds for harassment, it’s obvious there’s no stability or room for trust among this group of people. Unsurprising when there’s been several instances of this “friend group” turning on each other.

If you think you’re somehow different, that your “friendship” with Ginger or the others is more valued than that, then I’m sorry to burst your bubble but it’s likely not true. She’d throw you under the bus at the hint of you doing something she deems problematic, as it’s happened to multiple blogs before you.

3. Demonization of and insensitivity towards s*xual abuse victims

(This topic is one that’s hard for me to talk about, being a victim of CSA myself, so I’ve gathered some different sources to do most of the main talking for me. I tried to form more commentary on this myself, but I get too emotionally charged in my responses, and I don’t want that to cloud any reader’s perception of what I’m trying to communicate here, so I’ll try to keep most of my comments brief on this one.)

One thing recently brought to my attention about Ginger and her squad that especially bothers me is their rashness in labeling people p*dophiles and p*do apologists. If these claims were true, then I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

But these people are accusing others of these horrible things and threatening them on the sole basis of fictional content.

Now before you fly off the handle at me, let me be very clear: I absolutely understand that there are gross people out there who use the “It’s all just fiction” argument to hide their actual, pr*datory behaviors. (We’ve all probably seen at least one or two neckbeard memes of that caliber)

But like it or not, exploring traumatic themes through a fictional lens is something that has been studied and proven to be a genuine coping mechanism for some. It’s not something that works for me, but I knew a few people from past therapy groups that it worked surprisingly well for. Bringing a trauma into a controlled environment and processing it through fictional means can and does help some victims deal with what they went through. 

It’s important to understand that not everyone processes their experience in the same neat, little boxes you have laid out as the only “acceptable” ways of coping. Trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy are commonly used by victims, and it does help some people, whether you like it or not.

I’m already dragging this on too much, so here are some sources for better-worded information on the topic (Warning: Most of these deal with highly sensitive themes such as gun violence and s*xual abuse.)

Source 1 - Source 2 - Source 3 - Source 4 - Source 5 (pages 61 onward, specifically) - Source 6 - Source 7 - Source 8 - Source 9 - Source 10 (and believe me, if those all don’t satisfy you, I can easily supply more.)

And this quote from source 9 I think sums it up best:

“Fiction works differently. My imagination gives me a framework to process the grief and terror and the consequences, even when I myself have not found any resolution. It allows me to enter my own traumatic experiences sideways and linger inside them, if I know I can give them to characters who might be lucky enough to find the antidote: love, connection, community, family. In other words, I can enter — and exit — the trauma loop through stories that are not exactly the same as mine.

This goes for the reader also. Recent studies periodically assure us that stories — literary fiction, hardcover books, even the simple act of reading — promote empathy. We rarely have identical experiences, so fiction is how we practice linking our similar or parallel realities so we can feel them. This seems particularly useful in our current society, where we are all so separated, and are working so hard to block the violence that keeps happening to us from our minds.

Fiction connects us, and it can also contribute to our healing. When we see ourselves in worlds we don’t live in, like The Handmaid’s Tale or The Color Purple, sometimes, that very different violence helps us finally process our own. Because as much as our memoirs and testimonies are brave and validating, fiction does not just mirror our truths so they are safe to experience; it also helps us endure the aftermath. Because long after the immediate experience is over, survival struggles onward, in every moment of our daily lives.”

While most professionals have in the past advised that victims keep their trauma-related works more private, to only show it to your trusted friends or family, the fast-growing use of the internet has led more people to sharing it in an online platform, which is not unexpected behavior.

I unfortunately don’t have the screenshot of the original post, but there was a post made some time back literally telling a fandom member to go and hang themselves over this garbage. A survivor of s*xual abuse, no less. And to top that off, one of Ginger’s squad @emmy-puff commented in support of that violent post, as well as blatantly misgendering the target of it. While, again, I was unable to get screenshots, there are multiple witnesses to this instance, one Anonymous even having called them out on it back when it happened. (I suspect that Emmy deleted that answer due to how bad it made them look.) If anybody reading this has screenshots of the initial post or the ask that came of it, please feel free to share.

I don’t care who you are or who you’re talking about, if you use misgendering someone as a way to hurt them, then you are an insult to the trans community. That is an awful thing to do, and you lose so much credibility if that’s the only thing you can fall back on when getting in a fight with someone. While this post isn’t about Emmy specifically, this is exactly the kind of hateful rhetoric that’s being encouraged in the environment Ginger’s made.

Another thing I would like to point out on this matter is an instance that happened in the ToA fandom a couple years back. I, again, don’t have screenshots available (I believe the original post ended up deleted) but the post in question caused enough of a fuss that I’m sure a few people must remember it... 

A while back, there was an artist that posted uncensored, untagged r*pe art of Aaarrrgghh, Gunmar, and Jim in the main Trollhunters tag. As you can imagine, this infuriated many people. Many of which are among the list of those who’ve been labeled “p*do apologists”. Almost the very minute that post showed up in the tag with no trigger warnings of any kind, the fandom immediately got on OP’s tail about it, because they all shared that basic understanding of “This is a traumatizing subject for many people and they should have the ability to avoid it”. If the people you’ve labelled as pr*dator supporters were really as awful as you say they are, they would’ve jumped to that person’s defense, too. But they were completely against OP’s horrible lack of consideration of survivors, right alongside the rest of the fandom.

Am I saying you have to like trauma fiction? Absolutely not. Are there people that make trauma fiction that are actual pr*dators? I’m sure there are. But those people would be that way whether trauma fiction was out there or not. Gross people have existed and will always exist regardless of what media is out there.

I deeply understand the controversy, uncertainty, and stress that surrounds this topic, I promise you, I do. But the fact of the matter is, some people actually do use trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy as a way of coping, as has been observed in people even from ages as young as 5. To say otherwise is blatantly untrue. This isn’t a matter of opinion or morals, this is plain, studied facts that you cannot change about human psychology.

Nobody should ever have to go through something as horrible as s*xual abuse of any kind, and I know how deeply upsetting it can be to see certain images or stories with those themes in play. Those users with a sense of decency and understanding for fellow victims will tag their posts with the appropriate warnings. After that, it’s up to you to filter out what you don’t want to see. You curate your own internet experience, and it’s just plain irrational to try and harass everyone into conforming to your rules. While it’s an 18+ blog’s job to make sure to tag and label their content appropriately, it is your job to block the things you don’t want to see, whether you’re an adult or a minor. It is YOUR job to blacklist content that you know will upset you, because it is always going to exist on the internet, and any internet user needs to know and understand that. Multiple times I’d seen people going off about posts that were already appropriately trigger-tagged. If you don’t have those upsetting tags blacklisted by now, then the fault is mostly on you in that kind of case, not the OP.

Before I end this topic off, just one more example of blatant disrespect towards victims:

I’m sorry, but the absolute nerve of comparing some random fictional character you’re petty over to an actual pr*dator who’s terribly hurt real children is just awful. Imagine how insulted one of Onion’s victims would be if they saw that. Lord.

Ginger claims to care about victims, but she’s made it abundantly clear that she only cares about those that behave the way she think a victim should.

4. Ableism 

I’m going to just show a couple posts here and let them mostly speak for themselves. 

Just... my God. You looked at the definition of psychopath and decided that was enough to give you qualification to speak like this about it? Do you realize the extensive work and study of human psychology goes into the diagnosis and understandings of psychopathy? Not to mention, you just admit to thinking people deserve hate because of a mental disorder they legitimately have no control over? I’m sorry, but that is just cruel. Demonization of the mentally ill is not cute or funny. Next.

While I’m still annoyed with Emmy’s transphobic treatment of another user mentioned earlier, they make a very solid point in this instance. (The first post they referenced has since been deleted, but here’s the second one speaking out against the ableism.) I feel I don’t need to add much to this, as these points have already been argued very well by users better qualified to speak on the subject than I.

5. Manipulation tactics

This part is more observations of two kinds of abuse tactics Ginger appears to demonstrate, using the above as points of reference. 

First, there’s DARVO.

Then, less formally, there’s this good point about online cult mentality.

Before you say anything, obviously I don’t think Ginger thinks of herself as some sort of deity. While it could be argued that she considers herself a point of authority within the TOA fandom maybe, I haven’t seen enough of this to say for sure how far that goes. So that point can be ignored, because it mostly doesn’t apply in this case. (The “Dictating parts of your online life” might also not apply, but I can’t say for sure as I haven’t gotten any confirmation of that sort of thing in Ginger’s group.)

But there are grains of truth in the other four points, especially that last one. Plain and simple, she’s made people afraid to speak their minds about even harmless things such as character analysis.

Ginger is someone who can’t seem to comprehend different viewpoints and life experiences. She’s extremely unsympathetic towards people she doesn’t understand, as can be observed in above examples. Assuming malicious intent from everybody you can’t understand is a dangerous and hurtful mindset to have, for both you and those who you unnecessarily scorn.

There are a few outcomes I’ve speculated should she ever come to see this post.

1. She will ignore this post completely, pretending as if it doesn’t exist

2. She will dismiss me as being some sort of horrible person, a p*do apologist or something of the sort (despite being a victim of that myself, clearly she doesn’t care about who’s actually been hurt by real p*dos or not if they don’t conform to her narrow worldview), and claim nothing I’ve said bears any meaning, despite the extensive evidence I’ve provided.

3. She will get people to try and attack me. 

4. She will actually address these points in a tactful, mature, and serious manner instead of her usual act of trying to dismiss everything at the slightest hint of non-conformity. (The least likely outcome, but one can dream.)

I could add to this post all day, but it’s long enough as it is and my focus was on getting the main points out of the way. I understand that I lack some of the receipts necessary to back myself up in a few parts, but I know that many other fans have bared witness to those things, so I know there will be at least some people who’ll know what I speak of is true, and that’s good enough for me.

That being said, if anybody has screenshots of the instances I wasn’t able to provide for, it would be greatly appreciated if you could add them into the conversation.

!!!-If you have screenshots, but are too uncomfortable to get involved in this, then you can private-message them to me and I would be grateful and more than happy to add them in while keeping you completely anonymous.-!!!

(I've removed the section with all the tags, as I recognize it was probably going overboard. My goal was just to spread information, not to try and involve those tagged, but I understand how that may have gotten lost in translation and made people uncomfortable. Also, it apparently was showing up multiple times in people’s notifications when I only tagged people twice, so I’m not sure why that glitch happened, but I apologize for that annoyance as well.)

Now, to end us off, my responses to questions or angry comments I’m probably going to get:

You don’t even have all the evidence! How are we to know you’re not just lying about some of this?

Admittedly, I don’t have as much screenshot proof as I would like, that’s true. But for most of the instances I couldn’t provide for, there were other witnesses to her bad behavior. I don’t really have the need to lie when there’s already a lot of knowledge out there of the bad stuff she has done. Nor do I really have the emotional investment in this fandom anymore to lie for the pointless reason of causing drama.

Why post this on a throwaway account if you think people are on your side?

I just don’t really want my main blog associated with TOA anymore, to be frank.

You tagged a bunch of people, so you must be trying to get them to attack Ginger!

No. I tagged a bunch of people because I think this information should be heard on a wider scale, considering the position Ginger has in the fandom. I don’t want her or anybody else to be attacked, but her negative impact on this fandom deserves to be acknowledged.

Again, I don’t think Ginger or any of the others deserve harassment or cyberbullying or anything of that manner, that’s kind of what this whole post is against. And it just hurts the situation more than it helps it. What bothers me is how she’s never apologized for or even once acknowledged the gross way she’s treated people. While she might be more low-key about it now, she still treats people who don’t deserve it like garbage. There are still several people upset about the damage she’s caused to this fandom, rightfully so. I wouldn’t be so loud about making this post if I didn’t think it was something worth drawing attention to. 

Thank you for reading.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Cast Away Your True Love's Kiss

5. “I didn’t want it to end, I just thought you’d be better off without me..” from the 40 Prompts List

@rebelliouswhirlpool​ this fic is finally done. It is finished. It is thirteenpages, Calibri, 11 point font, single spaced with a space after each paragraph. Tumblr won’t allow me to add a read more to an ask, and I’m not going to torture everyone on my dash with that monstrosity of a long post.

Also, this fic is going to contain blood-based body horror and a character who suffers from depression. Hard to believe that this was originally a Sleeping Beauty au, isn’t it? (If you wanted something less dark I have your original ask.)

AO3

FFN

“Are you okay?” shouldn’t have been the words that started the end. When they left Jim’s mouth, they didn’t sound like they were words intended to start the end of things.

No, she wasn’t okay. Okay was only five feet away from perfect and she was as far from perfect, as far from okay even, as far she was from Arcadia.

“I’m fine,” Claire said instead. Fine was a nice lie, a lie that she had perfected. It was one of the few things still perfect about her. And besides, if she wasn’t fine now it was a state she could get to if she worked hard enough. She had to be fine, and she had to handle it on her own.

“No, you’re not.” Of course, Jim could tell when something was off. “Are you sleeping okay? The ground probably isn’t good for your back.” Then again, he was also entirely off from the source of her problems.

Was she sleeping okay? Ha. She wasn’t levitating with blackened eyes or trying to take down wards when she was supposed to be sleeping, was she?

“I’m fine, Jim. Really.”

He ignored her. “Are you eating enough? I” Was he? “I can cook more for you. Would that help?”

No, she wouldn’t try to torture Jim. He loved cooking and he couldn’t eat his own food.

“Seriously, Jim, I’m fine.” She wouldn’t be fine if he kept trying to fix her. He couldn’t fix her.

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me. You did that when you were sick, and, well…” Jim trailed off, possibly sensing her fury a moment before it was unleashed.

“This is nothing like that,” she seethed. Angry magic rose within her; she pushed it down. Jim shouldn’t bring it up like that, but she would not be a monster. And that was just another part of her problem.

“I’m really worried about you, and you keep brushing all of us off!”

“There’s nothing to worry about!” Because there’s nothing you can fix so drop it.

“Please, Claire,” Jim said, dropping his voice into a soft tone. “All of us – Blinky, Me, Nomura, Notenrique, Toby – we’re all worried about you. You’re jumpy, and it feels like each night you’re dragging behind more and more.”

And there it was. There was his chance.

Claire grabbed her backpack and began to walk out of the cave.

“Where are you going?” Jim asked.

“Home. Arcadia,” Claire said. She didn’t look at him. If she looked back at him she would crumple to the floor.

“How are you going to get back there? We’re hundreds of miles away.” Jim asked as Claire removed the crystal from the center of her chest. Her armor disappeared.

“Greyhound.” Short, simple, words kept her from crying. She almost dropped the crystal that triggered her armor but chose to put it in her pocket instead.

“I, okay,” Jim said. “Are you sure? I can try to make things better, we can still fix things.”

She wanted him to fight for her, for them. She wanted him to push her away.

“There’s nothing you can fix, Jim.” She put as much poison into the words as she could. That’s all that was left of her, wasn’t it? “I hope you can find someone better than me.”

Jim called out for her as she began to walk across the scorching sand. Claire didn’t cry because it was a mile-long walk to the nearest bus station and she didn’t really want to get dehydrated.

Jim stopped calling her name, and she realized that someone else was also calling out her name.

“Come on, Claire, wait up! Little legs!”

For the first time since leaving, Claire turned around. NotEnrique had retained his changeling ability to walk in the sun.

“NotEnrique, what are you doing here?” She walked towards him, slowly and steadily so she wouldn’t try and run back to Jim once she got to her brother.

“Didn’t think you could just leave me behind, did’ya?”

“But the Heartstone–”

“Most changelings don’t get a Heartstone. Heck, old Bossman stayed with the Trollhunter’s mother instead of traveling to New Jersey with us. No, I’m staying with you, kid. You can’t push me away that easy.”

Claire scooped him up into her arms and began walking to the bus stop again. “You’re getting shoved in my backpack and you’re not allowed to mess with anything once we get closer to civilization.”

After days on a bus, Claire was finally back in Arcadia. Did she regret it?

It was only another item on the list.

She knelt and let NotEnrique out of her backpack. He looked around.

“Really, sis? You couldn’t have waited one more stop to get us closer to yer house?”

“You’re the one who complained about being cooped up.”

It was sunny out, so there weren’t many trolls around.

“You gonna call him to tell him you got home okay?” NotEnrique asked. She didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about Jim. He’d tried to give her relationship advice, which oscillated between “maybe you should’ve left me behind, so I could’ve made his hands symmetrical and gotten rid of the extra teeth” and trying to get her to talk about her feelings and how there was obviously something wrong other than the fact that Jim had pushed a little too much in the wrong direction.

Claire pushed her shoulders and her feelings down and back. “Later.”

“What about your parents or Tubby for a ride with a car or a magic warhammer?”

“We’re walking,” Claire said a bit more forcefully. Besides, she didn’t want to have to talk to them right now. Her mom would try to act like she had been right all along, that living a normal life would do Claire better than a change of scenery. Her dad would manage to come up with more creative threats for her ex-boyfriend than NotEnrique had. Jim had probably cried to Toby about her walking out on him, so things would be at least as awkward as they had been when she had first joined the team.

As Claire crossed the bridge that went over the entrance to Trollmarket, she glanced at the canal. Once destroyed by the vortex that created the Eternal Night, building teams had managed to patch the hole in a surprisingly fast amount of time.

That patch allowed Claire and NotEnrique not to fall into an incredibly deep chasm whose fall they wouldn’t survive. They would have fallen down and down, and without the Shadow Staff then at least Claire would splatter among the dead Heartstone like a messier version of Vendel’s death.

Instead, they rolled, and the burst of energy caused by Claire summoning her armor took away from the freefall.

“Pity, what they’ve done to my handiwork.” Claire had never wanted to hear that voice again.

Morgana’s spirit floated in front of Claire just like it had so many times in the past.

“I sealed you away,” Claire said. She moved to grip her Shadow Staff and remembered that it had been destroyed.

“Yes, well, so did Merlin, and you still were my servant for a little while.” Morgana was being more courteous since the last time they had seen each other. She was acting like she had in the bathroom, after she had stopped pretending to be concerned that she had absolutely terrified Claire by taking on the form of her reflection.

“Get away from her!” NotEnrique ran towards Morgana. Claire wasn’t sure if he knew that he would probably pass through the witch, but neither of them got to find out. Morgana flicked her wrist, and NotEnrique went flying across the canal.

“They never learn,” Morgana sighed.

“Some of us do,” Claire said, magic bursting from her hands.

“Then what I’ll do to you might be a kindness.” Claire was baking in her armor and she still shivered at the word “kindness” coming out of Morgana’s mouth. “After all, you won’t have to live as Merlin’s newest apprentice.”

Claire brought up her hands to form semi-crystalline shields.

Morgana smirked. “A dangerous spell to use, when the combination of your raw power and desire to die are matched by your inexperience.”

Claire didn’t actually want to die, though. Just disappear for a while. No, the witch was just taunting her. She was referring to the fact that sometimes Claire did stupid things, like tackle people into the Shadow Realm or make a giant portal that she had been warned not to make.

It wasn’t that Claire didn’t suspect something was going terribly wrong when her veins began to crack and turn black again. It was just that it was a painful side effect of magic.

It was odd, though. This spell wasn’t normally so painful to cast.

“I’ve been wondering when you would return to this place,” Morgana said. “It took longer than I expected, but don’t worry. I’ve had other things to do while I waited.”

Claire wrinkled her nose. Then something warm began to drip out of it, and she pressed her lips together. This was not the time for her to develop allergies.

Morgana’s smile grew wider. “Well, now you’re back in your beloved Arcadia Oaks. You’re going to destroy it for me.”

“I won’t let you possess me again!” Claire shouted. Blood dripped from her nose into her mouth. “I’d rather–”

Well, maybe the witch had a little bit of a point.

“Oh, don’t worry, you burned that bridge. Such an ungracious host,” she scoffed. Claire felt like she was salivating blood.

“No,” Morgana continued. “You’re going to carry a plague to the rest of Arcadia Oaks, and after that, how about the world? It’ll be like in that play you like, oh, what was the line?” She tapped a translucent jade finger against her chin as if she was thinking. “Oh, right. You’ll be like a plague upon both the you tried to protect worlds.”

Had she been younger, Claire would have been frustrated by the way her favorite play was being used against her. Instead, she was more focused on the fact that she was starting to cough up blackened blood.

She wouldn’t be patient zero. She needed to do something to protect Arcadia.

She began to cry, and her vision began to go black. She didn’t faint, though, she just looked around wildly as she realized that blackened blood had blinded her.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the Mother of Monsters drawled. Blood disseminated down Claire’s throat as a ghostly hand managed to cup her cheek. It then grabbed her chin and presumably forced her to face Morgana. “Tell you what. Since we both had to suffer under that wizard, I’ll tell you two forms of a cure.”

Claire didn’t need to see Morgana to know that her grin must have been splitting her face open by now.

“The first is a fairy’s breath, and the second is true love’s kiss. Now, I wonder which of those will be harder for you to find?”

How did Morgana know about her breakup with Jim? She was probably referring to the fact that she had knocked him out in battle.

Claire hoped she blasted a hole in Morgana’s incorporeal form with the blast of presumably purple light that came out of her hand.

Claire felt herself get lifted into the air, and then get dropped for her insolence. She tried to form shields to slow her fall. She had to find a way to keep herself from infecting Arcadia and killing the rest of the world like Morgana had wanted, because the fairies had lost the war to the pixies and there would be no true love’s kiss.

The last thing Claire felt was her lungs filling up and her magic pulsing out of her like a shockwave.

“Hey, Tobes! I guess I caught you at a bad time, hope you’re keeping it crispy! Bye!”

“Hi, Mom. I’m guessing you’re at the clinic, so I’ll call you back later.”

 “Toby, are you mad at me?”

“Hey, AAARRRGGHH!!! Blinky’s a little worried about you, and don’t tell him I said this, but I think me might be worried about Dictatious, too.”

“Mom? I didn’t want to leave you, you know that, right? You know that I wasn’t trying to be like Dad – bad-dad, not Blinky – when I left; are you mad at me? I love you. Bye.”

“Hi, Mr. Strickler. Can you please tell Mom I’m sorry for whatever I did?”

“NotEnrique? Hi, it’s Jim. Weird stuff is going on, and I was wondering if you and Claire are okay. Sorry for putting you in an awkward position.”

“Hi, Claire. I know you’re mad at me, but please. I need your help. No one from back home in Arcadia is answering my calls or texts, and I’m getting worried. I can’t find anything on the internet, and you should be back in Arcadia by now. Can you just talk to them? You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to, though an indicator that you made it back safe would be nice. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“This is Jim. I don’t know why you won’t talk to me, but this is going to be my last call until you call me back. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know I said that last time was my last call until you called me back, but I’m coming back to Arcadia. Do as you will. I’ll be ready.”

The gyre broke down before it got to the station. It was alright, Jim supposed. He had left Arcadia six months ago, and six months ago he would have been elated to be back home.

He didn’t really want to go back to Arcadia, now, but there was a baby Heartstone to bring back to the old one. They were here to figure out what cuttings would be needed to be able to safely place the new Heartstone into the old one. It would be easier than trying to establish a Trollmarket in New Jersey.

“Good thing we left at sunset,” Blinky said, “because it looks like we’ll have to walk.”

“I’ll see if I can find directions,” Jim said half-heartedly. “There’s nothing.”

It was like his hometown had disappeared off the map.

“We’ll just take the old routes.”

After a couple minutes of walking, Jim had to blink a couple times. “Hey, Blink? Do you feel like something’s trying to turn us away? Like, we shouldn’t keep going, like there’s something bad ahead?”

“Oh, Jim, I know this is hard for you,” Blinky said. “I don’t know why they stopped speaking to us, but we have a duty to the other trolls.”

“I know, but it’s not like that. It’s like…”

One moment, they were walking through the woods. The next, they were on the outskirts of Arcadia. A barrier of violet and gold light stood behind them. On the ground was a squirrel mid-run. Birds perched in the trees.

All of them looked like they had been hit by Creeper’s Sun.

“Great Gronka Morka, who would’ve done this?” Blinky asked.

Jim summoned his shield and gestured for Blinky to get behind him. “And why? Small animals wouldn’t pose a threat, and it’s not like anyone would rather eat them petrified.” He looked behind himself, to check to see if he was saying was true.

“Not like this, it’s unnatural,” Blinky said, ignoring the fact that so was whipped cream with preservatives. “Also, that barrier makes me uneasy.”

“After we crossed it, I stopped feeling like we were supposed to turn away.” Jim frowned. “Do you think that’s why we couldn’t find any information on Arcadia?”

“Perhaps, son.” Blinky pulled out his phone. “All the information is almost six months old.”

Jim summoned his dagger and cracked open the squirrel. Like a geode, it was filled with amethyst, though it had veins of iron pyrite. Between the amethyst and k-spar-esque covering, the squirrel was comprised of obsidian.

“Let’s go to Trollmarket; I can check my library. Oh, I do wish my brother didn’t complete the act of burning it.”

The road to Trollmarket’s entrance was littered with petrified bodies. To call Arcadia Oaks a ghost town wouldn’t have encapsulated the extent of the horror Jim felt. All these people were going about their everyday lives; none of them looked like they knew what would happen to them.

It was Blinky who saw it first.

Sprouted from the canal was a single amethyst. It was three meters high, and vaguely conical. As Blinky and Jim walked towards it, they found that a ring of iron pyrite kept it fused to the jagged circle of obsidian that surrounded it.

For all its supernatural beauty, it was the figure inside the amethyst that gave them the most pause. Claire was frozen in freefall, with black veins peeking out from her clawed armor. Despite the stains that obscured them, the knowledge that those same veins in her face would be blackened filled Jim with dread. Despite her eyes being unseeing voids of black, she looked so scared. Black spheroids streamed upwards from her eyes, nose, and mouth; she was eternally crying and drowning in amethyst.

“No,” Jim said. “She didn’t deserve this.” He turned to Blinky. “I’m going to cut down her body.”

Carving her out was emotionally arduous but faster than Jim would’ve expected. Feeling NotEnrique’s petrified gaze upon him didn’t make it any easier. One of his daggers cut a little too close to her hand, and he winced.

Could he have saved her? She had been dyspeptic when he had last seen her alive and “fine”, but maybe if he had tried harder to make her happy, or at least comfortable, maybe she wouldn’t have left and wouldn’t be like this.

Her hand began to glow like an eggplant dwärkstone.

“Get down!” Jim called, summoning his shield to defend himself from the chunks of amethyst that came flying off Claire’s body.

When the blast cleared, Claire’s chest rapidly rose and fell as gurgling noises came from her throat. Blinky ran to the pair of teenagers, hugged Claire from behind, and squeezed.

It was hard to tell whether she vomited black blood, coughed it up from her lungs, or some abhorrent combination of the two.

“It’s alright, Faire Claire,” Blinky said. “You’re safe now.”

The three of them sat in Blinky’s library, which hadn’t been trashed by Gumm-Gumms.

Claire didn’t look Blinky in the eyes, and she tried not to look at Jim. Her eyelids felt heavy; the bloody tears clung to her eyelashes like cheap expired mascara.

“I hadn’t been back in Arcadia for more than half an hour when she found me.”

“She?” Blinky pressed.

Claire flinched. Jim had only seen her so jumpy twice. Once had been in the woods upon learning that trolls existed; the second time was the hours after her possession. “Morgana.”

“She’s back?” Jim asked. “But you guys sealed her away.”

“Not physically.” Claire coughed into the crook of her arm. “Her spirit showed up and tossed NotEnrique and I around. She wants me to carry a plague.”

“If she wanted you to carry a plague, then why would she have petrified everyone and trapped you in crystal? Or made a barrier around town that makes every human forget that Arcadia exists and keeps them from wanting to enter town?”

Claire gasped, an ugly and wet sound. “I think I did that. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just wanted to shield myself from her magic.”

And of course, she wanted to disappear.

Blinky stood up. “If she cursed you, then if you’re cured it might cure everyone else, since they were affected by your magic.”

“Morgana decided to tell me a way to cure myself, since, her words, ‘we both had to suffer under that wizard.’ It was a taunt, though, since fairy’s breath would be difficult to find.”

But not as difficult as true love’s kiss, nor as manipulative.

Claire had tried to stay out of Jim and Blinky’s way. She didn’t deserve them trying to help her. Everyone else in Arcadia did, though.

Claire sniffled again and tilted her head back. The number of nosebleeds she had been getting was frustrating. Stupid curse. Stupid black blood. Stupid Queen of the Seventh Realm or whatever she called herself these days.

Her stomach growled because it was mercifully empty of her own forsaken blood.

“When was the last time you ate?” Blinky asked.

“About five months ago,” Claire admitted. She opened her backpack to find the bag of beef jerky that had served as meals. “I think I have a… no, NotEnrique ate them all. Of course, he did.”

“Hopefully food on the surface hasn’t spoiled… I wonder if they have whipped cream,” Blinky mused. “Unfortunately, the sun should be rising, soon. Jim!”

“Yeah!” came the call from a call from one of Vendel’s old records.

“Can you accompany Claire to the surface to obtain food?”

Claire grimaced. “Blinky, I’ll be fine; I can go on my own.”

She hadn’t expected Blinky to give her such a sad smile. “Normally I’d believe you when you say you’ll be fine.”

Of course, Jim would have told Blinky about her last conversation with him. Would have told him how she had angrily professed to be fine. She had then gotten herself cursed and frozen in time.

“But you’ve lost a lot of blood,” he continued. “I don’t want you fainting.”

Walking together was awkward. Claire kept her eyes on the ground, so she wouldn’t have to see the people she had turned to stone. If she had stayed with Jim and the trolls, this wouldn’t have happened. She would have made them miserable as they figured her out, but she wouldn’t have been responsible for this. At the very least, she probably could have learned more from Merlin, so she could have protected herself.

Or she could have gotten her hand cut off, but that would be better than what she had done to her town.

“I almost wish we could call Merlin,” Jim said. “There’s a chance he might actually be able to help, for once.”

“Something happen to him?” Claire asked. Merlin hadn’t exactly been entirely helpful upon getting his magic back, though he had occasionally given her magic lessons. They seemed like they happened because he was bored, though, not because he truly took an interest in her magical ability.

They were probably better than what Morgana had gotten, at least.

“He up and left back in October.” Jim was fishing for the apology, or at least the explanation, that she owed him.

Claire began to walk faster. It would be more comfortable for him, she told herself. He had a longer stride than her. It just seemed like she was walking away. Again.

“Do you have any plans for after we find the cure for you?”

Not particularly, beyond hugging Suzy Snooze and bawling in the safety of her own room. Her younger self would be horrified with what she had become.

“Do you?”

“The Heartstone in New Jersey’s pretty small, but Blinky thinks we can use the old Heartstone to amplify it. It’ll be easier than building new infrastructure.”

“So, you’ll be coming back to Arcadia.”

“Eventually, yeah.”

“That’ll be, I’m sure you’ll be happy to see Toby and your mom again.” She’d have to face him more often than she thought she would.

“Yeah, considering that no one willingly cut all contact, it’ll be good to see all, everyone again.”

He blamed her. Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he blame her? Yeah, Morgana had wanted her to kill everyone, but she was still the one who turned everyone to stone. And besides, she wasn’t a pleasant person to be around. Not anymore.

“The grocery store should be this way.” Claire started to walk faster before doubling over. She couldn’t breathe, and this wasn’t like when she would have an anxiety attack. She began to cough.

A four-fingered hand pounded her back with restrained force. A five-fingered hand held her hair away from her face.

“Thanks,” Claire said hoarsely once she was done coughing.

“Any time.”

“Still answering every call?”

“I kind of have to; there’s no walking away from being the Trollhunter.”

Why didn’t he just stick Eclipse into her? It’d be more efficient than his continuous lack of subtlety at inserting knives into her and then twisting them.

“Do you know if there’s been any heavy rain lately? If not in Arcadia, then the greater LA area.”

“No, why?”

“Just wondering how strong the stone is. NotEnrique could’ve been swept away if we’ve gotten any large rainstorms. And smashed against the walls of the canals. It’s also good no one has gotten other forms of erosion.” She was rambling too much. All the words she hadn’t said because she was fine and then a crystal were threatening to spill out.

“That would have been pretty bad, since once a troll is shattered that’s it for them, or at least it is with Creeper’s Sun.” Jim coughed slightly, and the frowned. That was odd, he hadn’t coughed ever since he had taken Grave Sand.

The whipped cream was spoiled, as were all the perishables that would have perished in the time since Arcadia Oaks had been petrified. Claire grabbed multiple cans of fruit and other foods she wouldn’t feel absolutely miserable eating cold. That meant passing over a can of refried beans in favor of Spam. Not even the chorizo-flavored canned meat, but the original flavor that had been used since the second world war. Not that the refried beans would taste as good as homemade ones but cooking beans more time.

“We can probably stop at one of our houses to see if the microwaves will work,” Jim said.

“I’d rather not.”

“You really want to eat that cold?”

“Back when you were human, would you rather have eaten a can of cold Spam or have stumbled upon your mom’s petrified body?” She walked over to where the bottled water was kept.

“Cold spam. I’ve already seen Mom petrified once, and that was enough.”

“When?” Claire asked before she could stop herself. She didn’t deserve his vulnerability.

“That was my worst fear when the pixies came.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Claire handed the water to Jim and began walking to the register. She began to pull out cash and a pen. On a paper towel she wrote a note, stating what she had taken and how much, making sure to pay for it in full. She didn’t look the dead-eyed cashier in the face.

“Looking back, I think I might have rather faced petrified family members in the Deep,” Jim mused.

“What did you face down there?” Claire asked, voice soft. He hadn’t ever really spoken about it, at least, not to her.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what’s going on with you,” Jim said.

Claire bristled, adjusting her grip on her heavy backpack. “I already told you, I’m cursed.”

“You weren’t cursed months ago, when you left us.”

Dammit.

“And months ago, I told you to drop it.”

“I would have if you had given me one reason not to worry about you! Just one reason, and I would have tried to make things better! Unless,” he said, a betrayed expression overtaking his face. “Is it because I’m a troll?”

No. That wasn’t it at all. She had meant what she had said back on the rooftop six months ago, and she hadn’t changed her mind.

“Not everything is about you, Jim,” she said instead. At least his look of betrayal was replaced by one of more generic anger.

“Right. It’s about you.”

“What?”

“We’re trying to help you, you know, but for the past couple what has been only days for you, you’ve been irritable and stuck-up.”

“Stuck-up? Irritable, sure, I’ll admit to that. But how have I been stuck up?”

“Does ‘I hope you can find someone better than me’ ring any bells?”

Blood and acid churned in her stomach. “Jim, no,” she said, suddenly very aware of the way their angered voices echoed against the too-quiet parking lot. “That was supposed to be a low bar. You were supposed to figure out that someone better than me is a low bar. Six feet under Blinky’s library low. By the way, he’s probably wondering where we are.”

Neither of them spoke on the way back to Trollmarket, but Jim kept on giving Claire concerned glances.

“All the whipped cream spoiled,” Claire said. “Sorry, Blinky.”

Jim watched the two of them interact; his heart filled with what must have been longing. It felt more liquid than usual.

He had been trying to ignore it, but she looked so fragile. At first it had just been the combination of his half-troll strength and the way the veins along her jaw, eyes, and fingers formed black cracks. But now, knowing just how she viewed herself, knowing that he had been right about her not being fine in the worst ways…

Hating his ex-girlfriend had been hard enough in the months that had passed. Trying to convince himself that he didn’t love her anymore was even harder.

Now it was impossible to do either.

“You want any help?” Jim asked.

He didn’t expect the “sure” that fell out of Claire’s lips with a little bit of blood. She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.

“What’cha researching?”

“The war between the fairies and the pixies, and the connections that a certain witch we know has to the fairies.”

“Let me guess: it’s more than her last name?”

“I’m not sure if ‘le Fay’ is actually a last name or more of a title, but yeah. Apparently, she’s the daughter of the queen of Avalon, which is supposedly surrounded by an uncrossable sea of chaos and shadows.”

Jim gasped in horror. “That means–”

“– we’ll have to find a way to get through the Shadow Realm,” Claire finished solemnly. “But she said it was a cure.” Not exactly. “That would mean there’s other possible cures.” Ones other than crossing through the Shadow Realm and the one that would be entirely impossible.

“And if there isn’t, we’re going to have to be careful. Morgana did this to you because she could use it to break out–”

“–and she has a personal grudge against me,” Claire interrupted.

“And she has a personal grudge against you,” Jim said. “But this isn’t going to be like the Darklands. We’re going to get the fairy’s breath, fix you and Arcadia, all without releasing anyone who wants to destroy the world.”

“You can’t fix me,” Claire whispered. Jim looked up from the book into her eyes. The resignation in them made her look more ancient than Vendel had been.

“No, we’re going to find a cure,” Jim said.

The smile that stretched across her face asked why he had drunk all and left no friendly drop to help her after.

“I know you can, Jim. We’re going to find a way to save Arcadia. But you can’t fix me. At this point, I’m not sure if anyone can.”

“That’s why you kept saying you were fine,” Jim said.

Then he turned away from her and the books and started coughing into his hand.

Claire screamed his name and rushed to face him. Jim pulled his hand away from his mouth. It was covered in blackened blood.

“Well, looks like we’re on more of a deadline than we thought,” he said.

Claire took a deep breath, and then another.

“Morgana actually gave me two cures,” she said, and put a hand up when Jim started to protest why she hadn’t mentioned it. “I didn’t tell you about the second one because that one won’t work for me, and I think she knew that. She probably got her reasoning wrong, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll work for you, though. I think.”

“What is it?”

“True love’s kiss,” Claire said, and every word felt like pulling out a serrated knife she had become numb to. “I hope it doesn’t have to be mutual, or if does have to be mutual it doesn’t have to be romantic, because then Blinky or I can just kiss you and you’ll be okay.”

“Wait, what?” Jim asked.

“Then again, the last Morgana-related magic we used was the antidote for the Creeper’s Sun, and the true love’s kiss for that had to be romantic, so it was only Toby’s tears that would have worked. Hopefully the magic behind changeling-created-potions works differently than the curse we’re both now under.”

“You still love me?”

Inky tears filled her eyes before Claire could stop them, and she lowered to the ground, so she wouldn’t have to stumble around blindly. She wrapped her arms around herself like she could shield herself from her own emotions with them.

“I didn’t want it to end,” she said between sobs. “I just thought you’d be better off without me...”

“Is it okay if I hold you?” Jim asked, and she nodded, trying to make her arms fall limp at her sides. Jim curled around her, and she was unable to restrain herself from wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Claire sobbed, ignoring the way she was ruining his shirt. “I didn’t want you to feel bad when you figured out that you didn’t love me anymore because I wasn’t worth loving, and that’s half of why I left like that and have been trying to push you away when you’ve been trying to help me.” She took a shuddering breath.

“Claire, I never stopped loving you, not really,” Jim said. “I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, and I tried to convince myself that I hated you, but I couldn’t do either of those things.”

“But why? Why me?” Claire lifted her head, hoping she was making a good approximation of looking Jim in the eyes. “I’m not who I used to be.” I’m a million miles from the girl who tried to be perfect.

“Neither am I.”

“But that’s different, you don’t petrify an entire town and block out everyone’s memories because you just want to disappear.” The words were spilling out of her like the blood that had come out of her mouth when Blinky had performed a Heimlich maneuver on her. “You’re still you inside. I’m an empty shell that’s filled with nothing but self-loathing. And I guess cursed blood, too.”

“Claire, I…” Jim held her a little more tightly. “I can’t fix you because I don’t know how, but you’re so much more than that. And just because you don’t love yourself doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Claire felt him brush the side of his face right next to hers, silently asking permission. She turned and softly kissed him on the lips.

The taste of blood faded from her mouth, and the scent of it faded from her nose. Her veins relaxed back into her skin.

Jim’s phone rang once, twice, a third time. They ignored it.

“Jimbo, you’re almost as bad as Eli because I somehow just got about a thousand texts and voicemails from you all at the same time!” Toby shouted through Jim’s voicemail. 

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 21

NOTE: Read chapter 20 first, posted right before this one as I’m posting two chapters today.

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Myka nurses a top-shelf scotch as she stares out into Cardiff Bay, thankful the hotel bar's deserted at this late hour. Several boats glide silently by then disappear, docking near twinkling lights beyond her view. Are their crews winding down from a jam-packed day like hers? If so, she hopes theirs was less taxing interpersonally.

Her latest sale was rather tenuous, having dragged on for months beforehand. The museum was selling; then they weren't, then they were, to the point where it was hard to keep track. But Myka, ever vigilant with correspondence, managed to convince the assistant director to convince the director she was the one to sell to, should they sell. Though having to go that extra mile isn't a one-off occurance as Los Angeles doesn't hold the weight of New York.

After several phone conversations, they agreed to an in-person showing, but not until after the holidays. So here she is, in Cardiff, three months into the New Year, having taken the train in from London after an early morning work appointment there.

Upon arrival, she was whisked away to an unexpectedly late lunch with the assistant director, the director, and several key museum administrators. Which was fine overall, but she'd liked to have known earlier, so she could have prepared on the train. She was given a tour of their modern and contemporary wings afterward, then paraded around the inner workings of their offices.

The staff all had stars in their eyes when greeted by the assistant director. He was a relatively new hire, earnest and knowledgeable, but straight out of a PHD program. She saw right through the tours; they were meant to impress her, to compensate for his lack of real-world experience. She acted impressed, so this sale could finally be over.

He instantly took a shine to her, which, honestly, happened way too often. If she had a dollar for every dude that came on to her, she'd buy a nice bottle of whiskey to drown them out. But part of the business was finding an "in" with clients, so she didn't read too much into it. She'd let it run its course to get what she came for but keep her distance. But then the invitation to tonight's museum fundraiser threw her for a loop.

Did he think she was interested in him, for real? He was handsome enough, but just a kid, so maybe he didn't know the rules yet. She'd invested so much time negotiating; it'd be a shame to lose the acquisition now. So she agreed to his plus one but left early and sent all the right signals. After Luiza, she treated everyone with due diligence, right from day one.

She swirls her scotch in her tumbler then swallows a generous swig. Thoughts of Luiza are still fraught with guilt. Last fall was a hell of a rollercoaster ride.

Luiza's advances marked the expiration of Myka's scorned lover schtick as if the headcanon she'd so careful parked in was towed away overnight. By morning, the entire block was filled with cast trailers and a film crew. The only clue to where she was moved was a flimsy list pinned to a pole. When she found her new location, the surrounding neighborhood was unrecognizable. Familiarizing herself with the new landscape took time.

“I was chapado. We both were," Luiza had pleaded, and added, in her defense, that her friends had egged her on. She was disappointed Myka didn't feel the same way she did, but admitted her follow-through could have been better. And if Myka'd found someone she cared for…well, good for her. She hoped they could still be friends.

Myka couldn't decide, in her bleary, hungover state, if Luiza was sorry or faking it. In fact, she'd hoped Luiza would be gone, too embarrassed to face her actions. But there she was, being an adult, or, desperately hanging on to her mark. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" was all she could think of, so she agreed to keep Luiza around.

Luiza stayed one more night before taking off for a two-month residency, because what more could she glean from her, anyway? Myka played the friend she was before but was on pins and needles the entire time. The minute Luiza left town, she found a payphone and called the number Morgana gave her. She arranged for a meeting as soon as physically possible.

It became clear, once she met the woman, it wouldn't have been a stretch to fake-date her. Morgana clearly knew how to twist reality efficiently. But now, much to her horror, the woman said she should follow the Abigail angle. In the meantime, she'd get in touch with Morgana and arrange for a sweep of her apartment. Morgana would look into Luiza's intentions as well.

A light, blinking rapidly, draws her out of her thoughts, its origin, a vessel built for pleasure rather than commerce. The sight of revelers on the deck sends a shiver up her spine; it must be colder on the water than on the dock. Then again, they're probably immune to the chilly weather if alcohol is powering their party. She downs the last of her drink, and as it burns down her throat, signals for another.

Is it a holiday here? She'd heard something about a St. David's day, but she's not sure that's today. Holidays aren't her favorite thing lately as her last few holidays sucked.

Thanksgiving was awful, to say the least. Abigail came to visit, but Luiza did too, as she'd insisted on meeting Abigail in the flesh. How could she say no without raising suspicions? She had no choice but to acquiesce.

With no word from Morgana, she'd become increasingly paranoid, merely a vessel following a strict set of rules. She cursed Helena for disappearing, leaving her pining away, worried sick, upping the stakes so high she had to abandon all autonomy. But then again, if Helena hadn't intervened, she'd probably be incarcerated, her career ruined for good. Her whole world was collapsing in on her, her agency stripped of meaning. How did Morgana do this every day without it crushing her soul?

But Thanksgiving, wow, that was a trial by fire. Both Luiza and Abigail took her aside, acknowledging what a hard day it was for her considering the events of last year. As the day progressed, Luiza pushed her towards Abigail while Abigail pushed her towards Luiza. She ran out for more wine to get a breather, her apartment too small to contain their competing personalities.

But the real slog came after Luiza left LA when she had to broach the subject of a fake relationship with Abigail. She needed somewhere they wouldn't be overheard, so she suggested going on a hike. She picked Mount Hollywood as it was easy to get to and packed with tourists. Rather ironically, when they arrived, it was partially closed due to a movie shoot.

"I need to tell you something," Myka said, pressing against the fence, scanning the vast valley radiating out from Dante's View. "Luiza's spying on me."

Abigail's laugh, nearly a bark, came out so loud, the couple next to them moved farther away. "If you don't want to date her, that's fine, but Myka, really."

"I'm not sure who she's working for, but it's someone looking for Helena."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"She's your friend!"

"I'm not so sure." Myka looked around, too many people milling about snapping photos. "Let's walk and talk, and I'll explain. And, I, um...I have a huge favor to ask."

She'd flip-flopped over how to handle this, but decided on a modified version of the truth. She sweated bullets laying out her evidence, then introducing the fake relationship idea. She needed an alibi until she figured out what was going on and asked Abigail if she'd be willing to help. Abigail listened carefully, prodding for details like only a therapist would then went silent as they circled back toward the observatory.

"I think she's only information gathering, but still, I'm kinda scared," Myka said.

"I'm speechless," Abigail said. "I can't believe you're still cleaning up Helena's mess."

"It's my fault. I should have figured this out earlier."

"Why? You're just living your life."

"But, I was part of that mess."

"Not on purpose."

“True.” False

"On the off chance you're right, I'll play along. But we better lay out some ground rules, or this could get ugly." Abigail slipped an arm through Myka's as they walked back to the bus stop. They laughed out loud as they plotted out a plan.

Claudia, in the meantime, dug as deep as she could. From her end, Luiza was clean. But Myka kept her guard up; with zero word from Morgana, something was not quite right. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she would, eventually.

Christmas came and went without a word from Helena. She checked her phone obsessively while at her parents, but no call came.

But then a miracle happened. At the gate for her flight to visit Claudia and Abigail for New Year's, someone sat next to her and bent down, fiddling with their bag.

"Excuse me," a woman's voice asked as she sat back up. She held out a piece of paper. "Is this yours?"

"I don't …oh!" Myka replied, recognizing the woman. She took the slip of paper and read it over its contents. It was a receipt with a number scribbled in the margin.

"For next time," Morgana said, telescoping her luggage handle out as she stood. "And for the record, you have an admirer, nothing more."

"Really? That's—"

The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing boarding for Group A.

"After takeoff, check your bag, but not a moment before." Morgana's smile was the kind a stranger might give you at the airport. But Myka saw a genuine smile hidden underneath. It was oddly reassuring.

"Happy New Year," Morgana said, and then walked off, promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Group C was called eminently, and Myka boarded the plane. As she settled into her seat, she peeked into her bag; nestled next to her laptop was an envelope that previously wasn't present. Probably information about Luiza to ease her mind, or so she hoped, as her mind needed easing. Luiza having genuine feelings for her, and not being a spy was hard to grasp. She was under so much pressure, she had to judge her harshly, right? And with Abigail, how was she going to explain that Luiza was no longer a threat? The guilt bearing down on her was making her queasy.

The minute the seatbelt sign went off, she fished the envelope out of her bag. She opened it carefully and slid out a card. A Christmas card, to be exact, one adorned with a half-wreath of various evergreens and "Merry Christmas" spelled out in Celtic Languages: Breton, Cornish, Irish, Manx, Scottish, and Welsh.

"Wishing you the happiest of Christmases and best of luck in the New Year," the flowing, handwritten script read upon opening. "All the best to your family and friends. We've been hoping for snow so we may go sledding, but thus far, a White Christmas eludes us. We wish you were here to celebrate. Sending all our love."

Then printed below, "What's green, covered in tinsel and goes 'ribbit ribbit'?" Blocky letters were accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a frog on a lily pad, the word "ribbit" projecting from its mouth, with tinsel and mistletoe added in the appropriate colors. She turned the card over for the answer, and there in sparkly red and green bubble letters read, "A Mistle-toad!"

A Christmas cracker joke, she was sure of it. The card wasn’t signed, but it had to be from Helena and Christina. Her hands trembled as she read their messages over and over—

"So sorry to disturb, Ms. Bering, but this came for you earlier at the front desk." The bartender slides a manila envelope toward her.

"Thanks." She turns it over, looking for signs of who it was from. Hopefully, not one last attempt by the assistant director to woo her. She finishes her drink as she reads over the papers. It looks like she's staying on to check out a potential purchase.

She's been rerouted like this before to view items in people's homes, even more since a man in New York found a Schiele in a thrift store. While it's rarely lead to anything exceptional, the thrill of the chase is ever-present. She skims over the info as she walks toward her room.

"Ang-har-ad," she mouths out loud as the name's unfamiliar to her. She hunkers down in a comfy chair and types it into a search engine. Several Angharad Llewellyns pop up, but the one she's visiting isn't listed. She checks the pronunciation, Ang-HAH-rad or Ann-HARAD. Not that different than how it's spelled, in the land where W's can be vowels.

The town she's visiting is only an hour north of Cardiff, but the landscape changes radically. She knows this for a fact because after receiving Helena's card, she became obsessed with the area. Thoughts of snow led her to remember a quip Helena threw out once about "stealing off to the Black Mountains" with Christina. At the time, she thought it was a joke, but every quip was a clue in hindsight.

"The Black Mountains have the feel of a landscape only partially tamed by human habitation," one guidebook said. "Tiny villages, isolated churches, and enchanting lanes are folded into an undulating green landscape." But not as isolated as Guernsey or the Hebrides. The more she researched, the more likely they seemed.

First off, there was a sprawling food festival in Abergavenny, which from their site, was very much up Christina's alley. Plus a huge music festival in the heart of the mountains that Helena would certainly want to attend. And although she doesn't see Christina as a nature girl, she'd want to summit a mountain nicknamed "The Cat's Back." Plus Cardiff and Bristol were only a day trip way. Tiny villages maybe, but with vibrant life surrounding them.

She and Claudia scoured social media, hoping to find Helena and Christina unknowingly caught in someone's event photos. And if they had gone sledding, maybe there was a glimpse of them in the background of someone's videos. Plus Christina had to be in a school trip picture somewhere; now they could narrow their search. Helena and Christina couldn't be entirely invisible; she and Claudia just had to think out of the box.

----------

If her travel wasn't prearranged, she'd have taken a route north through Pontypridd, but her train takes her north-east through the aging steel town of Newport. It then snakes mildly north-west following a deep, sloping valley, past towns full of undulating brick row houses, into increasingly rising hills. She disembarks at Ebbw Vale Town where a cab is waiting for her. The row houses vanish the second the road enters Brecon Beacons Park where a vista of verdant but barren green hills fills her view. As they drive ever higher, fluffy sheep stare out from the side of the road. All of her research suddenly comes to life.

It feels as if she was lost in an alien landscape when houses begin to appear again. Clumps of trees dot the land, itself marked off in squares, the telltale signs of farms crisscrossing the hills. The driver turns sharply, then sharply again, and the road becomes buried in trenches of hedgerows. It's frustrating to be blinded, but they slow and stop at a junction where a sign points toward towns like Bwlch, Aberhonddu, and Crughywel. There's even a small sign advertising the inn where she's staying. Minutes later, they're there, though "there" isn't near much of anything. The road barely fits two lanes and is filled with residential houses.

The cabbie carries her suitcase in and exchanges few words with a flannel-clad, grey-haired woman behind the bar. The Welsh language is an unfamiliar sound, but from their tone, they seem friendly. He tips his hat to her as he makes his way back to his car.

"Welcome to the Red Lion! You must be our last minute booking," the woman says, tapping and scrolling on a tablet computer. "My-ka Bering?"

"Myka. Yes."

"Three nights is it?"

"I guess? I didn't make the reservation." Work must really want this item, as its usually only one or two.

"Not here for the mountain walks, are you, love?"

Myka glances at her low heels; they wouldn't make it far on a hiking trail. Nor would the formal clothes she's wearing. The look on the woman's face says she's thinking the same thing. "I'm meeting a client at Harry's Garage. How can I get there from here?"

"Harry know you're coming?" The woman asks, her tone suddenly wary.

"I think so? I just got rerouted from Cardiff."

"That accent Canadian?"

"No, American."

"Ah, American." The woman smiles. "Harry's just down the road, past the church, round the corner to your left. Could walk it in a flash, but in those shoes, I'd stick to the road. Been raining cyllyll a ffyrcs, mud's nearly drowning us all."

"Um…ok?" Whatever that meant, she's definitely not dressed right for this excursion.

"Might want to be off before the next gale blows through. Leave your bag. I'll drop it in your room."

"Thanks." Myka takes her key and slips it into her jacket pocket then grabs her tote with the envelope. "Which way's the church?"

"Right on your way out, then left at the phone box."

Myka exits the inn and stands amongst the picnic benches, gaining her bearings in the pub garden. A light, misty drizzle falls, not hard enough to warrant an umbrella, but dampening none the less. It must be ever-present in this part of the world. The locals probably barely notice it.

She sets off to the right, past several houses, the older ones situated at odd angles to the road. The church appears soon after, sporting a weather-worn graveyard as picturesque as they come. It reminds her of a passage from a Henry James book on travel, one she bought for a quarter at a library sale.

"The church I speak of was a beautiful specimen of it's kind—intensely aged, variously patched, but still solid and useful, with no touch of restoration," he wrote. "I say the roads were empty, but they were peopled with the big primroses I just now spoke of—primroses of the size of ripe apples and yet, in spite of their rank growth, of as pale and tender a yellow as if their gold had been diluted by silver."

The flowers blooming here could very well be primroses. She strays from the road toward a monument to take a closer look. But the minute she steps off the path, her shoe sinks into the ground. "Stick to the road," she mutters as she yanks her shoe out and tries to shake off the wet residue.

She continues on, passing even more houses and takes a left at a fork, where a red phone box is standing guard. A long, stone wall fills one side of the road, but as it comes to an end, a fading sign advertising Harry's Garage hangs from a pole. An arrow points toward a driveway, which she follows to a matching stone building. A bell dings as she enters a dim, window lit room where a man, probably in his sixties, sits at a wooden counter. He's surrounded by paperwork, some clipped together, others lying loose and is completely absorbed in a newspaper.

"More Brexit nonsense," he mumbles, not looking up from the page.

"Pardon me?"

"Say the Prime Minister's meant to visit the Vale of Glamorgan. She can shove right off," he grunts, folding his paper and setting it aside. "What can I do for you, love?"

"I'm here to see Angharad Llewellyn." She stresses the middle syllable as she learned online.

"Come to see Harry, then?" he asks.

"If Angharad is Harry, then yes?" Woman garage owner? In the middle of nowhere? This should be interesting.

"She expecting you?"

"I think so? My job made the appointment. I have these papers." Myka digs around in her bag and pulls out the envelope.

"What's that accent, love?"

"American."

"Ah, American. Yes." He nods to himself as if ticking off a choice on a list in his head.

"Harry's round back, but keep to the wall. Those shoes won't survive the muck." He looks down at her shoes then points with his thumb to a corridor behind him.

"Thank you," Myka says and walks behind him, into the corridor. It leads to a door, which she opens tentatively, then steps out onto a concrete landing. It overlooks a muddy lot littered with partially dismantled cars, tractors, and motorcycles, with a shed towards the back with an overhang. In front sits a vehicle with its hood propped open. She makes her way along the wall as instructed, but even then, her heels sink into the earth.

As she approaches the aging Land Rover, she sees a slight figure bent over the motor, dressed in brown coveralls, the peak of a fluorescent orange hat visible over the chassis. To gain solid footing, she steps up onto the concrete. She's now behind the woman, but the woman seems unaware of her approaching. She moves closer; the woman's perched on a wooden crate sunk into the mud, yanking something out from deep within the engine. She contemplates waiting until she's done, but doesn't know how long that might be. Plus, she doesn't want to scare her when she turns around.

"Angharad?" Myka says. She waits a few moments but gets no response.

"Angharad," she repeats, louder, more directional. There's the sound of a ratchet in action, but no other movement otherwise.

"Harry?" she tries, stepping closer this time. The woman seems to sink further into the car.

"Harry!" she yells, stepping forward, but looses her footing, toppling off the patio and into the mud. She grabs hold of the thing closest to her, which happens to be Harry's coveralls. Harry's head shoots up, and with a thud, the hood's knocked off of its support.

"Bollocks!" Harry cries as the hood clamps down on her, the car nearly swallowing her whole. Myka swiftly lifts the hood back up and reseats it on its pole. She helps Harry slide out of the engine cavity settle onto the crate again.

"I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"

With arm gripping her midriff, Harry leans forward over the engine, breathing heavily as if catching her breath.

"I called your name, but you didn't hear me," Myka says. She tries to move back to the concrete, but her foot is now stuck in the mud. "I didn't want to scare you."

"You failed," Harry grumbles, popping a set of earbuds out of her ears, gasping as their eyes meet. Myka's hand flies up to her chest, and she topples backward, her stuck shoe twisting as she grabs at the car chassis to stay standing. Helena flies off the crate, jumping behind her, her strong arms circling Myka's waist. She pushes her upright, her entire body pressing against Myka's, heart beating so wildly it's as if it's pumping directly into Myka's veins.

-TBC-

NOTE: cyllyll a ffyrcs = knives ansd forks, a Welsh idiom like raining cats and dogs. An even better one is "hen wragedd a ffyn" - old ladies and sticks.