#as someone who has written in their psych notes ‘afraid of men’ I GET IT

[fluffydice]

There’s a joke about Kusuo’s daddy issues and kubosai that I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make. It’s not even the low-hanging fruit of just saying “haha kubo daddy” it’s more “haha Kusuo can’t handle affection from a guy who takes care of him and protects him”

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Well Wishings

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 6 | Chapter 7 - Well Wishings | Chap 8 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - angst, kidnapping, strife, minor reference to blood and death

Author’s note: I had such a writer’s block on this chapter. The first two scenes took like..two days?😅And then, to make it even worse, I still felt like it was terribly bad, making myself completely rewrite the whole thing a few days later. Not super interesting to you readers, but to all fellow writers; you probably know the struggle. So here we are, finally, after endless cups of tea and me staring at my Drive docs; the next chapter! 

Word count: 5.450

Reading music: Ólafur Arnalds - Woven Song

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

The wind wailed and howled - like his heart. Cold, bitter and alone, the man sank through his knees, his callous fingers brushing with sorrowful tenderness over a headstone. The inscription had nearly vanished beneath a thick layer of moss, but the memory remained. 

It had been long years since he put this stone in place, but the pain would never relinquish. Would never pass. Like a deep scar that ran across his soul, the old man was living through his old days - unlike her -, his heavy heart even more sorrowful today as the realisation hit that he was truly alone now. Just like she had predicted.

‘I’m sorry.’ He shivered, bottom lip trembling as a tear rolled down his wrinkly cheek. ‘I’m so sorry darling.’ And with that the burdened tears started to cascade, shoulders shaking as the truth settled in; another stone needed to be made. Another young soul had danced with death too soon.

Gone was his wife. Gone was his daughter. Gone was his will to get up, old man Arthur just sitting there in defeat as the evening cold started to lick through his raggedy clothes.

Winter was coming, and with it, it brought death. 

And in his despair, it was all he could wish for now. 

--

*Tic - toc - tic - toc*

The grandmaster clock snoozed quietly in the half-dark, a pale moon light seeping through the windows as slow minutes passed by.

*Tic - toc - tic - toc*

It had been hours since the Master left, the library feeling eerily cold despite the fire that was warming the safe haven of written paper and its enchanted inhabitants. Cups, quills, chairs and that large imposing clock, they all had fallen into a slumber some time ago, the company asleep except for one. One woman, Belle, her eyes staring blankly at the flames as they licked and danced on charred logs, her fingers grasping around the handle of a small knife she had snuck in the pockets of her skirts after dinner had finished.

With unblinking browns she watched the fire ever so slowly die out, time passing by lick by lick, the dying fire soon to also drift into a slumber. Wildly, her thoughts scratched at her skull, her limbs heavy with worry.

Was the Master to be trusted? Would he indeed contact her father? Belle didn’t feel so sure and was preparing herself for the worst; whatever that may be. Death? 

The Master wouldn’t be the first to disappoint her. Life was like that. Decent men were deceiving men. And it couldn’t be denied that he was indeed rather peculiar; he hadn’t eaten dinner like she had, his eyes instead just watching the roaring flames, his ears peeking in quiet interest as he listened to his enchanted staff playing tunes. For many hours he and Belle had just sat there, silently, the fire cracking and the music playing.

Comfortably numb.

Belle couldn’t help but wonder: did it perhaps have something to do with those fangs of his? Could he not eat like humans do? Or was he perhaps just waiting until he was hungry enough to eat her in one go?

Either way. She wasn’t planning on finding out: she had to leave.

Sitting here, she tried to work out what escape strategies she could sum. Alone, she would most definitely not make it. That much was clear. Her ankle was still tender and the Master’s strength and wit was obviously far greater than hers. With a pensive look on her face, Belle sat in the Master’s large reading chair, the old leather warm and smooth beneath her fingertips as she pushed herself up, knife hidden back in one pocket and the book he had gifted her in the other.

The book.

Reaching down to feel the soft lambskin cover of the pristine copy of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, Belle wondered; could she outsmart him? Could she? And..even worse of a thought to have; did she..want to?

Turning towards the large windows that rose up high behind her, she saw the clouded night sky outside, trees weeping in the late autumn wind, bringing with it a sneering cold and a few drops of rain. Winter was coming, and with it would come even more hunger, more despair; it was very unlikely that the village’s stocks had been properly refilled after the long summer drought.

It would be a harsh winter.

Did she want that hunger? The scornful looks of the villagers as she returned from a strange disappearance? Did she want that thin bed of hay to sleep in? Another ragged dress, the fabric too thin to keep out the biting cold? She shivered at the thought that she was, in fact, caught in a cage of gold. Like Psyche had been in her marriage to her monsterly husband.

Would Cupid come to save her like he had Psyche?

--

Hood drawn and eyes watchful, the Master moved silently through the thicket of the pine forest, the hut of Arthur and Belle not far from here as the tree line thinned.

The weather was restless, winds howling and rain drops falling like tiny needles onto his pure skin - not that he could feel the cold, not for centuries now. Although today, for the first time in those long centuries, he could almost argue he had felt something. With Belle, in his library. 

Perhaps it had just been a trick of his mind. He had not seen any person in years. And perhaps it had been real. The slight flutter in his cold heart. The slight rise of heat on his porcelain skin. 

He could swear he had felt something.

Licking his lips he reached the final line of trees, in his vision a light that was warming the small cottage from within. Arthur was still awake.

Alright. He had to do this.

But, being seen might not be a good idea. Not yet. He preferred to reveal himself on his own terrain, safely hidden away from the scorching eyes of the villagers. He had to remain safely hidden away from those who would act foolish - like trying to kill him or such thing. It would all only become a greater mess.

And so the Master slipped the letter underneath the cottage door, his knuckles rapping quickly on the rough wood. *1-2-eh-3*, before his feet swiftly carried him back to the safety of his prickly lair. The trees his hide-away and their branches his evergreen friends.

Meanwhile, behind the door, one tired-to-the-bone Arthur rubbed his eyes, thinking he had imagined the sound of knocking on his door at this late hour. With a side-eye he watched the heavy wood, before noticing a white blur just beneath it. A letter?

Quickly pushing himself up with cracking knees and groaning lips, he moved to pick up the piece of paper, his curiosity peaked as he pushed open the door to find nobody there in the dusk of night.

Strange.  

Folding open the pristine parchment he saw a neatly written note, his eyes trying to decipher the careful handwriting, but failing as his meagre education left him stranded; he was close to illiterate. And near blind at that. With a shivered sigh he carefully folded the letter away in his pocket, his mind now set to fetch help, find someone who could read the letter for him. 

Was this to do with Belle? Was she still alive? Sweet Belle?! Oh please! Oh..he had to make haste!

--

‘Hmm..’ Ismael licked his lips, the juice of succulent meat dripping down his chin as he reached for a napkin, dabbing it off. With an unreadable expression his eyes flew over the delicate handwriting, Arthur standing a few feet away, eyes desperate to pick up any sign of good news.

Where the villagers were living on meagre portions, the Les Comtes ate like kings, the table well dressed with meats, fresh vegetables and fatty gravy. Cups of velvety red wine were served for the whole family, their well-dressed smiles conversing softly as they all sat, ears half-listening to the curious situation at the far end of the table.

Arthur couldn’t care for it. Not for the injustice that he quietly felt in his empty stomach. Not for the whispered gossip. All he cared for was Belle.

‘I’m afraid she’s in grave danger, Arthur.’ Ismael finally looked up, Arthur’s face melting in utter despair. ‘B-but she’s alive then?! Do tell me she’s alive!’

‘For now.’ Ismael placed his serviette down and gestured to a servant to refill his cup, his eyes studying the trembling old man that stood before him. ‘Tis the monster.’

Quiet gasps filled the long table, other family members shooting up confused looks, conversation dying down as Ismael’s father scoffed a silent; ‘I knew it.’

Arthur was close to tears by this point, his eyes flitting back towards the paper that Ismael held in his hand, the young master shrugging as he continued; ‘Let us walk, Arthur.’ And with that he pushed himself off his chair, his large hand pushing Arthur into the direction of a long hallway as his other hand angled the freshly filled cup of wine from the table. With slow strides he preceded Arthur, his voice buzzing on the echoing stone as he explained the contents of the letter.

‘You see, it appears he has captured her and is willing to set her free..in return for..’ He looked down Arthur’s shaggy clothes. ‘..a great sum of money.’

‘What?!’ Arthur gasped.

‘Tis unfortunate, Arthur.’ He pushed open a door, leading to a spacious study with a fire already cracking. ‘But your luck may just be on your side as you have brought this news here, first.’ Ismael gestured the old man to step inside, a careful hand closing the door behind him.

Arthur swallowed as he watched Ismael walk past him, the young master’s hand laying the monster’s letter on a near-empty desk, his brows furrowed. ‘Now Arthur. I can think this long and hard, but in fairness..none of us would want Belle harmed, now, do we?’ 

Arthur quietly agreed as Ismael took a sip of his wine. 

Ismael licked his lips. 

‘Therefor I have a proposal. One that would solve your predicament, Belle’s..and mine.’ His lip quirked in a smile as he tapped on the letter. ‘We shall meet the beast at first light, in the forest. I shall take my best men and we shall rid of him with an ambush. ‘Tis time we get rid of him once and for all.’

‘Oh that’s wonderf-’  - ‘BUT. I do expect payment in return, Arthur..And..well..since you have little means of fortune on that aspect.’ His eyes lowered to Arthur’s shaggy clothes. ‘..I’ll accept your daughter’s hand in marriage instead.’

Arthur blinked, his face rippling with shock, bafflement and confusion. Marry his Belle? But then again, what other option did he have? The villagers wouldn’t dare go into the forest. It was indeed a heroic deed of the Le Comte to offer such a thing. Besides, they’d be rid of that darned beast at long last. And Ismael was well to do, meaning Belle would be taken care of, even though it was clear her heart didn’t sing for the man.

‘V-very well.’ Arthur nodded.

One moment he lost Belle to a monster. The next he lost her to the young lord. It seemed to be the lesser evil to chose the young lord. 

‘Good. That’s settled. We’ll pick you up at dawn, Arthur. Now go and rest, ‘twill be quite a day tomorrow indeed!’

--

‘What is it?’ Belle asked, still shook from the way the Master had given her a lightning speed fast piggy back ride to the abandoned well. It was as she thought; he was a monster indeed! He did not just have fangs. No. He was also  beyond strong..and frighteningly fast.

Would she be able to escape him at all?

‘Sshh.’ He hushed, blue eyes squinting as he looked through the misty morning ferns, eyes pricking at sounds that Belle couldn’t hear. Then his brow furrowed, his face washing over with displeasure as he turned back towards Belle, the pretty brunette staring at him with a mild panic in her eyes.

Was the deal off?

And then his eyes drifted down her body, resting for a moment on the top of her skirts, her feet shifting uneasily as her stomach fluttered from his unapologetic, steely gaze, eyes seemingly boring straight into her core.

But it wasn’t erotic. Not for him. Not this instant.

The Master had picked up on her every movement in the library yesterday. He knew she held a knife there, hidden in her pockets. And he hoped she wouldn’t use it. Wouldn’t HAVE to use it. And for that reason he was contemplating whether it was wise to do what he was to do next; lay a spell on her. He didn’t truly want to. He wished he could explain the situation, make her follow on her own free will. But there was no time.

Not now.

His eyes shot back at her unsure gaze, deep brown doe eyes looking at him with question. ‘I’m so sorry, Belle.’ He whispered, stepping closer and gripping both hands around her head, the immediate panic rising in Belle’s heart, his beastly fingers digging harshly in her skin as she tried to squirm away from him, to escape.

‘No..no. Please.’ She whimpered softly. ‘Please. Let me go.’

‘Belle....I will never hurt you, Belle.’ - ‘NO please. Ahh..!’ Belle’s eyes started to glisten as her hands gripped around his unmoving wrists, his strength so great that she didn’t stand a chance against him. Strong and built like a mountain, no scratch or claw could move this man. ‘Please..’ She muled.

‘I would never..hurt..you.’ The monstrous man whispered tersely, seemingly upset as well, his eyes flickering with equal despair but his hands unmoving.

Was this how she’d die?

Looking in bewilderment, feet trying to kick his legs away - and failing - she noticed his lips move, a nearly inaudible speech falling from his lips, his fangs shining between them, sending Belle in a horrid overdrive to escape.

Tempus texunt; tu dormies. Loquor, vos expectare. Curro, non abscondam. Ego ambulo, non stabit.

(Time weaves; you sleep. I speak, you wait. I run, you hide. I walk, you stand.)

And just like that...Belle’s body calmed, her long lashes blinking as she let go of his wrists, her tearing eyes drying as he unweft his fingers from her hair, her brown locks disheveled by the struggle they just had. Like in trance she watched him, his eyes still sorrowful, but calmer as he turned on his heel.

With purposeful strides he walked off through the bushes; out into the opening where the old well was situated, the crack of a dead branch alarming that someone else was present here, too.

It was time.

--

Arthur’s heart was beating like a war drum, his ears buzzing to the point he was fearing he’d pass out before they’d even reach the old well. Before him walked the great Ismael, a torch in his hand as the warm flames licked at the morning dew, their synchronous feet stepping over old fallen branches as the dark forest slowly swallowed them deeper and deeper into its ominous embrace.

It was a mild relief to know that there were more men, circling from the dark of shrubbery, their watchful eyes awaiting the arrival of the monster, ready to take him by surprise on his own terrain.

The forest was quiet, too quiet, no birds singing their song and no squirrels squabbling about their nuts. The lack of sound added onto the haunted feeling of this gloomy forest, Arthur’s neckhair rising at the thought of being watched by more than just Ismael’s men.

He was here, somewhere.

The monster.

And with him he held Belle, his sweet daughter, her life dangling by a silken thread as those beastly claws were probably digging more bloody trails in her delicate skin. How else had her dress become so evilly torn? So bloody? Oh, poor Belle!

With large, terrified eyes the old man followed Ismael into the beast’s domain, his old knees about to buckle as the old well now came into view, the grubby stone overgrown with moss and a tiny trickle of sunlight managing to wash through the thick branches above.

Ismael halted amidst the ferns and gestured Arthur to proceed, handing him the torch. ‘I’ll hide here. Remember the plan Arthur. Don’t let him know we are here.’

And then Arthur was truly alone.

Again.

Perhaps, if things ran their course, God would be merciful, and take him and Belle without pain. Had they not suffered enough? Wasn’t it a good time to join his wife..her mother? Had he even been good enough a man to be welcomed through the heavenly gates?

In Arthur’s mind death seemed to be the only, truly viable solution in this situation. But first, perhaps, just maybe, this plan of Ismael would come to fruition. Perhaps things would look up for once.

The ferns before him shifted, the earth and leaves cracking beneath heavy feet, drawing with it Arthur’s trembling attention. 

At first all Arthur could see was the movement of the large green fern leaves, his torch held up before him, as if it were his weapon - his real weapon, a hunting knife, hidden beneath his shirt.

‘S-show yourself!’ Arthur said, his voice cracking awkwardly with panic.

And then a large shadow appeared from the foliage. Broad and impressive stood before him the silhouette of a man the size of a mountain, his dark voice booming through the quiet forest air; ‘Arthur.’

Arthur slinked to an even smaller size, blinking eyes watching as all his flickering torch could catch was the glisten of two eyes, burning eyes..evil eyes. Quite instantaneously he forgot all the words he should be saying, all the things he should be doing. Frozen in place, worn boots nailed to the ground, he watched as the large shadow slowly entered the small forest lair, joining him on the bed of moss and leaves, the light of Arthur’s torch now revealing that it was no beast indeed..but a man.

A man?

‘WHO MAY THEE BE?!’ Ismael jumped in, lips turned in a dismayed snarl as he scowled at the stranger before him.

‘Your conscience, good lord.’ The Master retorted, glimmering blue eyes staring daringly at Ismael, the young lord infuriated by the lack of propriety on the strange man’s end. Would he not introduce himself like the gentleman he appeared to be? Strange clothes he wore indeed, the fashion and cut belonging to a generation that was no younger than his late great-grandfather. 

Had he found those clothes somewhere? 

Who was this man?

‘Tell me thy name!’ Ismael barked, pulling out his sword and pushing it dangerously close to the stranger’s neck. The stranger, however, didn’t flinch, his ocean blue eyes watching in unblinking curiosity, head tilting like that of a dog as he looked Ismael straight in the eye. 

‘SPEAK!’ Ismael continued, sword probing so close now that the tip touched the top of the stranger’s high-necked blouse. 

‘You must be Ismael.’ The stranger finally spoke, his voice deep and smooth like honey on dewy lips. 

‘SPEAAKKK!!’ Ismael raised his sword, the silvery point nipping the man’s neck just above his collar, slow blood pooling where the metal was being pressed further and further into delicate flesh. 

But no response. 

All the stranger did, was smile, his eyes growing colder now as he watched Ismael lose control of the situation, sword pushing harsher and harsher into the pale skin of his neck. 

Did he not feel pain?! 

Ismael swallowed, his eyes flitting down to the blooming blood, bright red slipping down his well-oiled sword, his own cold blood starting to boil with agitation.

‘RED..!’ Ismael howled, the whole forest seemingly shifting as a great many feet cracked on twigs and bark, heavy soles making way towards the small lair. 

And again the stranger didn’t seem impressed, his eyes not once leaving Ismael as his smile grew and grew. 

‘Do THEY know what price is to be paid..?’ The stranger spoke, eyebrow quirking up as he finally looked at a flabbergasted Arthur, his attention still not caring for the six other heavily armed men that were appearing from the greenery. 

Arthur’s eyes shot in terror between Ismael and the man, his tongue not managing to bring forth words as all he could do was gulp and shiver. 

‘It were to be simple, Arthur.’ The monstrous man sighed, Ismael’s sword still pressed evilly into his skin. ‘And promises I am to keep. I came unarmed. You, however, have not quite managed to hold up your end of the bargain; for silver blinks in my eyes and blood spills upon it.’ 

With a cold stare he looked back at Ismael before continuing; ‘I asked for naught. Just the cover of dusk and no evil eyes. Was that too much..Arthur?’ 

‘W-what?’ Arthur finally croaked. ‘No..no sum of ex-ex-exchange?’ 

The Master narrowed his eyes at Arthur, confused. A response that made it clear that one person here had spoken falsely. The old man looked back at Ismael, whose complexion started to become even more terse, cheeks draining white. It didn’t take a genius to decipher what had happened. He had lied. The old man started to shake his head, fear making place for disbelief as Ismael huffed. 

‘He lies, Arthur! Do you not see! Look at him!’ 

‘Lies? I..I..I trusted you milord. My..B-Belle..’ Arthur stammered, Ismael’s henchman now joining in as some three swords were now suddenly aimed at Arthur, the old man shivering with more than just fear; he was furious! How could he have been fooled like that?! They were to assist in saving Belle, not threaten him. And Ismael had promised he had spoken truthfully about the letter’s content. The doubts in Arthur’s belly had been proven right yet again; Ismael was not to be trusted. He had lied. And how! 

Was it just to get Belle? 

Rage boiled in his fatherly blood, fingers daring to push away the wicked blades that pointed close to his chest and chin. 

But before Arthur could do a thing of stupidity, the air shifted around him, a wind dancing as the strange monster man seemed to vanish in thin air, the cries of falling men around him indicating that a miracle had befallen. Looking around in shock and awe, he saw the three man near him disarmed, their eyes wide with shock as they looked for their swords that had disappeared without a trace, feet scrambling back up from the forest floor.  

After another crying second, the monstrous man walked out from the other side of the lair, the other three men now disarmed as well, his steely gaze luring back at Ismael, who was now backing up towards Arthur, his sword held high to either fend off that stranger or the old man. 

It was then, with yet another blink of the eye, that Ismael stood behind Arthur. 

What was this sorcery? Arthur thought, blinking with confusion. Was he losing his sanity or had Ismael just about teleported behind him? A thought that wasn’t worth investing in as he now too felt the cold of steel of Ismael’s sword against his stubbly neck. 

‘A great price to pay indeed.’ Ismael growled lowly.  

The strange man lowered his chin, eyes casting a flaming gaze, foreboding no good as his lips curled up. For a moment Arthur forgot about the steel that was licking his neck, a new terror running up his spine. 

Shiny and fearsome, two large fangs appeared from behind those snarling lips. 

A VAMPIRE. 

What followed next was but a blur. 

Suddenly Arthur found himself on the ground, the sword and Ismael gone as the ground trembled and the air shrieked. Arthur tried to scramble up, but his old bones and rapid beating heart were making it near impossible to move, his hand having to clutch for his chest as all he could feel was its heavy thumping, little stains of black starting to dance before his eyes. 

He was too old for this. 

--

‘Belle?! OH BELLE!!’ Arthur jumped off his trusty steed’s back, feet hitting the ground running as he picked up the blur of blue that came from the forest edge, her eyes blinking in confusion as she was caught in his crushing embrace.

‘Papa..’ She gulped, confused arms returning the warm hug of her father - was he not mad at her for running off?

‘Are you alright? OH! I was so worried..and..’ He leaned back to take her in, not a hair out of place as her mouth fell open in silent confusion, watching as his eyes started to glitter with tears.

‘Oh papa...Gods..I am so sorry..I..’

‘No no..oh..you are safe.’ He squeezed her into his embrace again, scruffy hair tickling her glowing skin. ‘I feared you had been...that you..’ He watched the forest behind her, evil branches sticking out prickly and dark.

‘No papa. Nothing happened. I’m safe. In fact it was nice..I read to the animals and..’ Arthur refused to hear;

‘NO! Speak no lies Belle. You must promise me; never shall you return there!’

‘But papa...I lie not! Here, you must see, you must-’ She tried to drag him back into the tree line, but his heels dug heavily into the dirt, head shaking no.

‘Don’t be daft, Belle!’ He pulled back, hand linking around her tender wrist and gesturing towards their cottage. ‘Now, no more silliness and let us go home.’ He spoke, leaving a hesitant Belle in his wake as she casted one more look over her shoulder, the forest critters watching in curiosity as she was dragged away by her father.

Back to her normal life.

Back to safety.

--

Safety. Ha. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? 

Gulping, hand still clutching his heart, Arthur listened as great howls and cries scattered through the forest. The howls were beastly and raw, confirming what Arthur feared; this forest was no safe place indeed. 

As the slow morning light grew in strength, so did the terrifying sounds die down, all the way until all Arthur could hear was the silent flutter of leaves as the strange man returned, his clothes dirtied but his face calm.  

Was he going to kill Arthur now, too? 

Arthur swallowed and tried to make himself as small as possible, eyes looking away from the cold gaze of the monster. There was little use in running now, Arthur’s old bones making no match to the obvious strength that lingered beneath the strange man’s expensive clothes.

‘You do not run.’ His dark voice stated with surprise.

Arthur blinked, half-expecting to be already dead by this point, his head shaking firmly as he kept his eyes lowered to the wet soil beneath him. 

If he didn’t kill Arthur straightaway..was there a chance Belle was alive, too?

‘Please sir, my daughter, Belle, kno-know you of her whereabouts?’

The Master’s lips curled in a gentle smile, but the old man didn’t see, his trembling form still staring in bewilderment at the ground. It was time, the Master decided, his fingers snapping together, making two brown eyes blink behind the wall of ferns. Awakening.

Arthur looked up with confusion when yet another sound came from the ferns, a person brushing through the large green leaves. And not just any person.

BELLE.

‘Papa?’ She spoke dreamily.

‘Belle!’ He cried, his grounding shock suddenly forgotten as he lunged at his daughter, arms crushing her in a tearful embrace. ‘Belle..oh..’ 

She was alive..

‘Papa.’ She hummed, returning the embrace, before looking over her father’s shoulder, meeting the slightly hurt gaze that lingered in the Master’s eyes. 

Was he sad? 

Clearing his throat, the strange Master spoke. ‘She cannot return, Arthur. A great misfortune will befall her..and you.’ 

Arthur’s brow furrowed as he slowly turned, arms spreading out to create a human shield between the strange beast and Belle. ‘Of what you speak? Belle is perfectly safe with..’ - ‘No.’ 

‘No?’ Arthur gulped, befuddled. 

‘Ismael will not stop until he has all his heart desires. And he will take all you have in the process.’ The Master inhaled sharply. ‘History will repeat itself.’ 

Arthur frowned, eyes brushing down the small cuts and bruises that marred the strange man’s skin. Sword cuts. Bruises. And bite marks. 

Bite marks?

So many questions popped up in Arthur’s head, before pieces started to click into place.

Ismael’s strange obsession with Belle? 

Ismael’s father and his obsession with her mother and aunt? 

‘History repeats..’ Arthur breathed. 

--

‘But it’s your sister’s betrothal party! This will be fun!’ Arthur watched with befuddlement as his wife sat there, refusing to ready herself.

With a sour face she turned on her seat by the table, watching her husband as he settled his hands in his sides.

‘Fun? Only the devil would call it that.’ She spat, turning back to spoon through her gone-cold soup.

‘Then are you not happy for her, wife?’ Arthur’s question wasn’t condescending, but honest and caring, his voice tender as he squatted down beside her. His wife bit her plump rose lip, eyes darting back at him as she slowly shook her head, fire burning within them.  

‘If she were to wed any other man; yes. But him? HIM?! Do you not see Arthur? They forced her! Nearly me as well! Were it not for…’ She swallowed her words, nostrils flaring as she rubbed a hand over her swollen belly, her rage dwindling as she sighed in defeat.

‘Oh darling sweet! Please. Do not fear, my dear.’ Arthur cooed, pressing a kiss on her cheek before he moved to sit down beside her at the table, his hand cupping over the hand she kept safely over her belly.

His wife remained quiet, eyebrows furrowed in distress. 

Arthur continued with a brush over her swelling belly; ‘I understand your worries sweet wife. I do, I do. And trust me. I’ll keep you safe. The both of you.’ 

--

It had been one year since her sister’s wedding, and it was the first time his wife dared to join Arthur to another feast at the Les Comtes. Their sweet baby daughter Belle was kept under lock and key by the old hag Hella, who lived a few cots away, the old woman trusted like nobody else. 

And his wife? She was nervous beyond words, her head shaking in refusal whenever a cup of wine was offered. Arthur felt sorry for putting her in the situation, but as conversations flowed, he soon lost track of her exact whereabouts, some fellow employees of the estate discussing the chance of extending the stables he worked in. 

It was when a loud ruckus disturbed the music, instruments coming to a halt, that Arthur’s eyes flew up. What followed were the most horrid minutes, hours, months..years..of his life. 

Lain in a pool of blood, his wife was found. She had, from hear say of the Grandmaster Le Comte, tumbled down the great many stairs - what had she done up there anyways? Blankly she stared back at him, her neck evilly twisted, mouth agape, as if screaming. 

What should have been a great feast to remember, became a great horror to remember instead. And despite Arthur’s doubts, he silently accepted it to be an unfortunate accident. The only thing that was clear, was his failure as he watched his wife’s unblinking brown eyes. 

He had failed her. 

--

Reality slipped back into Arthur’s aching heart; he had not kept her mother safe. So, could he keep Belle safe..at all? 

With pleading eyes he looked at the monster, those gentle blue eyes calm and studious behind a slathering of blood. So human. But so evil as well. 

‘W-what are you intending to do with her?’ 

The Master hummed. ‘Tis why I invited you here, Arthur. I wished to discuss our options...your options.’ The Master licked his lips as he folded his arms behind his back, feet striding towards the edge of the forest lair. Arthur waited. 

‘It was one thing to find Belle here, in my domains. But you, with these armed men? It further complicates the situation.’ He turned on his heel. ‘I let them get away, Arthur. Frightened they are, but alive. I wish no harm, truly.’ 

‘Ha..’ Arthur breathed, his heart beating wildly in his chest; merde - shit! Not only did this monstrous man just admit to taking captive Belle, also had he admitted to hunting down 7 adult men. He may not look quite the monster, may promise he wouldn’t harm, but he sure was capable of great violence. 

‘There can only be one hero in this tale, Arthur.’ The Master continued. ‘And I’m afraid the superstition runs religiously in the villagers’ veins. Walking out of here unscathed will be frowned upon.. or worse.’ 

Arthur gulped. ‘Then..then..harm me.’ He pulled open his blouse and presented his bare neck to the vampiric beast, those monstrous blue eyes staring in fascination - as if he overthought the offer. 

‘No.’ 

‘Please..milord. I just want Belle to be safe. I..’ Arthur quieted his pleading as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘Tis okay papa. He has been good to me.’ 

‘No no..do not lie to me Belle. It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe.’ 

‘No papa. I lie not. Not now. I speak the truth.’ Her fingers squeezed into his tight shoulder. ‘Please papa. I-I don’t want you to get hurt.’ Belle’s voice became more timid, emotional. 

For a moment the monster man looked down at the ground, thinking. 

‘Go back to the village and the Les Comtes will turn their wrath upon you. They will rile up the villagers. They have done so in the past to hide their tracks, hide their crimes. They would do it again.’ He took another sharp breath. ‘I could offer you solace and shelter though. My halls are great, but empty. From there on you could see to travel north or west, where other lordships may take you in.’ 

Arthur blinked and turned slightly, this turn of events quite unexpected, eyes searching Belle’s, her head already nodding “yes”. 

‘You would have me stay in your ...’ Arthur hesitated. 

‘Lair.’ The monster grinned charmingly. ‘Yes.’ 

‘Tis all I wish for papa.’ Belle chimed in, tugging at his sleeve. It would resolve some of her sorrows; no cold, no hunger, no jealous villagers..and a chance to start anew. With of course one but: she couldn’t be sure of the monster’s true intentions. 

Slowly Arthur started to nod. ‘Very well. But I must return home first. I cannot leave the horses untended. I must alarm my stable boy. I..’ 

Belle sighed. ‘Papa..’ 

‘No! No buts! I shall never let my horses become victims of my own poor life choices. Tis my choice and there’s that.’ He turned on his heel, hand reaching for Belle. ‘You must come with me, Belle.’ 

Belle blinked, eyes glancing over her father’s shoulder to meet those mysterious blues of the Master. 

Did she - Did she want to? What if the villagers would find out and harm them? What if..what if...What if her heart wished for..for something else? What if..she wanted to..stay?

--

Chap 8 >

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[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Taking Back Neverland--Chapter 2 of 10

Pairing:  Captain Swan

Rating:  G or a soft T

Summary: AU. After actress Emma Swan’s lead role in a popular TV show is at an end, she is offered the leading role in the Regina Mills film, Taking Back Neverland, a fresh retelling of the Peter Pan story.  It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.  Only problem?  She’ll be starring opposite Killian Jones, who she positively can’t stand.  (Originally part of my Fluffy Fridays collection.)

Previous chapter: (1)

Notes:  So this is an old story, originally written about 3 years ago as part of my Fluffy Fridays collection, but @kmomof4 made the amazing above pic-set for it as a birthday gift, (Thanks Krystal!  It’s perfect!), and I decided it was time for a reissue.   Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 2

 “You really should check out this script, mate,” Robin said, “it’s bloody perfect for you.”

Killian took a swig of his rum, grinning to himself. “Let me guess…it’s a Regina Mills production?”

Robin grinned back, taking a healthy swig of his beer before continuing. “It may be my fiancée’s current project but that makes it no less perfect for you.  I know you don’t have any pressing projects at the moment.  What would it hurt to just check it out?”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Killian said, “what exactly is so perfect about this particular script?”

“It’s got action, adventure, a bit of whimsy, and romance,” Robin answered. “You’d be taking the role of Captain Hook.”

“A villain?”

“Well, perhaps more of a reformed scoundrel,” Robin allowed. “He is the male romantic lead, after all.”

Killian was silent for several moments, warring with himself. The sounds of the bar, The Rabbit Hole, washed over him.  Finally, he reached up, scratched at the spot behind his ear and spoke again, refusing to look at his mate.

“You know full well I haven’t taken an action role since…it happened,” he said, taking a fortifying swig of rum. He held up his slightly-atrophied left hand and stared at it in disgust.  “Not much place in action movies for a bloke who only has one working hand.”

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve been over this.  You could act circles around half the leading men in Hollywood right now even with their two hands.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Killian said under his breath.

He flexed his left hand, the motion weak and taking painfully long, and his mind went back to the accident. The moment his life changed forever.  Not only had he lost his love, his Milah in that automobile crash, but his hand had been crushed.  After extensive surgeries, the doctors had managed to save the hand (it had been touch and go for a while, the doctors all preparing him for the possibility that amputation may be necessary), but they told him he’d never get more than minimal functionality from it again.

“Well I am,” Robin said bracingly.  “And besides.  Your disability will be no factor in anything that’s required of you in this particular film.  If you’ll recall, Captain Hook came by the name after a crocodile ate his left hand.”

Well, that did provide some interesting possibilities. He couldn’t deny he missed starring in action-heavy roles.  They had been his staple before the accident.  He’d made quite a name for himself.  Since it had happened…well, he’d spent most of his acting time playing the protagonist in rom-coms.  He’d been blessed with good looks, and he’d acquired more than his fair share of female fans thanks to those roles, but he hungered for another role of real substance.

“Very well,” Killian said, pushing aside his tumbler of rum and preparing to settle his tab, “I’ll give it a read.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Read it he had, and he’d promptly fallen in love. This was the role of a lifetime.  Quite a fresh and imaginative take on the tale of Peter Pan, with Hook the romantic hero and Pan the bloody demon.  It hit everything that made a story great—action, adventure, romance, witty dialogue, and the happiest of happy ending (particularly for Captain Hook and the protagonist Anna Swan).

Robin was right; this was a role he simply couldn’t turn down. Truth be told, it was as though the part had been written for him.  He saw himself in the resilient fighter Captain Hook was, the melancholy hero who had endured far too much loss in his life. 

The theme of a rather lonely little boy reconnecting with his birth mother likewise touched something deep inside. There was something healing in reading about that little boy’s healing—and the way he healed his mother—that soothed (at least in part) the wound Killian carried from his own father’s abandonment so many years ago.  True, Anna Swan had given up her infant to give him his best chance while his father had abandoned him and Liam out of nothing but sheer selfishness, but an orphan’s an orphan.

The very next morning, he’d called Regina Mills directly (there were certainly perks to being best mates with the fiancé of one of Hollywood’s biggest directors) and expressed interest in the role. She’d immediately called him in for an audition—a process she’d assured him was nothing but a formality.  Killian had made quite a name for himself over the years, and Regina had assured him the part was his for the taking.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

And so it was that two weeks later he found himself striding into the studio for a chemistry test with the female lead, Emma Swan.

He knew very little about his on-screen love interest. He’d caught a few episodes of her television show, but a man can’t very well get a read on a person based solely on her performance as an actress.  He could tell that she was bloody gorgeous and had more than her share of talent, but as to the rest?  Who was to know?

He fervently hoped they hit it off. As the two of them were scene partners in nearly every scene they were involved with, they would be spending long, grueling hours together over the next few months.  Far better to spend that time with someone he genuinely liked than someone who got on his last nerve.

His agent, who insisted he call her Tinker Bell for some unaccountable reason, had playfully suggested maybe the two of them would not only get along, but get along.  She’d nudged him, winking playfully, asking if he knew what she meant.

Aye, he knew exactly what she meant, but it wasn’t going to happen. No matter what this Emma Swan may be like, his heart had been broken so definitively it would never be mended again.  For the first few years after Milah’s death, he’d buried the pain in rum and passionate nights with as many anonymous women as he could find. 

But eventually he realized how utterly empty his life had become. He’d loved Milah with a burning passion, and their life had been good.  Losing himself in meaningless encounters with women did nothing to mask the pain, only made him realize how pointless his life had become.  Truth be told, he was no longer interested in meaningless sex.  If anything, he wished for a real, true, meaningful relationship.

But that ship had sailed when his love had died. No use wishing for something he would never again allow to be his.

The studio door opened, cutting short Killian’s melancholy musings, and then she walked through, and every thought in his head suddenly fled.  He knew Emma Swan was beautiful; he’d seen that clear enough when he’d viewed her TV show, but nothing could have prepared him for the punch to the gut seeing her live and in person gave him.

She wore her long, luscious blonde hair in an artfully messy ponytail high on hear head. Her green eyes sparkled.  And there was just a certain, indefinable something about being in the same room with her that made him tingle with awareness.

Love at first sight, Tink would have supplied in a sing-song voice.  He definitively shoved that thought aside.  Where he and Emma Swan were concerned, the only “falling in love” that would happen would be of the on-screen kind.

He took a deep breath and let it out, trying desperately to get ahold of himself. He was going to keep this professional if it killed him.  When he finally felt like he could talk to the goddess without making an utter fool of himself, he walked over to her, keeping his expression pleasantly friendly.

“Hello love; my name’s Killian Jones.”

He offered his hand, and she looked at him suspiciously for a moment before taking it and shaking it tentatively. “I’m Emma Swan.”

He smiled at her like an idiot. This whole “remaining professional” business was going to be a fair bit more difficult than he’d expected.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Emma glanced away, desperately needing to put some distance between them. A woman could drown in those blue eyes of his.

No wonder he’s had nearly every woman in a 100-mile radius falling all over themselves over him, she thought to herself.  And that was enough to bring back reality.  She wasn’t, absolutely wasn’t going to be just another conquest.

So, she straightened, and looked down at the script again while they waited for the casting director (a rather bad-tempered man named Leroy) to signal that they were ready for the chemistry test.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the scene Leroy had pulled out for them to read. She’d been afraid he’d pick the scene—the big, passionate kiss that changed everything for both Anna and Hook (although it took Anna a considerably longer time than Hook to admit it).  Stage kiss or not, no way was she ready to lock lips with Killian Jones.  She was going to have to psych herself up for that.

Luckily, that wasn’t the scene picked, but one a couple of acts later. This one was all dialogue.  Romantic and emotional dialogue, yes, but strictly dialogue none the less.  Not even a stray brush of hands in the script for this one.

She’d be fine; just fine.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Leroy said from his seat just beyond the stage. “Haven’t had breakfast yet, and if Granny’s runs out of bacon before I get there, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” Killian said under his breath, only loud enough for Emma to hear.

She smiled in spite of herself. “You should be,” she whispered back.  “He looks like he means business.”

“Hey, break it up!” Leroy growled. “Save the flirting for the stage!”

Emma felt her face flame. Leroy thought she was flirting with Killian?  Ugh!  Making this film was going to be the longest couple of months of her life.

“Right,” Leroy said again with a nod. “So in case you’re not that familiar with the context yet, your scene comes a couple hours after the Echo Caves confession.  Hook and Baelfire are both sniffing after Anna and she just wants to get to Henry.  Bae just took the cutlass and went off looking for Dark Hollow.  And that’s where you two love birds pick it up.”

Emma closed her eyes, pictured the scene to come, imagined the emotions running through Anna at the moment—fear for her son’s safety, a strange mixture of relief and panic at Bae’s return, desire—and maybe the starting of something more—for Hook. She still felt a bit overwhelmed about how much her life had changed over the past few months.

So, sky-high walls. She could do sky-high walls.

Emma opened her eyes and became Anna.

Anna shot Hook a suspicious look, putting her hand out to stop him from stepping past her and following Bae.

“What was that about.”

Hook looked aside, clearly uncomfortable. “I assumed he’d heard my secret.  I also assumed you’d told him of our shared moment.”

Of course he’d go there , Anna thought to herself.  She rolled her eyes.  “Why would you assume that?”

He stepped forward, his deep, deep blue eyes boring into hers and not giving up. Anna felt her heart pound at his nearness.  “Because I was hoping it meant something.”

Anna wasn’t going there. She wasn’t going anywhere near there.  Best to change the subject.  “What meant something was that you told us that Bae was still alive.  Thank you.  I realize you could have kept Pan’s information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” He sounded as though he genuinely didn’t know the answer.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.  Maybe Pan offered you a deal.  Why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test,” Hook said, his voice softening—even as it shone with sincerity. “He wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die, even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am.”

“And you chose your friend?” Emma let a hint of breathlessness enter her voice.

“Does that surprise you?”

Uh, yeah, it did. “You are a pirate.”

“Yeah, that I am.” Hook looked down, and Anna’s heart twisted at the hint of self-deprecation she saw in the gesture. This guy really was good.

And then he turned on the intensity, and Emma found it difficult to think at all. “But I also believe in good form.  So when I win you heart, Anna, and I will win it, it will not be because of any trickery; it will be because you want me.”

He stepped even closer; so close that she could feel his breath against her face. His eyes held hers, shining with sincerity.  She felt like a moth in the presence of the flame.  She wanted nothing more than to sway into him. 

Well why not? Anna’s supposed to be falling in love, isn’t she?  

She let her face show how much Hook’s words affected her. She saw his eyes darken in response, and it took way, way more effort than it should to pull back and let Anna try to put some emotional distance between them once again.

“This is not a contest, Hook.”

He gave her no quarter, no lessening of his particular earnestness. “Isn’t it?  You’re going to have to choose, Anna; you realize that, don’t you, because neither one of us is going to give up.”

That was way, way too much for her. “The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back.”

He smiled proudly. “And you will.”

Emma knew enough about Anna to know she was not used to anyone putting her first; she wasn’t used to anyone having faith in her.  She let a touch of wonder enter her voice.  “You think so?”

“I’ve yet to see you fail,” he let his smile turn playful, flirtatious. “And when you do succeed, well, that’s when the fun begins.”

For several moments after the scene wrapped, Emma and Killian continued staring at each other. That was…that was…intense.

She didn’t realize she was effectively staring longingly into Killian Jones’ eyes until Leroy chuckled. “Oh yeah.  I don’t think chemistry is going to be any problem between the two of you.”

Emma blinked, and then felt the heat creep up into her cheeks. How was she ever going to survive making this damn movie?

She did what she did best. She stormed away. 

“Yeah, well,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away, “what can I say? We’re really, really good actors.”

And she told herself it was the truth. She’d just managed to really get into character; that was all that had happened out there on that stage.  It was Anna’s emotions she was feeling, not her own.  Not anywhere close to her own.

[garden-ghoul]

I finally remembered DURING the weekend to record my notes on Sourcery! In this one you can hear me: enjoying doing a Rincewind voice. Clocks in at 19:26 (I’m going to start putting in episode length because it seems like the kind of thing people will like to know.) Transcript under the cut.

HELLO and welcome to episode 4 of what I am now calling “It’s Yelling All the Way Down.” Because it just seemed a bit egotistical to ascribe critical analysis to myself. This week* I’ve drawn the number 5, which means we’re reading Sourcery. With a U. Before reading this book I did not remember a single thing about it except that the main character is perhaps… a sorcerer? And is named Coin. Also according to the summary this is a Rincewind book, the first one since The Light Fantastic. I think he might have died in that one. But no matter, he’s back!

A bit about wizards, before we begin:

We’ve already seen witches, who are my favorites. Pratchett was fond of saying “if men were witches, they would be wizards,” which I think is supposed to be a comment on how men are socialized to be self-important and relatively useless and ask for more credit than they deserve? Although it could just be gender essentialism. Anyway, that’s what wizards do. We very briefly met some in Jingo, where as you might recall they were extorting money from the city-state under threat of magical mayhem. We’ll see more of exactly that in this book! Let’s get right to it.

Now, on Earth (or Roundworld, as it is sometimes called), specifically in England, seven is considered to be a magical number. So much so that whoever perpetrated ROY G BIV (Newton, maybe?) invented several colors just so a rainbow would have seven of them. On the Disc there is an eighth color, inspired by the extra little echoey bit on the inside of a rainbow that is both green AND purple; this color is called octarine. That’s not what the introduction is about, it’s about the eighth son of an eighth son, who of course has become a wizard. But I’m sure it will come up, and then we’ll be prepared, won’t we?

Now this eighth son of an eighth son, he had seven sons, each one from the cradle at least as powerful as any wizard in the world.

And then he had an eighth son...

A wizard squared. A source of magic.

A sourcerer.

We join this double-eight wizard with his young eighth son on the shingle, where he’s having a chat with DEATH. DEATH is a friendly sort. Likes cats. Very little patience with wizards who are trying to create a magical destiny for babies. Because all prophecies require loopholes, the double-eight wizard prophesies that his son will become the mightiest and everyone will bow before him, et cetera et cetera, UNLESS… he throws his staff away. And then the wizard gets struck by lightning and as he dies he puts his soul into the staff. The kid also got struck by lightning but he’s fine. As you may have guessed, this kid is our protagonist, Coin, the sourcerer.

Cut to Unseen University, on the eve of the appointment of a new arch-chancellor. The books in the library are uneasy. The university seems to be sinking. The rats, mice, ants, and even the gargoyles off the roof are abandoning ship. Rincewind and the Librarian seem to be the only wizards who have noticed, although as we are told Rincewind is so bad at wizardry that he’s actually worse than non-wizards. One wonders how he was admitted to the university, because he doesn’t seem rich. Is it just that EVERY eighth son gets in because it makes them A Wizard? Anyway, he’s an assistant librarian (honorary) so he invites the Librarian out for drinks just to get him out of the University.

This means they’re going to miss the arch-chancellor accession feast, which is probably for the best because Coin is going to be there, and you can bet his dad’s been whispering in his ear about what ought to be done to the rest of the wizards who kicked him out. Indeed, he walks right in and challenges the most powerful immediately available wizard to a magical duel, lets him do a party trick, and then vaporizes him. He’s ten, and is set up as a Creepy Child: he stares through people rather than looking at them, talks a bit like an encyclopedia, and clearly hasn’t heard of ethics. The wizards immediately accept him as their arch-chancellor, realizing that it will be incredibly easy to manipulate this kid into doing whatever they want by making him think he has the sort of power that matters.

Lots of good mentions here of how wizards instinctively distrust each other; wizard politics; assassinations; mind games. Nevertheless, two wizards have made a cautious alliance to deal with the threat Coin represents. Spelter, the Bursar and a fifth level wizard; and Carding, an eighth-level wizard (that’s the highest level).

Let us leave them there for a moment to follow the thief who has stolen the arch-chancellor’s hat, which seems to be a talking hat and actually quite keen to be stolen. This thief has tracked down Rincewind, the only readily apparent wizard outside of the university, and is trying to kidnap him for some kind of dangerous wizard mission, under threat of death. The mission is to bring the arch-chancellor’s hat to Klatch, where “there is someone fit to wear us.” There’s a brief misadventure where the hat is stolen, apparently to show off that it can kill people on its own just fine. It’s pretty clear that the hat is full of wizards in the same way Coin’s staff is full of his awful dad, setting us up for a battle of evil and evil: there are plenty of battles in which neither side is correct.

A bit about the thief: her name is Conina, and in my opinion far too much is being made of her looks. She has an apparently hereditary urge to murder, basically a hair trigger with throwing knives, which is unfortunate for her because she wants to be a hairdresser. She can’t see the tools of the trade without imagining doing a murder with them. I was pretty into this whole high fantasy parody thing Pratchett was doing until he started parodying sexist tropes by, uh, just straight up putting sexist tropes in his book. Not his finest hour.

At the university, most of the wizards are enjoying all the extra magic pouring out of Coin. They can do exciting spells now! As soon as Coin starts doing exciting spells, though, they remember they’re afraid of him. He appearifies the Patrician—good old Vetinari, who hasn’t yet been characterized beyond being the sort of person who says “what is the meaning of this?”—and turns him into a lizard. Because wizards should rule the city, you see? Not people who understand politics. Coin has a very ten-year-old understanding of what it means to rule. One imagines him ruling so thoroughly that all he has left is a bunch of lizards and then I’m sure he’d feel rather foolish.

The wizards take their cues from Coin and go out to terrorize the city, and they seem to have a great time. But wizards, like everyone else, fundamentally want certainty and familiarity in their lives. And Coin is scaring them. At this point we start to wonder to what extent Coin’s mind actually is his own, because he’s saying incredibly ominous grown-up things like “who among you has been into your dark library these past few days? The magic is inside you now, not imprisoned between covers. Is that not a joyous thing?” You know, sort of cognitively, one doesn’t expect a ten-year-old either to speak like this or to be this single-minded. It’s worrying. Is he okay? What thoughts does he think?

In the oppressively quiet darkness of night in a university under new rule, Spelter hears someone quietly crying. When he looks into the room Coin is on the bed sobbing while his staff whispers to him. The next day “Coin” announces that they’re going to burn down the library, 90,000 books, many of them sentient. Spelter barely manages to tell the librarian, who’s barricaded in, before he comes across the staff and it vaporizes him.

Let’s see what Conina and Rincewind are up to. Oh, getting attacked by pirates! Conina murders a whole bunch of them but some do make off with the hat, so when they land she decides they ought to go somewhere in port they can get attacked by The Criminal Element. This will allow them to get information or something. Look, Conina just wants to get in a fight, and I can respect that.

I also want to check in with Rincewind because I think the way he’s written is pretty interesting. His psyche seems very uncomplicated: at most times he’s just thinking about how he can avoid getting attacked and get as far away from danger as possible. And being racist about how they don’t do things proper in Al Khali. But we get occasional interjections from his conscience and, now, his libido, which gives the feeling that he works hard to suppress any thoughts he feels are foreign to his lifestyle. Pratchett reinforces this foreignness by portraying them as voices Rincewind doesn’t recognize. He has a suspicion that he’s falling in love, but doesn’t like it. He only has physiological symptoms, as far as I can tell. So we get this picture of a person completely out of tune not only with his body but with his mind as well, who has worn such a deep psychological groove of habit that he can’t conceive of climbing out of it.

Anyway, Conina and Rincewind are kidnapped by the ruler of the city, who is called a Seriph because heaven forbid Sir Terry let any small detail go un-pastiched. The Seriph’s grand vizier has possession of the arch-chancellor’s hat and is aware that it’s dangerous, because it told him. Also he’s evil, because a grand vizier’s got to be evil. He imprisons our heroes I guess, but very shortly afterward the amount of ambient magic skyrockets and there are a ton of wizards from Unseen University there! Halfway across the Disc! The vizier turns up, having had his mind taken over by the arch-chancellor’s hat and declaring that wizards are taking back what’s theirs from sourcerers. I like this, we have two opposing magical forces, both figureheaded by humas but in fact ruled by inanimate objects with echoes of dead minds inside.

And, yes, just a few pages later Rincewind states one of the major themes of the book! 

“That’s what you people never understand,” said Rincewind, wearily. “You think magic is just something you can pick up and use, but the truth is, magic uses people.  It affects you as much as you affect it, sort of thing. You can’t mess around with magical things without it affecting you.”

After hearing so much about the thousand-year, horrifyingly destructive Mage Wars, it’s pretty clear that magic isn’t just magic here. Any kind of power corrupts, and if in this book it happens to corrupt not because of human nature but because of its own malice—well, that’s metaphors for you. Anyway Rincewind and company escape on a magic flying carpet, which is using him as a conduit to fly itself, per usual.

Then we get this honestly really cool scene where the fleeing heroes are camped out on a beach watching spells streaking across the sky like meteors over the Circle Sea: the hat’s tower in Al Khali doing battle with Coin’s tower in Ankh. Shockwaves ripple across them, and in his sleep Rincewind is trying to build a tower, which seems to be some kind of wizardly instinct. As soon as he can he steals the flying carpet and absent-mindedly heads for Ankh-Morpork because he thinks of it as his home base. Over the ocean we see other wizards’ towers springing up everywhere: they’re all joining in the war. I love this sort of distant apocalypse imagery, the contrast between the peace of a totally uninhabited area and the massive devastation that from far away looks kind of pretty. Here at the end of all things.

Rincewind returns to a city totally unlike the one he left: gleaming white marble, fountains, and not a single soul. Smoke boils up from the university’s tower, which is slagged and melted but still firing off terrifying magic at the tower in the next city-state over. And the library, where Rincewind spent a lot of very happily boring time as an assistant librarian, lies in ashes. Rincewind goes  into the tower. The flashes of magic illuminate the librarian and many of his 90,000 books, which flew in to take shelter when the library burned. He tells Rincewind to put a stop to all this sourcery, seeing as Rincewind seems to be the only other wizard who hasn’t gone mad with power (the reason being, he hasn’t got any). And obviously the librarian has his books to tend to. So Rincewind puts a half-brick in a sock and starts up the tower.

In the top of the tower the Ankh wizards defeat Quirm, and then when the hat is momentarily distracted, they defeat Al Khali too. But Coin is still an open doorway through which magic pours into the world. “Can you hear them?” asks Carding. “You’re pouring sourcery into the world and other things are coming with it.” I have always liked this image, of a great number of terrible things just barely compelled to stay outside of the circle of the universe, and being invited in when too much magic is used. For a moment the staff is indisposed horribly murdering Carding and Coin is uncertain, upset that a man is dead. Then it returns to his hands and he says: let’s fight the gods. I was expecting it to be a bit more of a thing but he settles it in about a paragraph: we’ll just put them inside this bubble, there we are. Just then Rincewind staggers up over the edge of the tower, swinging his half-brick. His exchange with Coin is… absolutely delightful. They’re at exact opposite ends of the wizard spectrum.

“I have come,” said Rincewind thickly, “to challenge the sourcerer. Which one is he?” He surveyed the prostrate wizardry, hefting the half-brick in one hand. 

One of the wizards risked a glance upwards and made frantic eyebrow movements at Rincewind who, even at the best of times, wasn’t much good at interpreting non-verbal communication. This wasn’t the best of times.

“With a sock?” said Coin. “What good is a sock?” 

The arm holding the staff rose. Coin looked down at it in mild astonishment. “No, stop,” he said. “I want to talk to this man.” He stared at Rincewind, who was swaying back and forth under the influence of sleeplessness, horror and the after-effects of an adrenaline overdose. “Is it magical?” he said, curiously. “Perhaps it is the sock of an Archchancellor? A sock of force?”

Rincewind focused on it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think I bought it in a shop or something. Um. I’ve got another one somewhere.”

“But in the end it has something heavy?”

“Um. Yes,” said Rincewind. He added, “It’s a half-brick.”

“But it has great power.”

“Er. You can hold things up with it. If you had another one, you’d have a brick.” Rincewind spoke slowly. He was assimilating the situation by a kind of awful osmosis, and watching the staff turn ominously in the boy’s hand.

“So. It is a brick of ordinariness, within a sock. The whole becoming a weapon.”

“Um. Yes.”

“How does it work?”

“Um. You swing it, and then you. Hit something with it.”

The staff tells Coin to kill Rincewind, but Coin is hesitant, because Rincewind looks like “an angry rabbit,” and is probably harmless. “Why should I do everything you tell me?” says Coin to the staff. “I always do everything you tell me, and it doesn’t help people at all.” Basically it’s like asking a kid to murder a clown. He’s so funny! Why should I kill him!

The staff tortures him a bit. Might I remind you: his ten-year-old son. Rincewind thinks this is a bit much and whacks the staff out of his hand with the half-brick-in-sock. He actually steps in front of Coin to defend him from the staff, even though bravery and altruism are really not his thing. And Coin catches the staff, and throws it away. It comes back, of course, and they do battle. All the wizards are terrified, and Rincewind looks around accusingly at the wizards who won’t help this ten-year-old fighting for his life and the fate of reality itself. All we see of Rincewind’s intervention is his seared hat floating gently to the ground.

He and Coin wake up on the cold black sand of the Dungeon Dimension, staring at the backs of the Things that are trying to break into the universe. The staff has been melted and Rincewind decides to be a real hero one more time and attack the Things with a sock full of sand as a distraction so Coin can get out of there. Which he does. And then the door closes, and Rincewind is stuck in the Dungeon Dimension. We’ll see him again later, don’t worry.

As a minor footnote, the apocalypse is happening out there. It’s a Norse-style apocalypse: the gods have vanished, so ice giants are taking over the world. The librarian gets the pearl full of all the gods and sort of throws it and they come out and reverse the apocalypse, I guess. And then Coin undoes everything he did, and I THINK he also erases everyone’s memory of the very brief Mage War. And because he’s lost and alone and doesn’t know what he wants at all… he steps out of the universe, into a simpler, nicer one. A small universe with a garden. And the door closes behind him.

The book ends in the library, where the books have come back to roost and it’s warm and quiet. The librarian has put Rincewind’s hat in a minor ceremonial niche, because “a wizard will ALWAYS come back for his hat.” Listen, I think the librarian might be a bit sweet on Rincewind. It’s very cute.

So, thus ends the book! This one doesn’t have a whole lot of themes since the main purpose of it is to be a fun fantasy adventure with an absolutely kicking climax. I’d say the main one is that Sir Terry vastly prefers consistency to excitement and that war is bad. Oh, hey, that’s a lot like the last one, isn’t it? And there’s also a bit of a warning about how allowing yourself to have power is always a very dangerous balancing game. Humans always have to be careful not to forget how dangerous it is to have power, and how the only way to use it even a little bit well is to think scrupulously of the masses of normal people your actions affect. I feel like he’d agree with my (rather unwilling) stance on Ethical Anxiety. Which is to say, he might understand why I am constantly extremely anxious about taking ethical actions. 

Today’s thought, Shabbat shalom, is to ask yourself how you are using the power you have, and ask yourself where you get your ethics: your parents? Your friends? The news? Which news? That’s all for now. This has been It’s Yelling All the Way Down, intro and end music is TOKiMONSTA’s “Hungry Stomach.” Bye!

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

The King vs. The Kubrick: 38 Years of THE SHINING

I have sat down in front of my computer a dozen times over the past week, trying to come up with a new angle to write about 1980’s The Shining. It is impossible. This film has been written about, analyzed and over-analyzed (see the documentary Room 237, and you will agree) to the point that everything that has needed to be said about the film has already been said. There are 6,000 articles about The Shining from writers much more talented than myself that can be accessed on the internet at any given time.

Everyone is aware of the shooting details of the film, how Kubrick emotionally terrorized Shelley Duvall yet coddled the psyche of little Danny Lloyd. We have heard about the set dressing, the outfits, the extra takes and the apologies for faking the Apollo 11 moon landing. We’ve been told these stories over and over since 1980, and, frankly, it’s boring at this point. So, what I would like to do, instead of running through the film and commenting on its merits or faults, is take a look at why the story’s creator despises the film so much and determine whether or not his points are valid.

We all know that Stephen King famously hates Kubrick’s adaptation of the story and that he has gone on record dozens of times since 1980 to let us know exactly why. His latest book, The Outsider, even has a small dig at the film, introducing a character who is watching Paths of Glory because it is “better than The Shining“.

I think we can all agree that The Shining is the most technically proficient, beautiful and frightening adaptation of a Stephen King work of fiction, so why has he held on to these disgruntled feelings for so long? Let’s take a look at three of his biggest issues with the film adaptation of his story and try to see if King’s version, or Kubrick’s, resulted in the better story.

    #1- “Jack was crazy from the first scene.”

In an interview with Rolling Stone from 2014, King went on a short rant about why he disliked the film version of The Shining. In it, he states:

In the book, there’s an actual arc where you see this guy, Jack Torrance, trying to be good, and little by little he moves over to this place where he’s crazy. And as far as I was concerned, when I saw the movie, Jack was crazy from the first scene. I had to keep my mouth shut at the time. It was a screening, and Nicholson was there. But I’m thinking to myself the minute he’s on the screen, ‘Oh, I know this guy. I’ve seen him in five motorcycle movies, where Jack Nicholson played the same part.’

  It has been noted several times that the character of John Daniel Torrance (Jack in the film) is King’s most autobiographical creation. He is a schoolteacher (check), a writer (double-check) who has a drinking problem (triple-check) and is genuinely afraid that his vices will cause him to harm his family (quadruple-check). I can understand the anger King has about the change in motivation for the character. The book follows this man’s decent into madness at the hands of the Overlook Hotel, it’s demons and ghosts worming their way into his mind and forcing him to try to hurt his family. The film, on the other hand, does not explicitly state that the ghosts of the Overlook are having any effect on Jack at all. Instead, it seems like Jack began his mental disintegration long before accepting the caretaker position.

You can see from the short conversation between Jack, Wendy and Danny in their tiny yellow Volkswagon that he is not necessarily fond of his family situation. He resents them for dragging him down and stifling his creative process. Writer’s block rules the world around him, and it is their fault that he has it. He hurt little Danny once, in a drunken rage. Instead of showing any true remorse for having hurt his son, in the film, Jack blames it all on the boy for throwing his papers around the room. He doesn’t blame himself or take any responsibility for it, instead claiming that it was a “Momentary loss of muscular coordination” (which, I admit, will probably be the title of my memoir). To please Wendy and to keep the family together, he vows that he will never take another drink, forcing him onto a wagon that he never wanted to be on and into this state of mental block. This planted a seed of hatred for the two of them deep within his mind that the isolation and continued sobriety of the Overlook fed until it bloomed into the hallucinations and rage we see at the end of the film.

      King wanted his character to be the victim of an evil force so that we could all see ourselves in his shoes. He wanted Torrance to be a good man, trying to be good and do good for his family that is swayed by the spirits that want his son’s psychic energies and powers. In the book, John has a moment of clarity during his rampage through the halls of the lodge, telling Danny that he loves him and to run. This obviously did not translate to the film version. There is no moment of humanity peeking through the curtain of red madness. Jack has transitioned into a grunting maniac, and there is no coming back from it.

So, which has the greater effect? I believe that Kubrick’s version is a much more impactful iteration of the John/Jack character. The moment of clarity John has in the novel suggests more of a “possession” rather than a true break in psyche. This does not make me see myself in his shoes, like King wanted. As time goes on, I see Jack as a more realistic character, a man who loses his mind and tries to kill his family. Possession takes the blame away from John in the novel. It’s not his fault, it’s the hotel that is doing it. Also, there is more finality to Kubrick’s version of the character. A possession can be beaten, it can be avoided, but madness cannot. You cannot stop the train of psychosis once it has left the track when you are 25 miles deep in the snow-blocked mountains. So, when it comes to the difference in central motivations for John/Jack, I have to side with Kubrick. The film’s version of the character is more believable, understandable, and downright terrifying.

  #2- Wendy’s Role

In his novel, Stephen King describes Wendy Torrance as beautiful, blonde and smart-as-a-whip. In Kubrick’s version, Wendy is reduced to a lank-haired mother-only in Shelley Duvall (Side note- I dare someone to besmirch Shelley Duvall’s name in my presence. She is a unique, beautiful woman that has had her world ripped apart by mental illness. He was very good in this movie, and to call her “ugly” or “dumb” is a sure-fire way to make sure you receive these hands.) In the same interview with Rolling Stone from 2014, King tells Andy Greene that Kubrick’s film:

…it’s so misogynistic. I mean, Wendy Torrance is just presented as this sort of screaming dishrag. But that’s just me, that’s the way I am.

  This is the most valid of King’s criticisms of the film. Wendy does nothing to save her family, instead, she stands there and takes Jack’s verbal abuse about interrupting his work and nods as if she is a dog cowering in the corner.  She fails to act when Danny is attacked in Room 237, instead she smokes and paces her bedroom, swearing to get them out of there. Then she, um, goes to bed. This gives Jack enough time to sabotage the SnowCat (their only means of escape), destroy the radio (their only connection to the outside world) and descend further into his psychosis thanks to the spirit of Mr. Grady.

Towards the end of the film, she does stand up for herself and tries her best to stop Jack from hurting them. He hits him in the head with a bat (although with terrible form… come on, Wendy), slashes his hand with a knife and screams an awful lot. This all comes way too late, and a smart woman who truly cared for her family would have gotten out of there at the first signs of paranormal interference or murderous rage. In other words, she is “presented as this sort of screaming dishrag”.

    I agree with King that Kubrick devolved Wendy into a prop for Jack to rage against, but I don’t agree with many people’s assumption that she is a wasted character in the film. She takes Jack’s verbal assaults, deflects his anger, tries to keep Danny from making his father mad, allows him his privacy and continues to hope that he will not hurt them.  In other words, Wendy is in a abusive relationship and cannot break out of the cycle. It is impossible for me to truly get into the headspace of someone who continues to be with a man who abuses them or their children, but this film is a glimpse into that world. She stays by his side through the drinking, the fighting, the screaming and the hitting, and she holds onto this tiny sliver of hope that she will someday see the Jack that she fell in love with come back.

So, while I agree with King about how Wendy is portrayed in the film, I still feel as if it is a good representation of the emotional terrorism that Jack has subjected her to over the years. She doesn’t know how to react because Jack has taken away her free will and she is completely dependent on the man who is now chasing her with an axe. In other words, she is not a “dishrag”, she is an abused woman trying her best to protect her son from the monster she married.

  #3- The Overlook

In the novel, the Overlook Hotel is the evil tearing the family apart. It has haunted hedge animals and possessed fire hoses that attack and try to claim Danny’s powers for it’s own vile vortices to contain. In the film, the hotel is just that: a hotel. Sure, it is probably haunted by overly-bloodied elevators, disintegrating bathing women and fellating bear-men, but it does not have the powers over the physical world described in the book. So which is more effective?

I believe that Kubrick’s version of the hotel is, by far, the most horrific version of the secluded setting. This harkens back to the argument about Jack/John’s motivations, in that the Overlook is seen as a possessive force in the novel. Possessions, I say again, can be beaten. They can be thwarted by good men with good intentions. The hedge animals were terrifying in the book and they gave 10-year-old me nightmares, but they are an example of how the hotel manipulates physical things for its own gain. It is a sentient character in the novel, but only a setting in the film.

  “[The Overlook] is simply a conduit for the chaos created by Jack and his insanity.”

  The true evil of the film comes from Jack Torrance and not a scrapbook in the boiler room. There is a sentience there, I admit, because it tends to attract men with hate in their heart to it’s caretaker’s quarters, but it isn’t the cause of these actions. In the film, the hotel itself has no grand scheme. It doesn’t want Danny’s psychic powers or anything else from the Torrance family. It is is simply a conduit for the chaos created by Jack and his insanity. There are spirits there, sure, but there are spirits in many hotels across the country. What the Overlook does in the film is simply push and prod Jack toward his rampage. It takes a damaged man and allows him to follow his own path to murder.

    As we all know, Wendy and Danny escape in the novel because the hotel explodes. In the film, they escape because Jack freezes to death ion the maze. As a horror fiends, which version is more terrifying for you? In one scenario, the evil is defeated. It forgets about its own faulty boiler and is destroyed. In the film, the hotel still stands. It’s spirits still walk the halls and bathe in Room 237. They will still be there the next time a family wants to spend the winter roaming its halls. This permanence is why I tend to side with Kubrick’s version of the Overlook. In the novel, a haunted hotel is blown up and the threat is over. In the film, however, the hotel stands, its ghost haunt, and the axes are still in the shed for the next caretaker who accepts the position.

King describes the main difference between his work and Kubrick’s film like this: “The book is hot, and the movie is cold; the book ends in fire, and the movie in ice”. This may sound like a straightforward statement, seeing as the book ends with the Overlook being destroyed by a boiler explosion and the film ends with Danny luring Jack into the hedge-maze to freeze to death, but it is much more than that. He is describing the difference between Kubrick and himself. King is the warmth, the humanity in the story, while Kubrick is the cold artist who distances himself and the characters from true emotion and feeling. This is a fair metaphor for the different artistic styles of these two men, but in my mind it is not a condemnation of the film. For me, fire burns out. Smoke settles and flames turn to embers. The sun may come up and winter may turn its pages into spring, but cold will always return. Cold always comes back to continue its feast, therefore making it the more permanent adversary.

  “In the film [..] the hotel stands, its ghost haunt, and the axes are still in the shed for the next caretaker who accepts the position.”

  Let me get this out in the open, I love Stephen King. He has gifted me with the characters and villains that I love most in the fictional world. He is the source of my passion for the horror genre and is, undoubtedly, the finest horror author that has ever lived. That being said, I think it is foolish to dismiss Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining simply because King hates it with such a fervor. I have seen arguments online coming from people in all walks of life saying that The Shining is not a horror film, that it isn’t a true King adaptation or that 1997’s miniseries is the superior version because it sticks more closely to the novel. That, I’m sorry to say, is nonsense.

The Shining is one of the finest horror films ever made and it belongs on the upper-tier of King adaptations. On the film’s 38th anniversary, let’s let bygones be bygones and allow ourselves to disagree with The King for once. We can love both the novel and the film for what they are, and rejoice in the fact that we have two different, yet related stories about the Overlook Hotel that we get to enjoy.

  Are you as big of a fan of The Shining as we are, or do you think the novel is the better version of the story? Either way, we want to hear from you! Join our Facebook group Horror Fiends of Nightmare on Film Street and join in on the conversation! While you’re at it, bookmark our homepage at Nightmare on Film Street to stay up to date with all the hottest horror news, reviews and retrospectives the internet has to offer.

The post The King vs. The Kubrick: 38 Years of THE SHINING appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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Film Review - The New Mutants

I’d originally been planning to go right into my backlog of TV series after my last film review, but instead I’ve opted to delay that slightly in favour of reviewing two further additions to my film collection.  First up is the final film of Fox’s era of Marvel cinematic production, and to date the only cinematic adaptation of a spin-off group from my favourite Marvel heroes in terms of comics lore.  This is my take on The New Mutants…

Plot (adapted from Wikipedia):

Danielle "Dani" Moonstar, a young Cheyenne Native American, escapes the destruction of her reservation during an apparent tornado. During the chaos, Dani's father, William, hides her before an unseen entity kills him, leaving her the only survivor. After being knocked unconscious, Dani awakens in a hospital run by Dr. Cecilia Reyes. Reyes comforts Dani, telling her she is a mutant, and advises her to remain in the hospital until she learns what her abilities are and controls them. 

Dani is introduced to four other teenagers; Samuel "Sam" Guthrie, Illyana Rasputin, Roberto "Bobby" da Costa and Rahne Sinclair. Reyes has brought each of them to the hospital after they have all suffered tragedy; Sam brought down a whole mine on his father and coworkers, Roberto burned his girlfriend to death, Rahne escaped her religiously strict village after being branded as a witch, and Illyana was haunted by her past of child slavery and abuse, which manifests itself as otherworldly beings called the "Smiling Men". All of them possess mutant abilities; Roberto can manipulate solar energy, Sam can fly at jet speed, Illyana has inter-dimensional teleportation powers (as well as being a sorceress), and Rahne's lycanthropy allows her to turn into a wolf. Reyes herself is a powerful mutant who keeps her patients from leaving the facility by surrounding it with unbreakable force fields. 

Collectively, the five of them believe that they are being trained to join the X-Men, hence the strict supervision, as well as Reyes reminding them that they are considered dangerous and should not leave until they have mastered their abilities. Dani immediately befriends Rahne, with the two eventually forming a romantic relationship, while Illyana continues to antagonize Dani. When Dani fights back, she discovers that Illyana's only friend is a hand puppet of a purple dragon who she calls Lockheed. Soon, the group all begin to have horrifying visions of their past tragedies, one of which results in Rahne getting branded in the neck. Illyana deduces that the visions are the result of Dani's powers manifesting; she has the ability to physically manifest illusions based on a person's psyche. Reyes consults her employers, the Essex Corporation, who instruct her to collect Dani's DNA and have her euthanized. 

As Reyes takes her away, Dani's panic causes her power to spiral out of control. Illyana and Sam are attacked by manifestations of the Smiling Men while Roberto tries to break through the barrier, which has shrunken down. Dani uses her powers to learn of Reyes's true intentions before Rahne arrives in half-wolf form and mauls Reyes, forcing her to flee. The five regroup and realize that, in order to escape, they have to kill Reyes to deprive the force fields of their power source. They find her and Reyes traps them, revealing that she was training them to be killers for Essex. Before she can kill Dani, the Demon Bear, which is Dani's own fear manifested and the true cause of her reservation's destruction, arrives and kills Reyes. 

Illyana summons her powers to jump between "limbo" and recruits a real-life version of Lockheed to take on the Demon Bear. Eventually, Sam and Roberto join the fight, overcoming their insecurities in the process. Rahne tries to reach through to an unconscious Dani until she is forced to fight the Demon Bear alone. Dani is visited by her father's spirit, who encourages her to face her fear. Dani awakens and confronts Demon Bear, calming and thus dissipating it. As day breaks, the group learns that the force fields are down and they leave the facility to find the nearest town. 

Review:

As people who have read my reviews and other articles back when Facebook notes were still around, last year in the run-up to this film’s intended release of April 2020, I posted a fun little run-down of how all the X-Men’s various spin-off groups were created in back in the 1980’s.  First and foremost among these groups were the New Mutants, who I have read a lot about not only through the X-Men comics of this era, but also through the earliest issues of the New Mutants’ own series in the anthologies of the Marvel Epic collection.  As such, I was really excited to finally get to see this film when it came out early this month on Blu-ray. 

That being said, I was also a little wary; Fox’s treatment of the X-Men and their various associates has been frequently hit-and-miss, with Deadpool being the only film to date that I’ve given top marks to. In addition, the much-raved about Logan showed us that Fox had little respect for the characters, basing the plot-premise of mutants being eradicated via GM crops on the idea that a then-active Xavier or Magneto would do nothing, when X-Men: The Last Stand had shown they would be far less ignorant or inactive in the face of any anti-mutant bio-chemical shenanigans.  Combine that with years of anglocised Xavier and Magneto alongside Americanised versions of non-US characters, and you have to admit, Fox just has a really, really lousy track record for adaptational quality or film-to-film consistency with their main Marvel earners as was. 

How, then, does this film directed and co-written by Josh Boone, stack up?  Well at first watch pretty well.  The film is a revised origin film for the group that draws heavily on the Demon Bear Saga, a three-issue story arc that spanned issues 18-20 (August-October 1984) of the New Mutants comic in its original form.  The original was written by Chris Claremont in the midst of his definitive writing run on the X-Men, and was drawn by artist Bill Sienkiewicz. The latter gives this film his blessing in behind-the-scenes materials on the Blu-ray, including an interview with Boone that forms the director’s commentary. 

It’s not hard to see why Sienkiewicz is ok with the film, because having read the comics I can see this film as being a very faithful adaptation of the source material while still being its own story.  The film is very much a horror film, though initially it has more of a thriller aspect that keeps it distinct from other superhero horror films like the Blade trilogy or Sony’s horror-comedy Venom. It’s also very much a coming-of-age story, which taps into what the New Mutants comics were about.  Despite the team having X-Men trainee uniforms at times back in the comics, the team was meant to be just students learning to use their powers, leaving the world-saving and evil mutants-battling to the X-Men, a dynamic that has been reflected in most of Fox’s X-Men films to date. 

In terms of characters, casting and performance, I’d say the film lands very well in most areas.  As there are so relatively few characters to go at, I’ll tackle them here as bullet points;

Danielle “Dani” Moonstar (played by Blu Hunt).  Dani is the focal     character for this story, and actress Blu Hunt does very well to bring the     character to life.  The manifestation     of her powers is handled quite differently from the comics, but it works     well within the story and gives us a very unique take on the classic idea     of a mutant discovering their power for the first time.  Normally it’s either a very rapid     progression or we just see the character with full awareness of what their     power is, whereas here Dani isn’t aware and the film essentially shows her     trying to work out what her power is, then how to control it.

Rahne Sinclair (played by Maisie Williams).  After Moira MacTaggert     was Americanised in the X-Men prequel films, becoming a CIA agent rather     than a Scottish scientist, I was afraid that her ward Rahne (pronounced     Rain) would follow a similar course.     Instead, Maisie Williams pulls off a great modernised version of     this young Scottish werewolf-like mutant, including the strict and abusive     conservative Christian upbringing and subsequent abuse that is an integral     part of her comic-verse incarnation.     The film also translates the telepathic bond between Dani and Rahne     from the comics, and its subsequent deep friendship, into a same-sex     romance that is very much a natural extension of source material.

Samuel “Sam” Guthrie (played by Charlie Heaton).  Much like     Williams, Heaton is shifting his accent to play the role of Sam Guthrie,     who in the comics hails from Kentucky coal country.  The performance is brilliant, and while some     fans may struggle to understand why Sam has one arm in a cast when his     power of ‘blasting’ is supposed to render him invulnerable, the film works     in an idea of guilt-based self-abuse which, much like the Dani-Rahne     relationship, is an extension of a comic-based element.  In the comics, Sam is very hard on     himself and holds himself to an almost impossibly high standard in all     areas, but often falls short in the area of his mutant powers.  For someone like that, the kind of incident     Sam is struggling to deal with in the film could have a very negative     effect on his mental health.

Illyana Rasputin (played by Anna Taylor-Joy).  The kid sister of     Colossus, Anna Taylor-Joy sadly doesn’t get to make any hints about her     character knowing one of the X-Men by blood.  Her backstory gets somewhat revised in     order for it to work within a relatively self-contained film; in the     comics, Illyana was drawn into the realm of Limbo at about six or seven     years old, but due to a time-difference between there and Earth and a slip-up     in the X-Men saving her, she ended up coming back to Earth at age 13,     possessing powers of sorcery as well as a mutant teleporting power tied     into the Limbo dimension.  The film     retains Illyana’s power set, however, and even borrows the dragon Lockheed     who was originally the ‘pet’/friend of Kitty Pryde, Illyana’s best friend     and room-mate in the comics.     Thankfully, Taylor-Joy also uses a Russian accent in keeping with     her character, so we’re not getting any repeats on the Daniel Cudmore Americanised     performance here.

Roberto “Bobby” DaCosta (Played by Henry Zaga).  Character-wise, Zaga     does well as the New Mutant who was code-named Sunspot in the comics, and while     the more pyrokinetic version of his powers seen in the Days of Future Past     film incarnation of the character show up, so does his true comic power of     solar-powered strength.  The film     also claims Bobby is from Brazil in keeping with the comics, but Zaga’s     accent never sounds even remotely Latin American to me, despite him being     a Brazilian actor, and even worse Zaga is a white-wash on the character.  Readers of the comics will know Roberto     is of mixed race, having a white mother and a black father, so Zaga is a     very poor casting choice, especially given the diversity-driven nature of     Marvel’s mutant character base.

Dr Cecilia Reyes (Played by Alice Braga).  Of the two Brazilian cast     members, Braga is the only one who sounds like she’s from a Latin American     country, and that’s annoying because she shouldn’t.  Dr Cecilia Reyes is American; more     importantly, she was drawn in the comics as having dark skin to suggest a mixed-race     background similar to Roberto’s (based on her initial appearance in Operation:     Zero Tolerance, which I’ve also read), and her general attitude and     depiction in source material would seem to suggest an upbringing somewhere     in America.  Also, Reyes’     force-field powers are centred around herself in the source material,     presumably to avoid any suggestion of her being a diversity’s sake rip-off     of Susan Richards of the Fantastic Four, and she is a frequent ally or     member of the X-Men.  This makes her     position as an eventual antagonist in this film a poor misuse of her character,     one akin to the infamous misuse of the Mandarin in the MCU’s Iron Man 3.

Given all of this, I’m inclined to see The New Mutants as yet another Fox-made Marvel film that falls short of greatness because key details were changed that didn’t need to be.  Had I been the one to do this film, I’d have hired an actor that could look like Roberto from the comics, and would have hired an accent coach to help him if he couldn’t do a Brazilian accent.  Next, I’d have kept Dr Cecilia Reyes out of the film and used Madelyn Pryor, a character from the comics who would have served that part of the story better on the basis of the source material, and would have cast a suitable actress for that role.

Finally, I’d have worked in at least a nod to the sibling relationship between Illyana and Colossus during the film, used newly shot footage for the part where stock footage from Logan was used, and I’d have done a very brief mid-credits or end credits scene where the X-Men (prequel Xavier, Storm and Nightcrawler with Deadpool-style Colossus and Jackman’s Wolverine) would have touched down in the path of the New Mutants in the Blackbird.  Zero dialogue; just the touch down, the X-Men coming out and Illyana running to give her big bro a hug, done.  Final score for what we did get, though, is 8 out of 10.  Could well have been less, but the appearance of a comic-accurate Lockheed in the third act?  That is a major plus all by itself.

[fortheloveofspencerreid]

Seasons - Spencer Reid x OC - Chapter 2

A/N - thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! Here’s a little more for you :) Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Seasons - Chapter 2

Somewhere over the East Coast - BAU Jet

‘Garcia?’ Hotch frowned at the laptop situated on the table on the jet as the tech analyst’s image froze for a second. The agents watched and waited until she started moving again, animatedly as always.

 ‘My lovelies can you hear me? I think we’re having a slight technical glitch!’ Her voice chirruped through the tinny laptop speakers.

 ‘Technical glitch? I didn’t think you knew of such things baby girl.’ Morgan chuckled, moving into view.

 ‘Oh my beautiful chocolate man, such things do not exist in my world. But you should consider springing for a better Wi-Fi plan for that fancy pants jet.’ She winked.

 ‘Garcia please?’ Hotch spoke again.

 ‘Sorry boss, what can I do for you?’

 ‘JJ has sent you a list of victims’ names, I need to know everything you can find on them. And I mean everything.’

 ‘Given a little time I can tell you what they had for breakfast and if they were polka dot or stripes kinda gals. Tech kitten out.’ She smiled and then her image disappeared from the screen. Hotch closed the laptop and looked over the faces of his team members.

 ‘It says here there was a sole surviving victim?’ Reid looked up from the case file he’d been reading. Hotch opened his tablet and frowned a little, he’d scanned the notes, he hadn’t picked up on that.

 ‘Yeah her name was Leona Harrison.’ JJ nodded.

 ‘How did she escape? We’ll need to talk to her.’ Rossi spoke up in his deep, thick voice.

 ‘Cops found the unsub’s location and raided the place. They found one dead woman, Anita Callahan and Harrison who was barely alive. There was a shootout, some cops didn’t make it but somehow the unsub got away.’ JJ sighed. ‘As for talking to her, I’m afraid that’s not possible.’

 ‘It says she didn’t make it?’ Reid ran his fingers over the words on the page while the others followed along on their tablets. Reid was a technophobe. He had an ancient phone and preferred to have copies of case files rather than reading them on a tablet.

 ‘She passed away in hospital a few days after she was rescued from injuries sustained from the unsub.’ JJ told them all sadly.

 Hotch locked his tablet and looked at his team. 

 ‘When we land, Morgan and Reid I want you to go to the ME’s office and find out what you can on our latest victim.’ 

 ‘Roger.’ Morgan spoke up and Reid just nodded.

 ‘Rossi I need you to go to the home of the first victim. Find out what you can about her. Prentiss go to the home of the latest victim.’

 ‘Got it.’ Prentiss nodded.

 ‘All over it.’ Rossi agreed.

 ‘JJ and I will meet with Detective Doherty at the station. We’ll meet there later for a briefing.’ 

 The agents all nodded in agreement and went back to looking over files in preparation for their new case.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Unknown Location

 Her screams penetrated the air around them. He didn’t care if she screamed, no one would hear her. He’d gone to great lengths to make sure no one would hear them.

 The room was a little cold and smelt like mildew. The girl strapped to the chair felt goosebumps rising on her skin and a shiver pass down her spine. Her body was clad only in now dirty underwear, she’d been wearing them for three weeks since the day she’d woken up in a tiny cell stripped to her bra and panties. The cell was barely big enough to sit up in let alone stand and her body ached. But the ache was the least of her worries. There had been one other woman in a cell adjacent to hers but they couldn’t communicate as the cells were sound proof. The other woman had since gone and she knew what that meant. The other woman was dead. And she would be next.

 She screamed, tears streaming down her battered face.

 ‘Please!’ She croaked, not recognising her own voice. ‘Please let me go!’

 He didn’t look at her. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even acknowledge her pleas. She didn’t think he would. He never had done. She knew what was coming but she had by no means resigned herself to her fate.

 Every day for the past twenty two days she had been removed from her cell for a various period of time, brought to this room and tortured. The torture varied but it was always excruciating. She would be thrown back in her cell afterwards crying and in so much pain. Always wondering why this psychopath was doing this to her. Why her? What had she done to deserve this? Was her boyfriend looking for her? Were her parents? When was she going to die?

 He picked the implement up from the steel table with gloved hands and that’s when he finally turned to face her. The knife caught the single lightbulb hanging over head and glistened. She screamed. It didn’t help. He advanced. And all she could do was cry. 

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Brooklyn PD

 The knock at her door startled her a little, not that you would be able to tell by her unwavering composure. She shook it off and cleared her throat.

 ‘Yes?’ She called from where she sat. The door opened on her colleague and one of the only other people to know about the feds presence, Detective Matthew Lent.

 ‘The uhm...consultants are here for you.’ He told her. She nodded and motioned her hand to send them in. She stood from her chair and smoothed down her powder blue shirt. Matthew disappeared and then a male and female agent entered her office.

 ‘Please, close the door.’ She came around to the other side of her desk.

 ‘Detective Doherty?’ The woman stepped forward. She was blonde with large blue eyes and a friendly smile. ‘I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is unit chief Aaron Hotchner.’ She introduced them.

 ‘Thank you for coming.’ She shook Agent Jareau’s hand and then Hotch’s. ‘Lennox Doherty.’

 ‘Our other agents are already at work.’ Hotch informed her as he started looking around the room.

 ‘Brilliant.’ Lennox nodded. She followed Hotch’s gaze as did JJ. There were boxes piled up in one corner of the room and on the other side were two boards covered in photographs and hand written notes relating to the case.

 ‘Wow you’re prepared.’ JJ motioned towards the boards.

 ‘I’ve been chasing this guy for five years.’ Lennox simply told them. Hotch went over closer to the boards and started scrutinising them.

 ‘He clearly has a type.’ He looked over the twenty small photographs of the unsub’s victims.

 ‘Yeah. All between the ages of twenty and thirty. All brunette, all fairly athletic, in shape. They were all very career focused women.’

 ‘Any theories as to why he keeps them for thirty days?’ JJ leant on the edge of Lennox’s desk.

 ‘Kind of. My assumption is that maybe he spent a small amount of time in prison or a psych ward, thirty days of torture. Maybe it has some symbolism for him. Although I lean more towards prison.’

 ‘Why so?’ Hotch looked away from the board to Lennox.

 ‘Well,’ she sighed a little. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would need to spend time in a psych ward. He’s never exhibited any behaviour that would suggest he was mentally unstable. I believe this is a man that hates women. I believe he is cool, calm and calculated. He can go months without killing if he has to. He doesn’t need to kill. He enjoys it. He takes his time, he plans every last detail. He probably had a bad relationship with his own mother, maybe she left; maybe she beat him. Maybe an ex, but he definitely doesn’t hold women in high regard due to something that happened to him in his past. If he did spend thirty days in prison, maybe it was a female guard. He’s never sexually assaulted any of his victims and I believe that to be not because he’s impotent but because he hates women so much he can’t bring himself to be intimate with them. He’s probably in his thirties to forties, well-educated but probably a loner. He slides under the radar. People don’t even notice him. He has a rouse to get them to pull over, the one surviving victim said something ran out in front of her car. I believe he planned that. All his victims were found with taser marks on their backs, it could be part of the torture but I think it’s more likely that’s how he stuns them once they get out of the car. His dumping patterns suggest he moves around a lot, we haven’t been able to get much from the Geographic’s. He dumps bodies all over Brooklyn. It’s like once he’s done with his torture he doesn’t care where they end up. He just likes getting us to run around the city after him.’ She paused to take a breath realising she’d been rambling. She got like this when she spoke about this guy. He got under her skin, she felt hot all of a sudden like someone had just turned up the heat. Hotch and JJ’s eyes were on her and that didn’t help. They eyed her up for a moment or two before briefly looking at each other and then back at her.

 ‘You’ve already profiled the unsub?’ JJ raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I don’t know if I’d call it profile.’ Lennox shrugged feeling suddenly shy. Here she was ranting and raving and, yes, profiling the guy when she had the best profilers in the world stood in front her. She felt stupid.

‘I would.’ Hotch stepped a little closer to her, his facial expression illegible but she would come to realise it always was. ‘And from the files you sent over I would say you are right on the mark.’

Lennox rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

‘I was a criminal psychology major and after I joined the PD I took evening classes in behavioural science. I always wanted to be a profiler.’ She shrugged, turning away from Hotch’s intimidating gaze. ‘I’ve also read all of Agent Rossi’s books and been to several of his lectures.’

‘I’m impressed.’ Hotch nodded to himself.

‘What made you become a detective?’ JJ asked her, ever personable. She liked getting to know people, even if it was people she wouldn’t speak to again when the case was over.

‘The legacy.’ She smiled a little sadly turning around and motioning to the three framed photographs on the wall behind her desk of three men in their police academy uniforms. ‘My dad, grandfather and great grandfather were all detectives at this very PD. I never really had a choice to do anything else.’

Hotch thought after that profile she’d just delivered that she was wasted here. She was the kind of mind he needed on his team. He’d have to keep an eye on her.

‘Anyway,’ Lennox spoke again. ‘Do you want to start looking over my files until your team gets here?’ she motioned to the boxes. Hotch nodded and stepped towards them.

‘Can you tell me who else is aware we are here? I’d like to brief them on the importance of keeping our presence low-key.’ JJ spoke to Lennox.

‘Of course Agent Jareau, follow me.’ Lennox led her towards the door leaving Hotch to start on the boxes.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York – Medical Examiner’s Office

 ‘Wow, this unsub really did a number on her.’ Derick Morgan looked down at the body of the unsub’s latest victim, Melody Franks, on the steel table.

‘She was almost entirely eviscerated.’ Reid stared at the scar the coroner had stitched across her abdomen.

‘She would have bled to death.’ The coroner, an elderly man that simply told them to call him Doc came over with the victim’s chart. ‘If she hadn’t been strangled first.’

‘Is that how all the victim’s died?’ Reid looked up from the woman’s cold dead body to Doc. He nodded.

‘Manual asphyxia. He strangled them with his bare hands. It wasn’t quick. Judging by the marks on her neck I would say he strangled her four or five times, brought her to the brink of death only to stop right before she lost too much air.’ Doc flicked through his notes. ‘This guy’s real sadistic. She had a broken arm in two places, a fractured skull, and shattered optical bone amongst dozens of other minor injuries.’ There was nothing minor about this woman’s injuries but some were more minor than others.

‘She’s young.’ Morgan sighed.

‘Twenty three.’ Doc confirmed.

‘That’s no life.’ Morgan shook his head.

‘What else did you find?’ Reid stood up straight after being bent over the body to his full height. Doc looked down at his notes.

‘She had ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, no defensive wounds. Her stomach was almost completely empty, he was damn near starving her as well.’

‘Is that consistent with the other victim’s?’ Reid clutched the strap of his messenger bag as spoke.

‘Every last one of them.’

‘Even the first?’ Morgan confirmed.

‘Even the first.’ Doc closed his file.

‘That sounds too clean, too controlled to be a first kill. Most first kills are messy, it takes some time for them to figure out their groove.’ Morgan mused, more to himself.

‘There must be other bodies we don’t know about.’ Reid agreed. ‘Thanks Doc.’

The two agents headed to the door and exited the morgue. Reid rubbed his arms with his hands trying to warm up. Morgan already had his cell in his hand and it was ringing.

‘Queen of all that is technological. How can I be of assistance your handsome-ness?’ Penelope Garcia’s infectious voice bounced around the empty corridor as Morgan put the phone on speaker.

‘Hey baby girl, I need you to look into unsolved murders in Brooklyn from five years ago or longer. Young, female vics with signs of torture. Let me know anything you can come up with.’

‘For you my darling I will put it to the top of my pile.’ She flirted, Reid could hear it in her voice. She and Morgan always flirted, Reid didn’t get what was going on there. But then again Reid never did really get things like that. He was intelligent, a genius really, with an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and he could read 20,000 words per minute. He could speak multiple languages but one of those languages was not the language of love. He could profile anyone in a matter of minutes of meeting them but personal affairs were not in his realm of knowledge.

‘Thank you my tech goddess.’ Morgan smirked as he spoke.

‘Toodles my hunk of burning of love.’ She hung up and Reid just stared at Morgan as they headed down the corridor.

‘What?’ Morgan asked, feeling the younger man’s gaze on the side of his face.

‘I don’t get it.’ Reid shook his head. Morgan reached out and squeezed Reid’s shoulder.

‘You can’t have everything kid. Imagine being as smart as you and being a lothario, the women wouldn’t stand a chance.’ Morgan chuckled as he picked up his pace. Reid pouted a little. He didn’t want to be a lothario. But being able to talk to a woman might make a nice change.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Brooklyn PD

 Hotch spent the next few hours going through files after files on their unsub. All the files we’re extremely well organised, He was becoming more and more impressed by Detective Doherty. JJ briefed the few insiders and started helping him go through the files while Lennox was on hand to answer any questions they had.

 It was late by the time the other agents made it to PD. Lennox gathered them all in a meeting room along with the other ‘insiders’ as her office was too small to accommodate everyone. Introductions were made by JJ.

 ‘Everyone this is Detective Lennox Doherty. Detective this is the rest of our team, SSA’s Derick Morgan, Emily Prentiss and David Rossi.’ 

 Lennox stood forward and one by one shook their hands, feeling oddly star struck when she shook Rossi’s hand. Rossi was one of the reasons she’d wanted to be a profiler, she never thought she’d actually meet him. 

 ‘Where’s Reid?’ Hotch asked with his trademark frown.

 ‘Little boy’s room.’ Morgan smirked. 

 ‘These are the only other people that know about the FBI involvement. This is Detective Matthew Lent, Detective Carlo Sanchez and PD’s Bruno Carter and Brian Flannigan.’ Lennox introduced the other cops in the room. 

 Suddenly the door flew open and a gangling man with long hair practically careened into the room. Morgan sighed heavily.

 ‘Reid, firearm! We had this conversation in the car!’

 Reid looked down to his very noticeable weapon on his hip. He blushed a little, unstrapping his holster and moving it to a more discreet location so it was hidden under his sweater vest.

 ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged.

 ‘Lennox Doherty, this is our resident genius Dr Spencer Reid.’ Morgan said the word genius as though he didn’t quite believe it at that moment in time. 

 Lennox stepped closer to the young man. Their eyes met, her blue ones and his deep hazel ones. She felt a sudden shiver pass up her spine.

 ‘Genius?’ Detective Lent spoke up thankfully because Lennox found herself at a loss for words. Reid tore his eyes away from the woman.

 ‘Well I don’t know about genius.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and I can read 20,000 words per minute...’ he trailed off feeling all the eyes in the room on him. ‘Ok so I’m a genius.’ He swallowed and Lennox watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down under the sensitive flesh of his neck. She couldn’t quite get over how beautiful his eyes were, how beautiful his whole face was. She would have been less surprised hearing he was a male model than a doctor. Lennox didn’t find herself very often getting lost in someone’s looks, in fact she never did. But looking at Spencer Reid her throat felt dry and her palms sweaty. She tried to ignore it. She had to ignore it.

 ‘...so the fact you are FBI stays inside these four walls.’

 She tuned back into the conversation as Lent was speaking with the agents JJ hadn’t already briefed. She took a few deep breaths and her eyes followed Reid as he walked over to the far wall and started inspecting the pictures that hung there. The Brooklyn PD’s wall of fallen heroes. Under the photographs of their lost officers was a wall decal that read ‘Fidelis ad Mortem’.

 ‘Fidelis ad mortem.’ Reid spoke to himself but Lennox heard him.

 ‘Uhm yeah it means-’

 ‘Faithful unto death.’ Reid cut her off. 

 ‘Did he not mention all the languages he speaks?’ JJ laughed a little. Lennox looked over her shoulder at the blonde woman before looking back at Reid as he went over the photographs. 

 The final photo on the wall was a chiselled cop with dark hair and features. Reid thought his eyes looked warm, friendly. 

 ‘Maxwell Doherty, 1978 - 2013.’ He spoke out loud. He suddenly turned to look at Lennox, his facial expression curious. ‘A relation?’

 Lennox swallowed, feeling his profiler eyes all over her. She was glad for her poker face right now.

 ‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s a lot of Irish-American’s around Brooklyn. Doherty’s a common last name.’ She shrugged turning away from Reid. Reid rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. She didn’t give a lot away, she was hard to read even for a seasoned profiler but he swore he saw a brief flicker of something in her eyes. Hurt maybe? A secret? 

 ‘I recognise those names.’ Hotch pointed at the end three photographs, Max Doherty included.

 ‘The three of them were three of the cops who found the Butcher’s hideout last year. The son of bitch killed them.’ Lent informed them. The room was silent for a moment as they remembered those they lost that day. Maxwell Doherty. Evan Schapiro. Megan Ludwig.

 Lennox was the one to finally break the silence. 

‘Right well it’s late so why don’t we call it a day and pick up again tomorrow?’ She addressed the room, clapping her hands together. The rest of the room made noises of agreement and one by one they left the meeting room. Lennox dragged herself down to her office where the boards were now covered back up. She slumped into her chair and ran her hands over her face. 

 The door was open so he tentatively knocked on the door frame. She took her hands away from her face and looked up, straight into his hazel eyes.

 ‘Not going home?’ Reid half-smiled at her.

 ‘Not just yet.’ She shook her head before rolling her shoulders and clicking her neck. He saw the brief swell of pain spread to her eyes.

 ‘Everything ok?’ He nervously stepped further into the room, taking in all the details of her office. She kept it dark and the temperature down. 

 ‘Are you trying to profile me Dr Reid?’ She folded her arms across her chest as she watched his eyes move about the room. He was trying to size her up.

 ‘I don’t need to try and profile you.’ He looked back at her with a slight smirk.

 ‘I suppose a genius such as yourself doesn’t have to try at much.’ She hadn’t meant that as harshly as it came out but Reid didn’t seem to mind, he just shrugged.

 ‘Are they family?’ He pointed at the photographs on the wall behind her desk.

 ‘My dad, grandfather and great grandfather.’

 ‘They must be proud.’ He stopped a few feet from her desk.

 ‘I guess they would be if they’d lived to see my making Detective.’ She unfolded her arms. ‘What is it you want Dr Reid?’ She stood up now, not liking that he was towering over her even though he was nowhere near her.

 ‘Statistically New York’s homicide rate is the lowest it’s ever been.’ Reid told her, as if she wouldn’t already know a fact like that about a city where she was a detective. ‘Even with this unsub roaming the streets.’

 ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ She folded her arms again and raised an eyebrow at the young doctor. He shrugged. Talking statistics and quoting facts was the only way he knew of trying to cheer someone up.

 ‘I’m just saying you shouldn’t beat yourself up over the fact he’s still out there. The number of serial killings that go unsolved is-’

 ‘Dr Reid,’ she cut him off before he could spout another statistic. ‘With all due respect facts and figures aren’t going to make me feel any better about the fact this guy has gone without capture for five years. On my watch.’

 ‘I was only trying to help.’

 ‘Why? You don’t know me. Why do you want to help?’

 He could tell her back was up. She glared at him and he felt a knot in his stomach. She was incredibly beautiful, something that kept taking him off guard.

 ‘I thought that’s what we were here for. To help.’

 ‘To help catch the unsub yes. Not to help me through whatever it is you think I need with help with.’ She unfolded her arms and sat back down. ‘Now if you don’t mind I have some paperwork I need to finish.’

 Reid nodded, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to offend her, nothing of the sort. He’d just felt drawn to her for some reason. He knew she had a story to tell and he thought maybe he could be the one she told it to. It had been stupid really. 

 He adjusted his messenger bag, the new position of his weapon digging into his lower back.

‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’ He spoke quietly. She didn’t look up from her desk. ‘See you tomorrow Detective.’ He sighed a little and turned to exit the room. 

 Lennox looked up as he was leaving. His long hair grazed the tops of his shoulders, his tight sweater vest creating a visible bulge where his firearm sat. She watched him go without saying a word. She wasn’t always so hostile, not always. Only on the very rare occasion she met a man who made her feel the way Reid was making her feel. Giddy, as though she were a teenager with a high school crush. She couldn’t work with feelings like that. She didn’t approve of them. She scalded herself as she looked down at the ring on her right hand. She twirled it around her finger a few times feeling guilty. She knew she needed to keep herself distanced from the devilishly handsome and somewhat gawky Dr Reid. 

 It had been a year. Why the hell did she still feel so guilty when she met an attractive man?

 Tags - @stunudo @veroinnumera @cynbx

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

Why the United States in in chaos & almost everyone wants to leave

Hello Tumblr. I am a United Statesian (or, as some say “American”, despite the fact that there is a North, Central, Latin, & South America as well & all of them are technically Americans but not United Statesians), and not proud of it. Here’s a list of angsty reasons why. There will probably be a few side rants but I want to clear up exactly what is going horribly wrong in this shitty ass country. I will give a list overview, then expound upon each item.

1. The abortion laws/bills in over a dozen states that may go federal because the administration sucks. Alabama refused to make exceptions for the death or incapacitation of the mother, for rape, or for incest in their abortion law. 26 white male lawmakers passed the bill and the governor signed it, despite being “representatives” of the people. This means the mother (or anyone with a uterus, because remember transgender men and nonbinary people can have one too) is just a fucking INCUBATOR for a child if her spouse decides so. An 11 year old girl got raped by a 26 year old man in Louisiana, but thanks to their Heartbeat Bill she’ll have to carry & deliver a child at ELEVEN YEARS OLD. Let that shit sink in, because that’s horrifying. What happened to “the land of the free and the home of the brave”?

2. Mental Health, & how people view mental health & use of hospitals. We live in a very individualistic society. Everyone is afraid of everyone else. Everyone assumes the other people are insane druggies and alcoholics who will murder or steal from them given a second’s chance. If a person (say, someone suicidal) decides to seek therapy or a mental hospital for assistance, everyone is even more afraid! They assume crazy and refuse them jobs, homes, financial aid, and all kinds of basic human decency & respect. They say they don’t do this, but the proof is in the statistics. Majority of United Statesians will, at some time during their life, develop a serious mental disorder--and of these 90% or so who do, only 10% of that crowd will seek help because it causes so much grief. 1 in 5 adults (around 20%), 1 in 5 youth between 13 & 18 years of age, and about 13% of children aged 8-13 years old will develop a serious mental disorder IN ONE YEAR, but very little is done about this because it is so hushed and frowned upon to admit distress and seek aid. Everything has to be done on your own and support systems are gone so things like Shaken Baby Syndrome have sprung up (from overwhelmed parents who probably haven’t slept in days and shake their child out of frustration, and this causes the child as it grows up to be unable to walk in a straight line, always drifting left or right).

On a similar note, the bystander effect. Kitty Genovese (Catherine Susan Genovese) was brutally raped and murdered over 20 minutes in 1964, while 20 onlookers did NOTHING. The attacker left and returned to finish the job, and no one did anything. This was the only reason people were interested in studying this effect, because these people were everyday apartment livers, not psychopaths. This happened in broad daylight, in an open courtyard where help was easily accessible if anyone had had the worry to do so. The bystander effect means if the people around you are doing nothing or seem unconcerned, you are likely to assume crackhead or druggie or not a big deal instead of possible emergency, or to assume others will act, and to do NOTHING about serious events like Kitty’s death.

3. Monetized Healthcare. Sometime during the Nixon administration, this administration signed a bill into law allowing insurance companies to monopolize healthcare. They are now allowed, by this law, to charge as much as they want, however ridiculous. Ambulances cost around $6,000 to take a dying person to the hospital. If you get shot it’s about $154,000 (per person) to get it treated in a hospital. A stab wound costs around $12,000 (per person). The legal, federal poverty line right now is $20,000, and at $65,000 a year my family (medically unable to work mother, working father, two children) was living paycheck to paycheck with about $20 to spare after taxes, bills, and necessities were taken care of. Stanford researchers reported that between 2006 and 2014, more than $6,600,000,000 was spent on gunshot injuries (6.6 billion was just in-the-door costs, not including treatment). Following the mass shooting in Las Vegas, an article describing the costs of those victims was published…& it reported that in-and-out patients on average spent $5,254, and anyone kept one night or longer spent on average $95,887—as if their day wasn’t already bad enough!

4. LGBT+ concerns. LGBT+ hate crimes are on the rise. Between 2016 and 2017, the FBI’s Department of Justice reported 2206 hate crimes based on sexual orientation, 243 based on gender identity, and 77 based on sex. This means about 16% of hate crimes were sexual orientation, 2% were gender identity, and 1% were sex. This seems like a small number, but that is a solid 2,449 attacks (rape or murder) based on LGBT+ status and 77 based off a physical, genetic trait we do not choose. That is a terrifyingly high number. 1 in 5 LGBT+ people remain silent, because of statistics such as these and (often religiously inclined) pressures from their family and social circles. People still openly hate and discriminate against these people for something they cannot change. They are called delusional, confused, and broken because they are certain of who they are and what they like, love, and enjoy.

5. HATE CRIMES are on the rise again, and it’s terrifying. See above (#4) obviously, but also racist & religious crimes are on the rise. There were 642 more crimes in 2017 than in 2016, and between the two years this totals 7,620 race-based hate crimes. Each crime can mean one person got hurt or attacked or killed, or it can mean hundreds at a time…it varies depending on the perpetrator and what they hope to achieve. Religious crimes, especially towards Muslims and Jews, are on the rise again, with places of worship being shot up or burned down. In 2016 and 2017, 2837 hate crimes were committed because of religion. This includes a 291 incident rise from 2016 to 2017, and it’s still rising.

6. School shootings, and the NRA’s response. The NRA (National Rifle Association, the main distributor of weapons) refuses to admit that mental health concerns should be taken into account when distributing weapons. They’re so worried about profits they don’t care that children are getting ahold of their weapons and killing and injuring hundreds to thousands of innocent children and adults in schools. One incident occurred because a girl turned a boy down when he asked her out, and instead of accepting this and moving on he tried to kill her. She escaped due to the aid of classmates, but it was a very close call. In other cases children went after their bullies (many of whom had their own issues), and we’ve had hundreds of innocents die while the NRA does absolutely nothing and denies any involvement or responsibility. When it comes to abortion people shout “what about the children” (despite the fact that the fetus doesn’t even have a heart until about 5 weeks, and the heartbeat bills sit at 3) but when it comes to school shootings they ignore the children who have families and lives and hopes and dreams in favor of their guns, because it is written into law that is very difficult to change the people have a “right to bear arms.” But this amendment was added when one-shot rifles were it, and now we have automatic rifles with 300 rounds, but people still scream they have their right because it’s written down somewhere.

7. Lack of respect in the police force & authorities. Tying into number eight…the police (among other authorities) have an overall lack of respect for the people they serve. Naturally there are remarkable exceptions, but it is commonplace. They are taught to act before they think and to profile people. They will go after women and people of color far more often than men and white people. They will criticize women and trust men’s judgement over women’s. They assume people of color or women are always (or almost always) in the wrong, no matter their surroundings. Women and people of color are taught to be on edge always and to fight dirty and run, and never to expect respect.

8. Single-parent families, & views of their parenting skills. My friend’s mother just got screamed at for her “horrible parenting” skills. She is a single mother with a 5 year old daughter, an 18 year old daughter, and a 10 year old son. She works full-time on top of caring for her children and doesn’t always have the energy or time to pay attention to them…unless they act out. Learning this, her son decided to start running away all day without telling her where he was. He could be gone 8am to midnight the next morning. The last time, he refused to get out of his therapist’s car so she called the police (with mother’s permission). The police, rather than realizing from the story of a neighbor whose 17 year old child had been beat up by the 10 year old or from the family who insisted that this child had been acting out a lot recently and had called his mother a whore several times, a bitch, and told her to burn in hell…decided to lecture this single mother on her parenting skills because “ten year olds can’t be dangerous”...and possible because he is the only male in the household. There is now concern, after a night in a psych ward where this child called her abusive, that the 5 year old will be permanently removed from their home despite no abuse having occurred. Single-parent families are only given attention when they fuck up, and never any aid or counseling or financial support to prevent massive explosions like this one.

9. LGBT+ families, and scrutinized views of their parenting skills. Oftentimes LGBT+ families are amazing parental systems. They love themselves and as such are free to love their children unconditionally and expect nothing but encourage everything. Their parenting skills have been scrutinized due to doubt of this fact, and it’s been proven true. A few states have now banned LGBT+ families from adopting children, as if their sexuality or birth gender (“what’s in your pants” again) is any of the adoption agency’s fucking concern.

10. EXTREME POLARIZATION over party lines. Everyone is turning party on party. It’s always the Democrat’s fault or the Republican’s fault if something goes wrong. There will be a blind eye turned to any information to the contrary that possible one’s own party has done something they do not approve of. This results in dog-piling of anyone with a solid opinion. 20 people leapt down my mom’s throat for suggesting people try to change the administration rather than complain about it on social media, and she was called an “unAmerican Nazi”. People throw things like this around nonchalantly, as if they’ve forgotten its roots—and most of them have.

11. Lack of policy knowledge before voting. People are so focused on party lines (“Independent”, “Democrat”, “Republican”) that they don’t do any research on the policies of whom they choose to elect to lead our country. Our electoral college system is fucked and refuses to be changed. It was supposed to represent the people’s choice, but majority vote chose Clinton and the electoral college landed us with Trump. This is not how our system is supposed to work. We are living in a capitalist oligarchy lead by corporations, not a democracy.

12. Ethnic heritage, & loss of policies. Our administration proposed removing all protections for the remaining land of the native peoples of the First Nations, as well as all the scholarships for their education so they can participate as functional members of our society. A person of Cherokee descent told me on the university campus that 6 year old children are still being quietly kidnapped from the nation and brought into white society, never to see or hear from their families again (or be seen or heard from) due to a systematic destruction of their culture. Racist hate crimes are back on the rise, since hate-filled people are emboldened by the current administration’s open hatred of certain ethnic groups and sexes. Petitions are not enough, peaceful protests get brutally shut down by cops with batons, and nothing is right.

13. Unemployment and homelessness. This is a huge crisis that is being dealt with improperly by our management, AKA the Trump administration. They bring back unhealthy jobs that will destroy our world and call it a job well done while kicking more people to the streets. Every homeless person is assumed to be a druggie or an alcoholic, especially the men, but this is extremely wrong. Many of them do have disorders, this is true (schizophrenics and sometimes druggies will end up homeless), but not ALL of them are. Most are simply everyday people living paycheck to paycheck, reduced to begging money from high-and-mighty classist (often racist or sexist) closed-minded people who rarely care enough to offer aid.

14. Breathable air, & drinkable water (that doesn’t light on fire, thank you very much), AKA lack of pollution. Our president, who is supposed to represent WE THE PEOPLE, abolished clean air and water acts preventing coal companies saying he was “bringing back jobs for the people”. What this means, in reality, is that we won’t be able to breathe in about five years, water will all be polluted by offshore drilling, and climate change may well envelope the world and kill all life (grim and dramatic, but a very real possibility). The water within miles of any natural gas fracking fills with fracking chemicals and will LITERALLY LIGHT ON FIRE, and it causes various cancers and other illnesses. Vast majority of these people can’t afford to move, or are too old or sick to do so. Pollution is everywhere. I have asthma…it sucks hardcore.

15. Obesity, overweight, & physical health problems.

The corporations keep everyone so stretched living paycheck-to-paycheck above the 20 year old unchanged poverty line that they’re forced to consume everything offered. A soda or energy drink is $2 or $3 LESS THAN WATER, and when you’ve got only $20 to buy food that may make you more inclined to buy the corporation’s syrupy nutrition-less crap. A McDonald’s meal, to call out a corporation, costs about $4 (compared to $20-$60 for a decent, healthy restaurant with good non-GMO healthy food), but scientists were legitimately unable to figure out some of the chemicals in the food—and the human body sure as hell can’t use that for energy, but it costs so much less it’s a necessary evil sometimes when budgets are thin! This leads to severe obesity (especially in children), cancers, heart failure, and clogged arteries, among other complications.

16. Anxiety & depression are so commonplace they’re dismissed as actual disorders. This is a terrifying revelation. These are severe disorders…that are being overlooked. Depression means the person has a severe lack of motivation, the things they used to enjoy are no longer enjoyable, and sometimes they even desire an early (very soon) death. But due to the fact that this is very commonplace and almost everyone is depressed, people with this disorder are told to “suck it up” because “life sucks”, or to “just smile” or to “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” or to “get over yourself” or that “other people have it worse. This makes depression a much grander monster to tackle, because there is no social support system for a disorder that nearly everybody suffers and considers a normal state of mind.

Anxiety in and of itself is perfectly normal. It’s why we care how we look, why we get up to go to school or work on time, why we look presentable and friendly, and part of how we engage with others around us. However, too much anxiety can be crushing. It seems every person at my university has an anxiety disorder of some kind (social, general) or is distressed (not just stressed, but so over-stressed their systems are failing and they’re getting headaches and finding themselves unable to cope). The pressure of finals or midterms that will determine your fate for the next semester or year, the pressure of clubs or kids or other commitments… it’s all too much. We’re all overwhelmed. Our systems are overridden. We’re running on 4 hours of sleep and an energy drink or a coffee every day, and the greasy sort-of-food in the cafe with its heavy salt and heavy oily fatty foods draw in swarms of distressed and hungry students and staff. Everyone is on a grind. Our brains are overwhelmed, constantly slammed into overdrive. There is no reprieve. It’s school, work, kids or homework, studying, tests, repeat…over and over until people drop out of school or social groups they used to enjoy. 90% of college students will develop a mental disorder in their time on campus due to the financial and emotional stress of attending school.

17. Retirement age keeps going up (it’s around 70 for full benefits) despite life expectancy going down. One can reap the rewards of Social Security by 62 for a loss of 30% of the money you put in there out of your own hard-earned paychecks, or full benefits at 67, or 21% extra benefits if pulled at age 70. This is despite the fact that kids are committing suicide and people are dying of poor health (at the hands of corporations and processed foods and chemicals leading to heart failure and severe obesity and cancer) between 45 and 65 years old…and most people will never reach 70.

18. Suicide rates are on the rise as young as 11 years old. Kids as young as eleven are committing suicide. It’s extremely common for 13-18 year olds to self-harm, starve themselves, or commit suicide. The pressure of society to have sex as young as possible, to get married as soon as possible, to know what they want to be when they’re older, and to fit in is so strong it crushes their will to live. This is terrifying.

19. Pressures of social media & the Internet. Kids learn very fast that if you don’t have a good “brand” or persona online, you will fail socially. Now they have to learn Internet lingo as well as proper grammar, despite how difficult grammar on its own is to learn, and they learn from social media influencers that what they have to do to get attention and “followers” is to flash bare skin or beat someone up or take part in a “challenge” that may harm or kill them. With the way school is taught and how white-washed it’s become (especially in Texas), it is increasingly difficult to convince children this is NOT what they want from their life and why they can’t become a YouTube star overnight like some kid who reviews toys and makes millions of dollars doing it (he’s only eight by the way).

20. Lack of filtering for children...and dangerously adult “children’s” websites. So-called “children’s” game sites full of games such as Mafa.com, where it’s supposedly for children but it’s games with injured or pregnant favorite characters and a game that the entire purpose is to hit Dora’s bare buttocks as fast and hard as possible (it even has a scream effect with it). This is advertised as ‘the best girl games for children’. What is this teaching our kids?

21. EVERYONE IS TRIGGERED BY EVERYTHING. This ranges from the words “flesh” and “moist” (especially together), politics, the news, and school shootings to actual abuse and rape (abuse and rape are legitimate reasons, don’t get me wrong, but these are things we need to talk about and people are too triggered by everything & kind of wimpy (don’t hate on me for that, it’s true that people have lost majority of their ability to handle stress & there are legitimate mental health reasons for that)).

22. College is encouraged but funding is shitty & most students can’t afford to eat. There are federal grants/scholarships but they’re so so limited in scope and what they’ll give, and 3/5 of the students at my university (a commuter campus mostly composed of middle-aged & young parents with 5-11 year old children) CAN’T AFFORD TO EAT FOOD while they attend school, and the stress levels are high enough it’s almost guaranteed (about a 90% chance) that the average university student, regardless of prior ability to handle stress, will develop at least one mental disorder, and this is usually some form of anxiety or depression. This is so “normal”/commonplace no one cares.

23. COMPLACENCY. Because let’s face it, if even half of these things happened in France or someplace else there would’ve been a full-scale revolution that overthrew the whole administration, but we’ve had nothing. No one wants to talk about politics, we all get angry and depressed/suicidal talking about it, and unless the bad stuff DIRECTLY, IMMEDIATELY, & STRONGLY affect people, no one cares. If you drink water with natural gas in it & get cancer/get sick, maybe you’ll care a little. But if you watch someone do that or light their tap water ON FIRE, you can just turn the screen off and go on with your life like Oklahoma and all other natural gas sites have nothing going wrong.

24. On that note, corporations are polluting everything, and no one is stopping them. We need purified water & ice from the refrigerator or some purification system now because natural gases & all kinds of unhealthy chemicals have infected our waters. A military facility dumped 3 tons of nuclear waste into the Puget Sound despite it being illegal, and no one said a damn thing. No one cares that fish and other marine life are swallowing plastic and dying, or that we drink plastic, or that plastic is literally made from oil, or that these toxic wastes getting dumped in the water will cause cancer in 2 to 5 years, or that they soon won’t be able to breathe the air, because right this second it doesn’t seem to affect them. We’ve gotten so used to pollution that we don’t really notice it anymore.

25. Public transport is unreliable & sucks. Unless you live in a huge urban city, public transport is unreliable. In big cities it comes every fifteen minutes to all ends of town; in a suburb, it comes maybe every forty-five minutes (they’re often late)...and though it goes to all the commerce centers and downtown, public transportation from one end of town to the other where the university is doesn’t exist, because society doesn’t care enough about education to complain. Everyone is so overwhelmed with work and home life and survival stress they have no time to care about the things that should matter, because it doesn’t directly affect them.

26. Living is expensive as hell! This especially applies in big cities, where a one-bedroom shitty apartment can cost as much as a full three-bedroom 2-bath house in a small city. The more immigration comes to the city or suburbia, the higher the prices. Just two years ago my parents’ 3 bedroom 2 bath house cost $300,000; the same house now costs $500,000, and it’s still going up. This is good for the seller, but horrible on the buyer.

27. Education is there to brainwash you & tell you how to think, and to pit people against each other in a fight for “good grades”, not allow freedom or  true creativity. We are told from age 6 that money is everything. We are told how to do math and how to write, but never to understand what we’re doing or why we’re doing it. We’re not taught to truly think for ourselves, or the consumer society would ultimately collapse. Schools are too busy cramming tests in for everyone from kindergarten to senior year of high school that the kids aren’t really learning, just temporarily memorizing. Kids are starting to hate school. 5 and 6 year olds are skipping classes. Everything is about tests and grades, tests and grades. No  true learning takes place. It’s all about the numbers, not about the reality.

The No Child Left Behind program seemed like it would help keep kids from socially falling behind, but instead it resulted in 18 year olds who still can’t read (though by 5 most kids can) and kids who slack off because they legitimately can’t comprehend what’s going on. Kids compete for “good grades”, a concept made up by someone many decades ago that no one fully understands except as a statistic for performance. If one child asks why they’re told to shut up and take notes; if a kid takes a creative approach to an assignment such as turning an essay into a thorough powerpoint or an art project they’re given a failing grade; freedom and creativity and critical thought are being crushed. Children now learn to keep their heads down and be shy, to be a bully, or to be an outcast because those are their only offered options.

28. Rape culture. “She was asking for it.” “She shouldn’t’ve gotten drunk.” “She shouldn’t’ve worn those clothes.” “She didn’t say no.” “Rape doesn’t happen to men.” “Oh, boys will be boys.”

These phrases are commonplace on the Internet and all around the country. We hear them all the time. Just because the woman was dressed comfortably or fancy because she was comfortable in her own skin, she wanted to be raped. Just because she wanted to have a good time that night and decided to drink, it’s her fault it happened (even if a rape drug was involved). Just because she didn’t outright say no to him (or her), it’s her fault she got raped. “Boys will be boys”, used to excuse anything a man does. Rape never happens to men and it’s somehow funny to suggest it might. Women never rape people. It’s bullshit, plain and simple. Everyone likes to excuse behavior like that. If you raise a boy, girl, or nonbinary child to respect people and see them as personalities and lives instead of toys and prey, rape wouldn’t be viewed this way. If you raise a boy, girl, or nonbinary child to expect respect and not give in to pleading or coercing or allow anything under standard, rape wouldn’t be viewed this way. This culture is changeable, but no one is willing to make the change. There are legitimately people out there who laugh about men getting raped. Statistically, 1 in 6 men will get raped in a year…and that’s just the ones, in this fucked up culture, who are willing to report it. Statistically, 1 in 3 women will get raped…and again, just the ones, in this culture, who are willing to report it. In high school I couldn’t find a single girl who had not been raped at least once (whether orally or whatever form doesn’t matter), and I (physically female but genderfluid) was the only person I knew who had not experienced it. I came very close around 9, but luckily my older brother caught the guy in time and thanks to him I was the only one untouched by high school, by 18 years old. …Shouldn’t that be terrifying? By the time this generation is reaching adulthood, 1 in 100 kids has not experienced rape, and most of it is because we are taught to sexualize and objectify everyone instead of befriend and love them. We are taught apathy or pity, not empathy.

Now do you understand why we’re in chaos? Why I want to escape? Why everyone wants to leave?

I’m really stressed every time I turn on the news because it’s always more and more bad things. We live in chaos. There are days I don’t want to wake up, days I contemplate self-harm, and days I want to leave the country entirely. This chaos is enough to crush a society.