#where it came before the object it resembles and that object was inspired from those pokemon

[sociavoidance]

A Tribute to Cho Gi Seok

Having used Cho Gi Seok in numerous presentations and assignments, I believe it is a crime not to have written a blog post about him. So here's my appreciation to my favorite photographer and muse:

Admiration at First Sight

Nostalgia #2, Cho Gi Seok, 2020

While browsing Pinterest, I came across a photo of a girl in a school uniform. She was adorned with a series of small fish or shark figurines that seemed to flow over her head, across her face, and towards her shoulder. It was one of those photographs that gave me a "aha" moment as I stared at it for hours, amazed by the idea of combining a human figure with unconventional prop, unlike the typical table or still life objects seen in other photographs and paintings. I found myself wondering whether these fish were computer-generated, hand-drawn or crafted. Another intriguing aspect was how the girl was framed, with her face seemingly divided or "sliced" into two by the diagonal flow of the fish, revealing only one of her eyes and her mouth. Despite its simplicity, with a plain white background, the photo exuded a sense of movement and life. This was my initial encounter with Cho Gi Seok's work, and it sparked a deep sense of inspiration and admiration within me.

Cho Gi Seok: Biography

Cho Gi Seok, Photographer

"I think flowers are the easiest thing to find that anyone around us can think of as beautiful, It’s like taking a portrait for me. By transforming and recombining them, I try to express my own thoughts through them.” 

Born in 1992, the South Korean photographer aspired to be an art director from a young age. Before pursuing photography, he had experience with graphic and set design, which he incorporates into his work and techniques. His photographs depict abstract themes, combining human figures with unusual props. He grew up in an internet generation, so he draws inspiration from technology and its advancements, which sets his work apart from the rest. 

Gi Seok's Visual Archive: My Favorite Collections

The following are my interpretations of some of my favorite collections and photographs. These are not entirely accurate to the photographers' intentions, but rather my own.

Not Alone, Cho Gi Seok, 2021

This collection of images portrays the sensation of feeling trapped or targeted by judgment or bullying during high school. The subject, positioned centrally, is accentuated by accusatory fingers or phones aimed at the subject. The close-ups and portrait-style shots echo the traditional yearbook photos, and the attire reminiscent of school uniforms adds to the overall theme. The flower prop serves as a symbol of innocence or vulnerability.

The title of the collection therefore imply a dark meaning, indicating that the subject is "not alone" but rather accompanied by dominating forces, accusations, and intimidation. It depicts the isolation experienced when one deviates from societal norms or stands out as different from others.

Alone, Cho Gi Seok, 2022

In contrast to the previous photographs titled "Not Alone", these photographs depict the relationship within a society. Cho utilizes technology as props to symbolize our connection to our phones or digital devices. Despite being closely positioned within the composition, each subject gazes in different directions, mirroring the way individuals search for cellular signals or internet. In instances where Cho omits props, he maintains consistency with his concept and theme through lighting techniques. For instance, in the second photograph, where the heads of the individuals are framed diagonally, a vibrant blue light illuminates them, resembling the glow of phone screens or theater displays that illuminates our faces.

These photographs not only convey their message visually but also capture the sensation of being without a smartphone in a sea of people who possess one.

Both of these collections, in my view, are not only semiotically rich but also visually engaging as photographs. Before I conclude my interpretation, I want to express my appreciation for my favorite collection:

Different, Cho Gi Seok, 2023

These series of photographs hold a special place for me; I find myself revisiting them time and again on Cho's Instagram. The way Cho utilizes props, framing, composition, and colors never fails to captivate me and serves as a source of inspiration. Cho skillfully conveys the notion of being different, drawing parallels with Franz Kafka's depiction of dehumanization and alienation through the symbolism of the bug in "The Metamorphosis." This connection underscores the theme of feeling looked down upon and met with disgust. The muted grays and greens evoke feelings associated with anxiety or dysmorphia, further enhanced by the use of paper-cut eyes that portray the sense of being judged and scrutinized. I've added it to my to-do list to capture a series of photos resembling Cho's "Different" collection, using his ideas and techniques.

Final Thoughts:

Cho Gi Seok truly stands out in a sea of photographers by skillfully capturing complex emotions and exploring unconventional, abstract themes. His work contributes to building a valuable visual library for both amateurs and beginners. While his style may not resonate with everyone, there's much to learn and appreciate from his captivating images.

[bagellu]

had a burst of inspiration and have been writing this for the last half a day, so have a little read of something stupid.

(The voice in bold, i’d like you to imagine it sounds like Johnny Chiodini of Oxventure doing the skeleton voice and if you don’t know, please look it up on youtube or something bc it’s a great voice)

Many ages ago, in a time almost unthinkable to the modern man, archaeologists aside, magic worked a little differently. This was not to say that it was primitive or vulgar by the standards set by scholars, but things were understood in a manner less academic. It was just known, rather than being written down somewhere.

Of course, it had many a purpose in that time as it does now. Salves and slaying, along with any interest between.

As most societies eventually figure out, a rule of law is devised to deter would-be wizards from practicing arts that people view like curses. Necromancy was almost always viewed with disdain, outside of a few niche moments when having hoards of undead soldiers ready to die once more for their descendant’s homes.

Use of magic to cause malevolent harm was also frowned upon, dire need aside.

But there was one kind that people always projected more harshly onto than any other. Seelemancy, at least how it was known in these parts, went against gods and common sense alike. To touch the soul of another was an unthinkable act; sacred even to those who spurned religious practices. Manipulation and use of another soul was grounds for expulsion from all civilised society, and there was plenty of that to go around. It would make you an outcast among outcasts.

When the practice was developed it rarely bled further than master and apprentice, learnt in secret in the dead of night. That makes for a difficult relationship, as the student is more often than not eager to acquire power, and the master must temper such ambition.

The result, as I am in no doubt you could infer, is the soul of the master trapped inside some bauble to serve as a reminder of how powerful the student has now become.

There are some that broke from this magistricidal tradition, forging a path of discovery that charted untested waters in the field. Syphoning became a subtle tactic to forge the energies into something substantial, taking bit by bit from unsuspecting masses made up for the lack of individual subjects. For a time, this fuelled the intrigue of those who sought more answers.

An even smaller minority, mastering the craft to an unheard of peak, began to caress the very boundaries that held their own souls in their mortal forms. This did not come without accidents. Some were found as puddles of gore in their own laboratories, others as husks resembling deflated bladders.

Knowledge always came with the risk of an immediate and messy death.

Those that succeeded began to experiment with how their souls could be manipulated further, often with one goal in mind.

Immortality.

Some viewed it as an unachievable ideal; theory rather than practical magic. They relented and focused their talents on shaping themselves as they saw fit, gaining aspects that extended their lives without trying, but not indefinitely.

One mage became obsessed with it. He was convinced that it was indeed possible, as surely the souls that drifted off into the afterlife remained as permanent fixtures in the cosmos? With many years of practice, he could shape his soul to whatever was required, but he knew it would not be enough to complete his work.

With the knowledge of another fallen seelemancer, he sought to succeed where they had failed, leaving behind an assortment of chunks.

It was clear that inanimate objects could house the soul, or part of it, given enough space with which to store something that powerful. He heard word of another mage trying something similar some years before him, using gemstones to store the souls stolen from unsuspecting victims and then used at a later date. It was then a measure of finding the best solvent to contain them.

Many years of experimentation followed. Diamonds, despite their allure and price, were a poor container. Too clear as he reasoned, easy for the souls to slip out. Opal was tried and it worked for a time, but the fragility of the stone made it difficult to hold more than minute amounts of a soul, let alone a mortal one in its entirety.

Eventually, and with the unwilling help of many, he settled on an unrefined gem known as Terabite. It was robust but conducted the flow of souls very well. Not to mention, it appeared to have a remarkably large interior, capable of storing multiple souls within stones as small as a fingernail.

He was elated at this discovery. No doubt revealed itself that he was truly the pinnacle of all mages in his time.

He commissioned a band to be worn around the neck, a strap rather than amulet, with the raw crystal adorned upon it. The work could now begin to ease the boundaries of his soul to accommodate the stone and find a way to perpetuate his own life indefinitely.

At first it was like dipping a toe into unknown waters. It was warm, despite his hesitation, but could feel the pull from the stone. It was not unlike that sensation of pulling souls from others, the stream of energy that slipped into his control. With ample effort, he found he could slowly increase the expansion of his own boundary, and he hoped the continued growth would fuel him for many years.

When he stretched the barrier between, widening the opening, a fly chose that precise moment to zip around his head in search of something to do. Once, twice and then thrice it flew close to his ear. He remained as composed as possible, knowing that the spell required his utmost attention.

Then the insect perched itself on his nose.

He reactively waved a hand to budge it from his face and too late realised his mind had irreversibly wandered. The fine control he had evaporated, magic abound in the second that he removed his focus from casting the spell without direction. His soul felt as though forced through a straw; much more malleable than it should ever be and reshaped into a new container.

The trouble came when he attempted to move his arms, but quickly realised that he no longer possessed a corporal form. At least, one that was not a necklace.

Years worth of curses were spewed into the nothingness, unheard by any that would care. A single damnable fly had scuppered decades of finely tuned research.

He had no senses other than the tempest within himself, swirling inside a gem that sat neatly on the leather. No doubt his soul would sustain it, but finding something to possess would now be the most logical step forward.

And so he waited and decided to commit this tale to memory.

Many ages ago, in a time almost unthinkable to the modern man…

***

Mohore brushed her teeth without enthusiasm. The monologue had woken her some hours earlier, as it so often did, and she essentially ignored it as best she could.

Brushing her dark hair behind pointed ears, she gazed at her face in the mirror. The bags beneath her eyes were dark and heavy as usual, but no other concerning marks grabbed her attention.

The necklace, a leather strap that sat firmly against her neck, remained as it always did. It was such a pretty gem, which was part of the reason she had chosen to wear it in the first place. Oh to be so unbothered once again.

She perched herself onto her armchair. There was the scroller for this morning, but it did not feel the right moment for the news. Perhaps she would continue with the book she had been reading before going to bed. It was a novel with considerable attention to romance, which helped keep the noise inside her head to a minimum.

We reading this again?

“We’re continuing with it,” Mohore answered.

You sure it not too dull?

She shushed the protest. “You love it. Penelope is so secretive and witty, how could you resist?”

The voice remained silent for a moment in thought. Okay. But we not going too fast. Take time with it.

“Of course.”

For a while she sat, slowly reading the words on the pages. It was not her favourite genre, but it sufficed for the little routine she had devised.

At Penelope’s smart remarks a throaty chuckle echoed in Mohore’s head.

It was an hour or so before she was disturbed from this relaxation.

Fly.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring it for the moment. About to turn the page, she was halted by the word once again.

Fly.

“We’re reading, remember?”

Hmm. No, I missed words. Sort fly.

“Can’t we just pretend it’s not there?” Mohore pleaded.

Fly.

She groaned expertly and placed the book back on the side table. “Where is it?”

Kitchen.

Rising from the chair, she went quickly to the kitchen and pulled one of the many swatters from a hook. She held her breath for a moment, trying to hear the damnable thing.

There. Ceiling.

Mohore craned her neck and looked up to find a single bee, trotting around one of the many flowers painted onto the ceiling.

“That’s not a fly,” she explained. “It’s got stripes and is too big.”

Fly.

“No.”

Kill.

She set down the swatter on the counter and reached for a cup from the cupboard. “We’re going to help it out the window, not kill it.”

The voice grumbled once more. Why not just squish? Done quicker.

“Because it’s not a fly.”

I heard fly.

“Maybe you were wrong?” She scooped the bee carefully, using a nearby coaster to trap it before releasing it through the open window. “There, see? Easy and less mess.”

As she turned and intended to return to the comfort of the armchair, a black dot buzzed past her face and made for the pantry.

See, fly.

Mohore grumbled in her own, guttural manner. She grasped the swatter once more and swung at the fly.

As though it had predicted the attack, the fly hovered to the left and continued on its way, unscathed and unbothered by the attempt on its life.

Fly.

The swatter whipped the air once more, but failed to find the minuscule mark.

Fly.

Consecutive slaps echoed around the room, wooden cabinets like firm drums in a percussive melody. None struck the target.

Fly.

Mohore steadied herself and eased her breathing, letting the bug settle on a handle.

Fly.

“I can see it!” she exclaimed. “You try hitting it for once!”

She could feel the bulge of magical energy attempt to move her, but to no avail.

Fly.

“Gods above.” With a swift flick of her wrist, Mohore caught the enemy off guard and confirmed it was no longer a living problem to the voice. “What do we say?”

No response came.

“What do we say?” She rolled her eyes again. It was like trying to teach a toddler manners at times.

Thank.

That will do.

[josefavomjaaga]

@usergreenpixel asked me to spill the tea on Ida Saint-Elme. But frankly, I can’t, as I have mostly ignored these memoirs, like most historians seem to have done, assuming they were completely unreliable and totally made up. I only came across them again when I was looking for something on Grouchy. Whom Ida claims to have known in 1795/6 in the Netherlands (where he allowed her to save two émigrés, with a »smile« from Ida as a recompensation).

Of course, my utter lack of knowledge will not keep me from making an extra long entry about her. 😁

I now see that there actually has been a new edition of Ida’s memoirs a couple of years ago, the editor being well-known French historian Jacques Jourquin. His preface can be read through Amazon, and he estimates that Ida’s memoirs are no more or less reliable than those by Laure Junot, Constant or Mlle Avrillon; as a matter of fact, those were originally published by the same publisher. While there is lots of stuff that Ida (or rather Elselina, as that is her real name) made up about her family and her background, probably to make herself look more interesting and to protect her real relatives, the two main points are undeniably true: Elselina was the quasi-spouse of general Moreau for several years (confirmed by plenty of sources), and she later followed Marshal Ney around from the camp of Boulogne into several campaigns, often dressed as a soldier (confirmed in the memoirs of Ney’s ADCs). She also occasionally worked as a spy and informant to Fouché’s police.

At some point, when I finally have more time, I’ll surely have to get this new edition and read Ida’s memoirs. She seems like a very interesting personality. And from the little that I have seen on Gallica, her memoirs actually seem more enjoyable than the stilted writing style of our beloved Duchess of Abrantes.

But mostly, as I still have problems coming to terms with one Michel Ney, who better to convince me that he was an amiable person than his biggest fan? And that Ida surely was. She seems to have been obsessed with him even before she got together with Moreau, after only hearing about Ney’s exploits, and she claims to have asked colonel Meynier to talk to Ney about her before they ever met. Which apparently did not have the desired effect in the beginning:

Moreover, Ney knew in advance the feelings he had long inspired in me, and nothing was perhaps less likely to sway him in my favour than the irresistible drive which carried me towards him without reflection.

Meynier: Hey, Ney, many heartfelt greetings from some married Dutch chick who has never met you but is totally crazy about you!

Ney: … (runs and hides)

Ida (or rather still Elselina at this point) a short time after the event with Grouchy met Moreau for the first time, whom in the beginning she found way too reasonable and boring, compared to Ney. She actually makes a comparison between her two main lovers immediately before the snippet quoted above:

My affair with Ney bore no resemblance to that which linked me to Moreau. When the latter met me for the first time, my conduct still made me worthy of public esteem [...]. I saw in him my protector rather than my lover: he had never hidden from me his intention of one day restoring to me the rank which belonged to me in the world, and my rights to that public esteem which I had so foolishly sacrificed.

The character of Ney was as fiery as that of Moreau was calm and reflective; but apart from this contrast, between two such remarkable men, I was far from being able to inspire the same interest, when circumstances finally brought me closer to this Ney whom I had known, so to speak, only by his fame. Deprived not only of my claims to consideration, and placed by opinion in the class of women who have only their beauty for all merit and fortune, I still had to struggle in his mind against many malicious insinuations, of which I had, without knowing it, been the object. [...] Moreau would have liked to make me an accomplished woman; he encouraged me to seek the superiority which beauty and the advantages of the spirit give in the world.

Ney, whose tastes and personal habits were far removed from Moreau's gravity, encouraged me to disdain the graces of my sex, and even to seek at times the perils and glory of the stronger sex.

In other words, while Moreau still may have had plans to at one point marry Elselina, for Ney she was one of his occasional affairs, and in addition to that, a sister-in-arms and a prefered drinking buddy. Which probably suited Ida much better.

According to her memoirs, Ida-Elselina only ever had met Ney once (in Moreau’s company) when she wrote him her first passionate love letter:

I must obey my heart; I am therefore not looking for vain excuses. I do not know the art of disguising my feelings: besides, there is something in the depths of my soul which tells me that if my action offends the decorum of the ordinary man, it will perhaps please the noble frankness of your character. Only once did my eyes see you, and your image was engraved in my heart. United with you in thought, I have shuddered at all your perils, rejoiced in all your triumphs, and applauded enthusiastically at the recital of your beautiful deeds. My lot is brilliant; some women find it worthy of envy: I would gladly renounce all this glory, for the right to associate myself with your dangers. Esteem and gratitude unite me with General Moreau. To confess this to you in a letter such as this one, is it not to run the risk of making me contemptible in your eyes? But I cannot fight the irresistible urge of my heart. In confessing to you the feeling that troubles my repose, I have no other thought than to inform you that there is a woman far from you to whom your glory is no less dear than to yourself.

She totally is the type to stand under Ney’s window wearing a »Michel, I want to have your baby!« t-shirt.

Of course, like any good novel heroine, she then – according to herself - got her letters confused and accidentally sent this ardent love letter to – Moreau, instead to Ney. Who apparently didn’t have much trouble to figure out who the real recipient should have been. This then led to a rather painful interview between the couple:

"Elzelina, how has Ney deserved this excessive delirium that has made you forget a woman's dignity?" "Nothing. He hardly knows me; and perhaps he will never love me." "Listen to me," resumed Moreau, "this is the last time I shall touch this subject. Ney will not make you happy. I know him, I admire him; but in his brilliant qualities, in that lofty but ambitious soul, there is no happiness for a woman; for the burning caprice she may expect from him is not the lasting love she should inspire." "Great heavens! What are you telling me! Do you not deceive me."

No bad-mouthing my (not so) secret sweetheart, Moreau!

And at that point, Moreau apparently decided that it was better to let Elselina go, and they broke up. This must have happened before Moreau’s marriage, most likely in 1799. I’ve not yet found the point when Ida finally gets together with Ney.

That’s all the tea I have to spill on Ida right now 😊. All quotes above are from Volume 2 of “Souvenirs d’une contemporaine”, available online at Gallica.

[moontomes]

Finished Business

Photo by Tandem X Visuals on Unsplashed

This story was inspired by the game The Outbound Ghost

They looked at where their hands were supposed to be. They could see the hands but also the ground underneath them. They leapt off the ground, looking around in a daze. They called out. Not a soul answered, they were completely alone. There was a muddy path that was blocked by a jagged pile of rocks. A dried puddle of crimson peeked from beneath it. They tried to move the stones, but it was futile, they just phased through them. 

The forest around them was serene, the birds chirped and went about their day as usual. When they were finally done panicking about phasing through objects they decided to find their way out of the forest. Red, and orange hues clothed the trees and a light breeze served as a melody for the leaves to dance about. It had been a while since they’d last seen anything that resembled a landmark. The familiar sound of water running brought them at last to a creek. They decided it was best to take a break, the sun’s colours were starting to resemble those of the maple trees. As they knelt down, they finally were able to take a look at themselves. 

Messy shoulder length auburn hair rested on top of his head, with a bushy beard to match. His belly was plump and he had some small scars on his hands. The reflection brought some memories back: wood carving, a beverage and meeting someone again. “Benjamim…” The name was so familiar, it felt like it was his. “I was coming back to see her. Back? Who is her?” He touched his breast pocket, he could still feel the small wooden hedgehog sculpture he had carved for her there. But there was nothing there now, he couldn’t even manage to open his pocket. His brain pounded in his skull, cold shivers ran down his spine.

By the time he recovered the sun had set. He decided to follow the creek for the moment. It wasn’t long before the stillness came to an end. A crack came from the bushes making Benjamim jump backwards and almost fall in the creek.

“Aha! I was right! There’s the killer!” A creaky voice proclaimed. It belonged to a mingy teenager in a fedora who jumped out. “See, my detective senses are impeccable sister!”

“Mikey! You can’t do that! I’m sorry mister, don’t listen to him.” A young girl peeked from behind one of the trees.

“Killer?” Benjamim eyed the children, they were as translucent as him. “Where are your parents?”

“Mom and dad already moved on.” The girl replied. “We still have unfinished business.”

“Sister! Call for the others, before the killer runs off!” Mikey repeated himself frantically. “We have to bring him to justice!”

“I’m… sorry. Why are we all transparent? Was there a chemical disaster here?” Benjamim kept his questioning despite Mikey’s ruckus. “What do you mean they have already moved on? Your parents are dead?”

“Maria! Do not share information with this outlaw! He’s dangerous!” Mikey continued. “He is as dead as us now, but we must not drop our guard!”

“Oh my… Mikey can you shut up? You’re so annoying! Mister, our parents have been dead for a while. Dad died in a work accident, and mom died a year ago. We died a couple days ago. There’s a murderer in town, I don’t think anyone is still alive.” The girl paused. “My name is Maria. You’re not from here, why are you dead?”

“I am dead?” Benjamim asked. “I…”

“See! Sister, he doesn’t even know he’s dead! He must be the killer. Maybe he was killing someone and someone knocked the daylights out of him.” Mikey added.

“My name is Benjamim, I think I was coming to visit someone. I’m sorry I don’t remember anything else.” He looked around confused. “Is the town nearby? Maybe I should go to the clinic, my head hurts so much.”

“Mister, the clinic can’t help. We’re ghosts.” Maria sighed. “But let’s go to town, maybe your friend can help you.”

“And we can judge you properly there, criminal scum.” Mikey spat on the ground. 

“I don’t know who my friend is.” Benjamim followed the pair into the small town. “I think it’s a woman.”

“You have ambrosia?” Maria inquired.

“It’s called amnesia, Maria.” Mikey sighed. “You’d know if you’d read those books I recommend you.”

“I am not reading your boring old detective novels. I like to play outside.” Maria retorted. “Abel also has amnesia, maybe you two can talk about it! But it’s late and I want to sleep.”

“So were all dead?” Benjamim asked.

“Yes. As of right now, it seems we’re all ghosts because we have some unfinished businesses, even though mine seems to be coming to an end.” Mikey continued. “Thanks to my expert detective skills, my business is coming to an end when we talk to everyone tomorrow.”

“I know my memory is missing, but I don’t think I’ve killed anyone.” Benjamim asserted. “I wasn’t even near the town. I’ve been lost in the forest all day.”

“So you died today?” Maria asked.

“I… think so?” Benjamim shrugged.

“There’s a small village down the forest path. You must have been going there to continue your rampage. Hmpf.” Mikey mumbled. “Maybe your plan was to annihilate the whole island! Aha! Are you with those unsettling pilgrims that come by every year?!”

Benjamim stared at the young boy astounded. Maria phased through a door signalling for them to follow her. The house entrance was a mess, it seemed like a fight had gone down and the furniture had taken quite a toll. There were however no traces of blood, or corpses. The remaining rooms in the house were in perfect shape, as if their owners had just been absent for a few days and a light coat of dust had settled on top of some of the things.

Mikey had run off somewhere. Benjamim sighed relieved that he didn’t have to deal with the boy for a while. Maria looked around her home, trying to make sense of what had happened.

“So you children remember what happened?” Benjamim asked. “But you still don’t know who did this to you.”

“I remember it was hard to breathe. Everyone says it was hard to breathe.” Maria paused. “But no one remembers the bad guy. We were having a town party, then we all went home and it was hard to breathe.” 

“I’m sorry kid. At least you have your big brother to keep you company.” Benjamim tried to reach Maria’s shoulder to no avail. “Do you also have unfinished business like your brother?”

“I have to take care of him. I promised mom I would look after Mikey. He’s very clumsy.” She replied. “And you mister? Why are you here?”

“I think I was supposed to meet someone…” Benjamim pondered. “But I’m not sure, everything feels fuzzy.”

“Hm, hopefully they’re still here. Not many people stayed behind.” Maria added. “Maybe I could be back with mom and dad if it wasn’t for dummy Mikey. But maybe uncle Abel can help you! Maybe you were coming to visit him and that’s why you both have ambrosia!”

“Amnesia.” Benjamim smirked.

“Ambrosia is more fun.” Maria stuck her tongue out. “We’ll go in the morning. Uncle Abel lives near where we found you. He doesn’t like people.”

A little while later Mikey burst into the home. This time he was accompanied by an old man. The gentleman hung his head low, his eyes darted across the room. Maria and Benjamim turned to face them startled by the spectacle.

“There Mayor Fletcher! There’s the murderer!” Mikey beamed. “We can finally all move on! Judge Norris has moved on but you’re the mayor, you can judge him right?!”

“Oh hush boy. Don’t be silly.” Fletcher pleaded. “I’m sorry we meet under such dire circumstances, young man. My name is Fletcher, welcome to our little town. I hate to impose on you like this, but I need all the help I can get.” 

“Is something wrong sir?” Benjamim inquired.

“Oh how I wish something was going right…” The gentleman muttered. “My granddaughter has gone missing. I would like to ask for your aid in finding her.” 

“Are you sure she hasn’t just moved on?” Benjamim eyed the man who was trembling. “Of course I’ll help. I’m not from here but I’ll do whatever I can.”

“You’re not from here? My, your eyes sure do look familiar… From the market in the next town?” The old man pondered. After a long pause he cleared his throat and continued. “No, she hasn’t moved on. In fact that’s all the reason she ran off.”

“Where did Sophie run off to this time?” Maria asked. “She’s a grown up now, she should stop doing that.”

Benjamim eyed Maria who was pouting with her arms crossed. Mikey on the other hand was fuming at how much everyone was ignoring him, stomping all over the room. If he had a corporeal form he would’ve been making a lot of noise.

“Mayor Fletcher. What happened in this town? Why are we all dead?” Benjamim lips ran faster than he could control. “I’m sorry to ask this now, but I am so confused.”

The old man looked at the ceiling. Mikey stopped fussing about and Maria stepped next to him, she too tried to grasp her brother’s hand to no avail. The siblings sighed in defeat. Mikey made a funny face that failed to cheer his sister. He shrugged and faced Benjamim, staring daggers at the young man.

“It was the end of the Harvest Festival.” Fletcher started. “The festival brings the whole island together, you see. So there were a lot of people from all over. This year Abel even managed to convince the Eralis pilgrims to join us! I was very happy for him, he never managed to make friends on the island, so it’s nice he managed to make some.”

Maria coughed looking at the Mayor. The old man blushed and cleared his throat once again.

“Eralis?” Benjamim interrupted. “That sounds familiar.”

“Oh it’s just an island hermit they worship. They all come to visit her during the harvest season. She has a big fruit orchard, that’s how she makes money for those lunatics that live with her in the compound. Their juices are quite famous.” Fletcher spouted. “You know how small places are. There are ooky people everywhere. She’s one of the types that says they were blessed with visions from a higher being. And with the internets, she got quite popular.”

Silence filled the room once more. Benjamim regretted asking so many questions.

“So… What happened?” Benjamim tried his best to hurry the old gentleman.

“Oh right, no one really knows. Everyone just started feeling sick by the end of it. By the end of the week everyone was dead.” The old man cleared his throat for the third time. “It was nice to try their juices for the first time though. She never allowed them to be sold on the island.”

Mikey and Maria stared at the old man dumbfounded. Benjamim bit his lower lip enough for it to tremble.

“Does your granddaughter have a place she likes to hang out?” He asked, quivering. “We could start searching there.”

They searched all night for the young woman. Benjamim was finding that being dead had its perks. They didn’t need to rest or eat, so they could search all night without feeling encumbered. The siblings had also come to aid in the search, they kept bickering to each other about Benjamim which was driving the two older men mad. At the crack of dawn they finally found Sophie. She was sitting by the sea on a small rocky beach. When she saw them coming she tried her best to hide the fact that she had been crying and put on her bravest grumpiest face.

“What are you doing here grandfather?!” She grumbled. “Coming to move on in front of my face like all the others?! Sure, join the let’s dump Sophie club too!” 

“No one is leaving you Sophie, stop being such a child!” Fletcher turned his gaze to small Maria who glared at him. “Sorry little one.”

“So you all came to laugh at me, that’s why you brought a whole group! I hate you so much grandfather! Who even is that guy?!” Sophie kept firing insults at her grandfather, leaving the old man on the verge of tears.

“Hi, I’m Benjamim. Nice to meet you?” He interjected. “We’ve been looking for you the whole night. Your grandfather was very worried for you.”

“You look familiar… Are you another one of the grandkids of the fish lady in the next town?” Sophie had finally stopped the barrage of insults toward her grandfather. “You went next town just to ask for help finding me?!”

Apologies were made and when she calmed down enough she faced her grandfather and tried to reach for a hug. They finally were able to put Sophie up to speed with what was happening with Benjamim. Half an hour later they were all on their way to Abel’s.

“Why are you helping a killer?” Mikey snapped.

“For the hundredth time Mike, nobody killed us.” Sophie retorted. “Why are you even here anyway?!”

“I have to protect my sister! Since all the adults seem to have lost their minds.” Mikey responded. “Since killers are not being brought to justice, it falls on me, the elder sibling, to keep my sister safe until we move over.”

Maria sighed. Sophie shot her an encouraging look while Fletcher reprimanded Mikey once again. Benjamim quietly observed everyone, the troubles of the people beside him seemed so easy to solve. Just a simple honest conversation, yet they were still wasting time trying to help him instead of taking the easy route. His brain still pounded inside his head. He tried his best to piece the puzzle together, but it only seemed to make his pain worse. 

Fletcher seemed a lot happier, he was standing tall and proud and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure Sophie was still there. The Mayor confessed to Benjamim that Sophie and him had only had each other her whole life. Having her friends move on so quickly had only reignited the hurt she felt with the absence of her parents. Benjamim reassured the old man she wouldn’t run off this time. Sophie and the kids finally caught up to them after chasing some squirrels.

Abel’s house stood in a forest clearing. Despite it being so secluded it was quite monumental, even though the estate grounds were very unkempt. A lake served as the mansion’s pool and was probably the one responsible for keeping the grass around alive. Maria phased through the door making the others rush after her.

“Uncle Abel! Uncle Abel! We need your help!” The little girl shouted, her voice echoed through the empty halls. “Are you here? It’s Maria and Mikey! We found a mister that also has ambrosia!”

“It’s amnesia dummy!” Mikey pouted. “Abel, please help me talk some sense into the mayor! I found the murderer!”

A sulky man about Benjamim’s age made his appearance out of one of the ground floor’s rooms. His skin was very pale and wrinkly and his hair seemed like it hadn’t been combed in a while. The sight of him sent Benjamim back. It seemed as if his heart had begun to beat again, it ached so much it brought him to his knees. The man had the same reaction at seeing Benjamim, only a lot more panicked. A guilty look warped his face. Abel managed to gather some strength to flee the house, Sophie darted after him trying to convince to stop.

Fletcher and the kids panicked, staring at Benjamim, who seemed to be about to suffocate. When Benjamim came back to his senses again Sophie was back. She had not been successful at bringing Abel back.

Abel had finally reached Eralis’ compound. He felt like he was dying all over again. His memories had come back with a vengeance. He couldn’t help but cry at what he had done. The compound was as empty as his residence, his cries reverberated through the cement walls, making it seem a lot louder than he was being.

“Yo dude! What are you still doing here? Everyone else ascended.” A voice interrupted him. “Glad I was able to stay behind to see if everyone made it okay.”

“L-L-Louis?” Abel murmured.

“Come on man, no one left behind. We cleansed the island, no more bad people! And we get to ascend to mother Eralis.” Louis continued. “No one can harm you again in mother’s gardens. It was a nice touch to bury everyone in the orchards, our earthly garden will bloom beautifully too.”

Louis knelt next to Abel who still was crying on the floor.

“No regrets man. We did a good thing, all these small minded people, the world doesn’t need them.” Louis said in his most comforting tone. “I’m kinda bummed we weren’t able to do this worldwide or something.”

Abel felt like he was running out of air again. He grasped for Louis’ arm failing miserably.

“There’s nothing to feel bad for. I wish you had come along soon. You gave mother Eralis great ideas.” Louis persisted. His body started to glow and he smiled. “See you on the other side brother.”

“There were innocents too…” Abel added, Louis was already long gone. “I killed that man.”

“He… killed me.” Benjamim gasped. “I was coming home for the first time in years. He made the rocks collapse on me.”

Everyone stared at Benjamim. Mikey was silent for the first time in a while. Maria sat next to Benjamim trying to comfort him. Benjamim hugged his knees and looked down. His breast pocket was open, a little hedgehog figurine peeped happily at him. 

“I was coming to get my sister. She finished highschool this year and wanted to move in with me.” Benjamim’s face was now covered in tears. “Grandma never liked me much. So I don’t come here often.”

Sophie looked at her grandfather. The man that had always been there, the man that had always made sure she had everything she needed. He had even let her have a gap year, so she could go to university in the coming year with all her friends. Sophie had never been alone. She soon began to glow, Fletcher moved his eyes back to her and gasped. She smiled and vanished.

“She’s safe…” The old man felt as if the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders. “I’m sorry young man, I fear that I have to leave you as well.

“Don’t worry, Mayor. We’ll make sure Mister Benjamim gets home safely.” Maria said as he began to glow as well.

Mikey was sitting on the stairs thinking. He had once again jumped to conclusions and was wrong. He had done this many times before, his younger sister had to save him one too many times at school. Most times he was the bully, but sometimes he was the bullied and in those times he never knew what to do. Maria knew, Maria was always there shadowing him. Maria was the first one to apologise for him. He felt like an awful older brother. Ever since their parents had died Maria had become very reliant on her brother, he however had never stepped up to the task. They were both children and learning to understand the world. Mikey had decided to be like the characters in his comics and Maria had decided to be like her mom.

“Hey kids.” Benjamim dried his tears. “You should go too, I’m sure your parents miss you. Don’t worry I know the way.”

The children looked at him and back at each other.

“I’m sorry Maria. I’ve been a bad brother.” Mikey sobbed and ran to his sister. “I’m sorry I’m weird, I thought if I was like Wonderman I could keep us safe. I know comics aren’t real but.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay, mister?” Maria smiled. “I hope your family is there. Or at least your sister!”

Benjamim smiled and waved. “Thank you. You two were great. You were right, Abel helped me with my ambrosia.”

The children laughed and began to glow. In an instant they too were gone. Benjamim took a little while to recompose. He made his way to the village, a familiar face greeted him at the entrance. 

“Claire!” He ran to his sister. “You’re still here!”

“You came!” Claire exclaimed. “You really came for me! But you’re also…”

“Of course I would come.” Benjamim replied. “Yeah someone rocked me out.”

“Grandma is still here too. Do you want to go see her?...” Claire asked.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” Benjamim stepped back. “I’m glad I still got to see you. I wished I would’ve got here sooner. I’m sorry.”

“Please go see Grandma. I know it’s hard. But maybe this time it’ll go well?” Claire pleaded. 

“What unfinished business does she even have? Forgot to hang the laundry?” He replied.

They made their way into the house, Benjamim dragged his feet all the way. Their grandmother sat by the unlit fireplace. The old woman seemed surprised at seeing the young man in their house. 

“Claire, who is this young man? Did you make a new friend?” She asked. “What a time to make friends.”

The old woman got up from her chair and walked closer to them. Her eyes widened as she took a better look at him.

“It’s… you.” She mumbled. “You have a beard…”

Benjamim stood still, no sound was coming from his mouth.

“You came back. Claire did you know? You didn’t tell me she was coming!” The grandmother continued. 

“He grandma!” Claire fired.

“I’m sorry… He. Of course.” She said, smiling at her grandson. “My grandson.”

“Benjamim.” He finally said. “You’re okay with it now?”

“I was very wrong. I didn’t know how much I was hurting you. I know I can’t undo all that I’ve said and done, it is far too late for all of us now.” The old woman started to cry. “I’m so happy I got to see you one last time. You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

Benjamim placed the smiling hedgehog figurine on the table next to them. “I whittled it… Like you taught me. ” 

After a long conversation the family too began to glow. Not all wounds were mended, but some were beginning to heal.

The island was once again inhabited. It took a hundred years for people to move once again to the creepy uninhabited island of legend. Abel was making his rounds down by the pier. Unlike all the stories make one believe, ghosts can live peacefully with humans without ever being seen. A boy followed his grandmother out of a boat, carrying a bucketful of fish. Abel watched them peacefully until the boy looked at him. The child smiled at Abel, at first Abel’s eyes widened, but soon enough he smiled back. The ghost, like all the others before him, started to glow. It was time for him to move on.

[missazura]

I really do encourage everyone to create your own narrators instead of using mine. He’s an amalgamation of a LOT of things I love (his true starting point was a pompous, narcissistic version of Ford Pines, so the resemblance was on purpose) and traits from my favourite characters (turtleneck from my version of Gaster, his body build was based on Otto Octavius), along Kevan himself as well. His square shape was meant to show he’s a stubborn, hardheaded man. His hair has an N-shaped curl on purpose as his signature. I put in a lot of stuff for someone who’s supposed design was simpler than the rest of the Narrators out there- but I guess that’s why it works well. 

Taking inspiration from a character design in popular media made by a bunch of character designers in a studio isn’t the same as a design that’s made by ONE person. If you want to make your own narrator, use lots of references! Study what makes him special to YOU personally, he doesn’t HAVE to look anywhere close like mine. I see a lot of young artists out there who go ham with their designs so it’s not really an excuse to take it off from someone else! Object heads! Invisible narrators! Maybe one he’s a rat who sits on top of Stanley’s head! Hell, there’s a bunch of narrators that are human looking like mine is, but they look different. They look like theirs. And that doesn’t bother me bc it is obviously not taken from mine.

This isn’t about who’s being original. I do not claim to be original. I am not the first to have a human narrator in a turtleneck and a jacket, my design came later after the first wave of the fandom already died. I already SEEN a bunch of designs before I made mine up. Yet mine ended up being distinct and away from the ones I’ve seen because I put a lot of thought and care into this character, he’s not JUST a symbol for the narrator in the game, he’s part of me. He is also a muse I use to RP with my friends. He’s very personal. You want to draw fanart of him, that’s fine. But I can’t tolerate this idea of taking already existing designs and claim it as your own. Back then someone took my design and tweaked it to make it theirs, its true that through the years the design had pulled itself apart from mine, but it doesn’t change that MY design was used as a BASE. It feels incredibly insulting and cheap, like its ready to use. 

I did not create him for public use. I made those art because it appeases ME first, and the audience second. I thought that by sharing my art I share my happiness that I get with my character as well, it doesn’t mean that its a free ticket for anyone to use for their own purposes! I barely get credited for it! For fanart, for RP blogs! (I know those who uses my art with credit and I thank you for respecting me and my work) but holy SHIT man. Why am I in this situation where I’m BEGGING for crumbs of respect???

This whole thing started happening YEARS ago so my patience for it has gone incredibly thin. If this keeps up I’m going to lose all my will to draw or post more art of him. It’s so incredibly disheartening to experience as an artist and a creator. 

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[audreydoeskaren]

History of Chinese standing collars (part 2: Republican era)

Quick recap: I was debating with myself whether “Mandarin collar” should be a thing because standing collars throughout Chinese history looked different. In part 1 I went through standing collars in the Ming and Qing Dynasties, now I’m going to investigate the Republican era (1912-1949). I numbered the styles in part 1 but they’re only guidelines so you don’t have to remember anything.

*I’m not including Manchu womenswear in this post because they weren’t very significant to collars and there’s a lot I need to verify, so hopefully I’ll make separate posts about it one day.

1910s

Summary of 1910s Han women’s fashion here.

Let’s look at Han women’s fashion first. The 1910s continued the use of collar style 7 from the 1890s and 1900s; this style of collar, often called 元宝领 yuanbaoling, ingot collar, or 马鞍领 ma’anling, saddle collar, after the objects it resembles, was so tall that it reached the cheeks of the wearer and could not be closed in the front at all. It could be trimmed with binding, piping, or commonly in this era, fur or ruffles. It could have either rectangular or round edges. It was closed by one 盘扣 pankou, this fabric braided button, at the base, but it could have more pankous for ornamental purposes. Around this time people began experimenting with stiffening and structure in standing collars; this was a result of Western influence, specifically the standing collars on some Western military uniforms. I don’t think Chinese collars were ever boned like Victorian and Edwardian women’s collars, but a layer of stiff interlining was probably enough to give a collar shape and rigidity. Because of the extraordinary height of collar style 7, it had to be stiffened.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1914. This collar has a rectangular edge and is trimmed with fur.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1915-1916. This collar has a rounded edge and wide binding.

However, this ultra tall collar wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea and normal height collars existed as well, especially in the beginning and end of the decade. A new invention of this era was this tall collar with slightly rounded edges closed by two to three pankou----in some extreme cases four. I believe they were stiffened, but even if they were not, the use of wide, heavyweight binding could give it shape and rigidity. This style probably grew out of collar styles 2 and 3 from 19th century Han women’s collars, but it is going to become very iconic and distinct later in the 30s so let’s label it collar style 8. All Han women’s standing collars before the 1970s were extremely fitted, i.e. they completely hug the wearer’s neck and could sometimes be restrictive to neck movement. The loose fitted collars often seen on modern mass produced cheongsam is not historically accurate.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1911 showing collar style 8. It had three pankou, wide double row binding and could be closed at the front.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1919 also showing collar style 8. Throughout the 1890s, 1900s, 1910s and early 20s, innovative/Western trims like lace were commonly used instead of plain binding.

Quickly turning our attention to menswear. I’m not a menswear expert so feel free to add info or references. In the 1910s, menswear collars followed a similar development. After looking at more photos from the period, I figured out that in the late 1900s, men’s collars still had rectangular edges and were pretty low. This was also echoed in the formal dress code issued by the republican government in 1912. You can read more about the formal dress code in this article, it’s a great guideline for understanding ceremonial clothing in the republican era. 

Source here (I’m probably gonna pull most of the menswear photos from the photo album in this article cause they are conveniently dated)

1907 photograph of a certain Mr Ye Jinglv, a legend who preserved his photographs from the 1900s to the 1960s, wearing a 短衫 duanshan short robe and pants.

I have no idea where this collar type came from but the three main suspects are European military uniform collars, Japanese uniform collars (also inspired by European military uniform collars) and Qing Dynasty officials’ collars (now attached to the tunic itself). 

As the 1910s progressed, men’s collars gained rounded edges and grew taller just like women’s collars, but they were never so tall to the point that they could not be closed in the front. They were still closed by one plain pankou at the base (men’s pankou has always been plain). This is likely the collar style 6 I identified in part 1 but wasn’t sure about. These collars don’t appear to be stiffened, but rather just constructed of heavyweight fabric similar to the robe itself. Oh and sometimes in photographs you can see men wearing two collars, that is because both the 长衫 changshan, long robe, and 马褂 magua, riding vest, had standing collars in the 1910s, so when both are worn at the same time there will be two collars.

Source here

1916 photograph of Mr Ye Jinglv in a changshan and magua, collar style 6.

1920s

Summary of 1920s Han women’s fashion 1, 2, 3

Going into the 20s collar style 7 went out of fashion completely. The 20s was a wild decade and everything went, but overall collars usually ranged from medium height to tall. There is a wide variety of collar designs in the 20s, women’s dresses with no collar or Western collars like sailor collar, shawl collar or no collar at all etc. all existed, I’ll just list the most common standing collar designs of Chinese origin.

Early 20s collars decreased in height slightly but were still tall standing collars, with rectangular edges, binding and two to three pankous. Let’s call this collar style 9 because it has a will of its own. It’s weirdly reminiscent of collar style 4 from part 1 but the difference is that collar style 4 was unstiffened and had rectangular edges. I don’t think designers in the republican era ever really consciously referenced any historical collar shapes prior to the 19th century... Fashion history was a non-existent academic discipline at that time.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1920 showing collar style 9. It is unstiffened and moderately tall. It has slightly rounded edges, two pankous and a thin row of binding/piping.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1920-21, showing similar collar style 9 with thin binding and two pankou.

Toward the mid 20s both wide and thin binding could be used and the number of pankou ranged from one to three. I’ve seen multiple times collars with only one pankou at the bottom but still could close completely at the front, which means stiffening was likely used to keep the shape of the collar; I’ll number this collar style 10. The decorations of the mid 20s pursued a tacky aesthetic and were heavily inspired by the 19th century. Alternatively, collars could be decorated with scalloped edges or geometric Western trim. The overall aesthetic was still very 19th century Chinese though. I feel like internal hooks and bars could’ve been used to close these collars, like Western or Japanese military uniform collars, but this is pure speculation.

Source here

Watercolor ca. 1926 showing a medium height collar style 10. It closes with only one pankou but holds its shape very well.

Source here or see watermark

Mid 20s artwork showing a similar collar, albeit with thin binding.

Starting from 1928-29 there was this huge trend of using tall, side closing collars. This collar was stiff and structured, tall and closed at the side or back with either pankou or hooks and eyes/bars. It covers the wearer’s neck completely and doesn’t have any openings. This kind of collar was frequently applied to the newly developed cheongsam, which was a one piece dress, to emulate a Western flapper look. The art deco aesthetic was en vogue in the years 1929-31, so there were many cheongsam with innovative closures instead of pankou. I personally really love this look it’s very underrated. This would be collar style 11; it was truly one of a kind since it was never seen again in Chinese fashion history. Rest in Power.

Source here

Painting ca. 1929 showing collar style 11. This is probably closed at the back? Anyway the pankou were not emphasized at this time.

Source here

Kong Sang Hong ad from 1929 showing collar style 11 without visible pankou.

Now menswear again. In the 20s, the tall collar style 6 went out of fashion, following trends in womenswear. The new collar was medium height and still closed by one pankou at the base. It could have either rounded or rectangular edges but rectangular or mostly rectangular edges seem to be more common. I’d say this is similar to collar style 10.

Source here

1925 photograph of Ye Jinglv wearing again changshan and magua.

1930s

Summary of 1930s Han women’s fashion 1, 2

Returning to Han women. Collar 11′s popularity continued to around 1931, when it began to be replaced by a revived version of collar style 8. Collar style 8 with three buttons dominated the majority of the 30s, and these buttons didn’t necessarily have to be pankou; any kind of decorative loop button, clasp or frog closure could be used. 30s collars emphasized the roundness of the buttons, so beads or pearls were commonly used as buttons.

Source here

Calendar painting from 1932 showing collar style 8. 

Source here

Mid 30s advertisement showing collar style 8 with bead buttons matching those on the cardigan.

Source here

1932 cover of The Young Companion showing collar style 8 with pearl/bead buttons. Oh collars on a transparent cheongsam would usually be opaque because the interlining/stiffening needs to be hidden.

Men’s collars of the 30s decreased in height again, this time becoming really quite short. Round and rectangular edges coexisted but round edges were still more common. Still closed by one pankou. Not many changes otherwise (gosh, menswear always changes at a glacial pace, y’all men need to step up your game). This foreshadows 40s Han women’s collars so let’s label this collar style 12. Men’s changshan and magua collars stayed this way well into the 40s and 50s.

Source here

1935 photograph of Ye Jinglv in changshan with collar style 12.

In the late 30s/early 40s collars dropped in height significantly, regressing to collar styles 9 or 10. It was usually closed with one or two pankou (because there was only enough space for two maximum). 

Source here

Late 30s/early 40s artwork depicting the revived collar style 10.

1940s

Summary of 1940s fashion here

As the 40s progressed collars became even shorter, eventually so short that only one pankou could be attached. This developed from collar style 9 but since it was so low and so distinct to the 40s I’d say this is also collar style 12. It may appear similar to collar style 3 from the 19th century but it has rounded edges and is also stiffened and slightly taller.

Source here

Early to mid 40s artwork showing collar style 12.

19th century trims became fashionable again in the early 40s, especially collars with multiple rows of binding/piping. However because of scarcity of materials during the war, that style was only ever seen on actresses and celebrities; cheongsam collars for the average woman were plain.

Source here

40s Indanthren fabric ad, showing low collar style 12.

In summary:

Collar style 7: cursed belle époque (ca. 1890-1918) women’s collars that touched the wearer’s face. Extremely tall, stiffened, both rounded and rectangular edges existed. Closed by one pankou at the bottom but sometimes had more pankou for ornamental purposes. Worn by Han women and the plain version for men.

Collar style 8: first appeared in the 1910s, popular in the late 10s and throughout the 30s. As tall as possible without restricting the wearer’s neck movements, stiffened, rounded edges. Closed by two to three pankou. Decorated with wide binding or Western trims like lace in the 10s, multiple rows of binding in the 30s. Worn by Han women. 

Collar style 9: developed from collar style 8, popular in the early 20s and late 30s/early 40s. Slightly shorter (medium height), stiffened, rounded edges. Closed by two pankou. Thin binding. Worn by Han women.

Collar style 10: developed from collar style 9, popular in the mid 20s and late 30s/early 40s. Slightly shorter (medium to low height), stiffened, rounded edges. Closed by one pankou at the base. Both wide and thin binding. Worn by Han women and a similar version by men.

Collar style 11: distinctly Western collar, popular 1929-1931. As tall as possible without restricting the wearer’s neck movements, stiffened, rectangular edges. Closed at the side or back with pankou or hooks and eyes. Often plain or of the same fabric as the dress. Worn by Han women.

Collar style 12: developed from collar style 10, popular throughout the 40s. Very short, stiffened, rounded edges. Closed by one pankou at the base. Commonly had thin binding. Worn by Han women and men.

Phew, I thought this was gonna be a short and simple post but it ended up taking way more of my time than I wanted it to. I’m gonna do one last post on the 50s and 60s and maybe address the state of Chinese standing collars nowadays, hopefully that will be actually simple to make lol.

[whump-a-la-mode]

what about a villain ‘reformed’ by being given like nasea-inducing things (hsjahd i forgot the word) whenever they show violence? like they project a scene that involves violence in front of the villain and then give the thing so they become conditioned to feel sick at the mention of violence? idk :,)

This is such an interesting prompt, and honestly I wish I had time to do more with it! Conditioning is one of my favorite tropes, but I’ve only ever seen it with fear/pain, not nausea (and don’t worry I can hardly ever spell that word correctly either.) I hope I did your great prompt justice here! In a very weird way this is also pretty much what I did at work today so. Inspiration I guess??

For obvious reasons, please take care reading if you have emetophobia or are otherwise sensitive to depictions of nausea or vomiting. For this reason the story is beneath a readmore.

CW//Captivity, restraints, tied to a chair, restricted vision, IVs, very minor eye whump, nausea, vomiting, medical malpractice

“What the- What are you doing?!” Villains head turned on a broken swivel, struggling to look in every which direction at once. Yet, even if they could accomplish this goal, it would do nothing to provide their answers.

The room was dark-- they could see that. A sort of artificial darkness, nearly reminiscent of the interior of a movie theater, pausing to breathe between its shows. Yet, any attempts to gain further details were thwarted in an instant.

They couldn’t tell how many hands there were, and counting them would have been a waste of time as much as energy. Regardless, there were more than enough hands, more than enough bodies, to overpower them. To place them where they pleased.

And, in that instance, their intended location just so happened to be a chair.

The piece of blocky furniture was the only object in the whole chamber that Villain could definitively name. More than a chair, it resembled perhaps a block of metal, from which a seat had been carved.

They struggled, of course they did, lashing out with whatever limb was not at the moment held by strong grip. But, as soon as their spine was slammed into the chair’s flat back, that singular, final hope of escape was evaporated.

Those grasping and gripping hands found themselves with a new goal: Securing the thousands of straps that hung from the chair in which Villain had been forced. The leather grabbed their wrists, their arms, their ankles and legs, anchoring their chest and shoulders to rings that had been placed for that purpose.

“Let me go!” Even their screams were restrained, their lungs given nowhere near the room they needed to properly expand. “What are you-”

Villain’s voice was clamped shut alongside their jaw, teeth clacking together and sending a shot of dazed numbness through them. The arrangement was secured with an unseen apparatus, tightened around their head, holding their jaw closed, their vision restricted by dual pairs of blinders, allowing them to look nowhere but forward.

As though they had any freedom of movement remaining, the restraint device upon their head was forced back, secured to the chair’s back and allowing not a millimeter of squirming.

Their muscles strained, chest heaving, but they had been trapped within themself. Even their eyes could not close, something holding their upper lids firmly open.

Villain tried to scream, but had not the voice or breath for it.

“Good.”

A simple, single word, and the chaos ceased. With a series of nods and hums, the swarming mass of bodies cleared. Though, if any remained, such was invisible to the villain. Not even their eyes retained their freedom.

With a loud thud, the door closed, leaving Villain alone with the bare, tiled wall before them.

“Place the line.”

They inhaled sharply. Not alone. They had no indication of where the remaining people stood, but they were there. It was more than certain.

One of them drew closer- no, two, two sets of footsteps, approaching from either side. The villain’s eyes swiveled back and forth, only to be met by the restrictive blackness of the blinders, refusing to show them the slightest glance.

While one of the invisible strangers gripped their arm, the other took their head.

With the latter’s actions, their last vein of freedom was severed. A pair of heavy, over-the-ear headphones, placed over their skull and secured to the restraint that already existed there. When the other stranger acted, they could not so much as hear their footsteps.

Their sense of hearing stolen from them, Villain had no warning for the rubber tourniquet, gripping their arm, nor for the freezing alcohol wipe, or the sharp stab of pain that followed in the inside of their elbow. A whimper died in their restrained throat.

For several, agonizing, terrifying minutes (or perhaps moments), the world stilled. When it at last began to move again, it did not do so in the form of pain or touch. Instead, in their restricted vision, Villain watched as a projector screen was pulled down, until it filled every last inch of their sight.

The light that shot from the screen urged them to flinch, to close their eyes, yet they had the capability to do neither.

“A civilian managed to capture this footage, live from the scene.”

The voice sent a jolt of panic through the restrained villain, instinct insisting that their whirl around to locate its source. Yet, when logic returned to them, they realized quite quickly where the noise had come from: Their headphones.

Before them, the screen ignited to life, filling their field of vision with technicolor pixels.

A video.

The camera shook, ever so slightly, as it zoomed in on a far-off rooftop. As it did so, the two figures atop the building came into clear view.

If Villain had the capacity, they would have gasped. A friend and a rival. A villain and a hero.

The former struck first.

That was when the warmth began.

There wasn’t an ounce of comfort about it. Instead, it was a sickening heat. That exuded by the forehead of the fevered, flowing into their arm.

The villain could not feel as the sickness spread through their veins. Instead, it only made itself known when it reached their stomach.

On the screen, the villain sent a blast of ice forth, knocking their opponent to the ground with a crunch and shattering of crystals.

In their ice-cold seat, Villain’s body lurched forward, bile shooting from their stomach to their throat. Nausea struck them, all at once, twisting their intestines into balloon animals and making them dry heave until their throat felt to have been shredded by cat’s claws.

As though timed, when their desperate gagging at last ceased, so did the video. Of course, not an instant of rest was allotted. The next series of colors and sounds began in an instant.

“Thank you, everyone! It’s a delight to see you here at the 5th annual Festival of Heroes!”

The applause that burst from their headphones threatened to explode their eardrums.

This time, the warmth that flooded their veins came not with sickness, but, instead, with the soft heat of a blanket.

Beyond Villain’s restricted sight and hearing, two lab coats leaned against a wall, sipping coffee as though it were a synchronized sport.

“Do we really have to stand in here the whole time?”

“I guess, yeah. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Eh, who knows. Come on, it’s only three hours.”

“Yeah, three hours we can’t be in the lab.”

“It’s like a long break, kinda.”

“Fair enough. How often do we have to do this?”

“Seven days a week.” The lab coat shrugged. “Until expected results are achieved.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As though watching flowers flash by from the window of a roadtrip-bound vehicle, around Villain, the identical walls of the HQ sped by.

Their direction was irrelevant, as was their aim. There was one, singular thing that mattered in that moment: They were free, their limbs moving under their own control. No chair to hold them down, no blinders to restrict their eyes.

They didn’t care how long it lasted. It was a euphoric, momentary liberty, and the fact that it had happened at all was enough to keep them going.

They made it about two hundred feet. Two hundred feet of hallway, two hundred feet away from the Experimental Conditioning Center. They hardly managed to stop, retaining their balance by the slimmest of margins as they skidded to a halt.

The guard was at least twice their size. Perhaps more. There was no hesitance to their swing, nor was there any to the villain’s dodge, sending them out of the blow’s range.

And sending a shot of warm, sickly bile, directly into their stomach.

When the lab coats at last caught up to Villain, they had been reduced to shivering on their hands and knees as everything they had ever eaten, so it seemed, was expelled from their mouth in the form of green sludge.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop?”

“Dunno.”

“You’ve gotta admit, though, it’s kinda funny.”

“It gets less funny when you see it three times a week.”

[lifeofkaze]

hello i have fallen i love with your charlie fic (❤❤!!) and i want to ask if you could you write some angst where barnaby has a crush on mc and they're super oblivious and later they start dating someone else ans barnaby realizes he lost them?

My dearest anon, let me say: I AM SORRY. Writing your ask took me forever (literally, lol) even though I had it in my head the moment I got your asks all those months ago. But I never felt the right inspiration to actually write it down until today. Today it just hit me. I do hope you're actually still around and reading what I made out of it.

I'm really truly sorry. 😅

So, without further ado, I present to you:

Missed Chances

Barnaby Lee x Reader

Barnaby Lee wasn’t the smartest kid around.

He was by no means dumb, he just wasn’t as clever or booksmart as most of his peers, a fact he was well aware of. But it didn’t bother him that much, really. He had found his means of getting by during classes and ever since distancing himself from Merula Snyde back in their third year, he had been able to gather a circle of friends around him he could fall back upon.

There was popular Penny Haywood for Potions, shy but gifted Ben Copper for Charms, and ever so patient Rowan Khanna when he had troubles with Transfiguration.

Barnaby’s favourite study sessions, however, were those for Defense Against The Dark Arts. Not because he was particularly bad at the subject; on the contrary, he was a skilled duelist and most charms and jinxes came naturally to him. No, the real reason those lessons were his favourite was because it was you who was teaching him.

Ever since he’d been drawn into your close circle of friends, his above average DADA marks had been plummeting, since he kept getting distracted during class. The professors weren’t impressed but neither surprised at his apparent lack of academic skills and under normal circumstances, Barnaby would have tried everything in his power to prove them wrong, that he could do better, that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone made him out to be.

But when you offered your help in catching up on the subject, Barnaby had changed his mind. You were always top of your DADA class and what better way to spend some time alone with you while listening to your beautiful voice explaining the differences between a curse and a hex.

Barnaby knew most of the things you were telling him already, so he had ample time to just watch you talk during your study sessions. He knew no one else could get so excited over dark creatures and cursed objects like you did. The way your eyes were sparkling when lecturing him on the differences between a werewolf and regular wolf had him enthralled every single time and the proud smile you gave him when he answered one of your questions correctly never failed to make Barnaby’s heart beat hard in his chest.

He would have loved to see that smile more often, but he made sure to let his real knowledge of the subject shine through sparingly. He was afraid that if he got too good, you might want to drop studying with him and that was something he couldn’t risk; spending time with you had become the highlight of his day. No one he knew rivalled the warmth you radiated and the unbroken faith you had in him, a sentiment that was completely new to Barnaby.

When the big news of the Celestial Ball was announced, it was all his peers could talk about. What to wear, how to look and who to bring were the questions dominating all of the four common rooms.

Barnaby never had to think twice who he wanted to be his date for the dance. He thought about how to properly ask you out for days on end; you were no common girl after all. You were the most extraordinary girl he knew and thus deserved an extraordinary invitation. But when he finally plucked up the courage to ask you out, you looked at him sheepishly.

“That’s so sweet of you, Barney. I’m so flattered, really. But I already promised Rowan and Ben to go with them. You know, just as friends.”

His heart sank at the words. Why hadn’t he acted sooner? Maybe people were right about him being stupid after all.

Seeing his disheartened look, your face changed into something softer. “But I’m sure Rowan and Ben wouldn’t mind if you came along with us? As another friend?”

Barnaby beamed at her. “I’d love that. We’re going to have such a great time together, as friends,” he added, not quite sure whom he wanted to reassure, you or himself.

He would probably never forget the night of the Celestial Ball when he saw you in the dress André Egwu had designed for the first time. Rowan and Ben had arrived at the ball before you and when you stepped into the Great Hall all on your own, Barnaby’s breath stopped for a moment.

You were dressed in a beautiful, burgundy dress with intricate patterns embroidered around the neckline. Your waist was accentuated by a small belt and the skirt of your dress flowed around you in several layers of fabric. You looked like an ethereal being to him as you walked through the crowd over to him, Rowan and Ben, your skirt trailing slightly behind you.

His eyes didn’t leave you for the whole evening even for a second. He could hear you laughing when you danced with Rowan and Ben, the sound like silver bells to his ears. When he asked you for a dance with him, your hand just happened to fit perfectly into his and your bright smile made Barnaby forget everything else around you and him. He did take great care to not step on your dress, however. You looked so perfect, he didn’t want to ruin it with his own clumsiness; although he pretty much doubted anything could have taken away from your beauty.

When the Celestial Ball was over, Barnaby took the chance to walk you back to your common room. You had your arm linked with his and marched in step with him. As he was taller than you, it required some effort on your part, the strange walking rhythm making you giggle. The sound had Barnaby’s heart beat faster.

Barnaby was almost reluctant to let you go when you had reached the concealed entrance to your common room. He wasn’t quite sure what to do; all he wanted to do was put his arms around you, drawing you as close to him as possible and never letting go again. But he hesitated; what if you didn’t feel the same?

To gain some time, he cleared his throat. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me too,” you smiled at him. “I’m glad you came along. You just have the most fun with your friends, right?”

The word ‘friends’ put a damper on the butterflies that had been swarming in Barnaby’s stomach until this point.

“Yes, friends,” he echoed, “because we’re friends.”

A look of confusion crossed your face for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” Barnaby lied quickly, glad that the flickering light of the torches hid the blush spreading on his cheeks. “Just exhausted from dancing, I guess.”

“Oh, alright. I’d better get to my common room then. Good night.”

There was a short, awkward pause, before you smiled at him, waved and vanished into your common room. Barnaby sighed; at least for night, he had definitely botched his chances.

Ever since the Celestial Ball and the anticlimax of its ending, Barnaby had made it his mission to convince you there was more to him than being your friend. He’d ventured into the library on his own and gathered together all books on romance he could find and read every single one of them. Most of them, especially the older ones, had given him quite some headaches, but he knew you enjoyed reading old love stories, so maybe they had some useful information to offer. How someone could spend their free time reading things like Jane Austen for fun, however, remained a mystery to him.

And apparently, the tips he had sourced weren’t that helpful either. Barnaby tried it all, he complimented you, he brought you flowers and small gifts that reminded him of you and tried connecting with you over things he knew you loved. Whenever he saw the chance to ask you out he tried. But as soon as he had gathered his courage, you had already promised one of your numerous friends to go with them instead. It was exasperating, really.

All the while, the study sessions with you continued. Barnaby had stopped pretending to be as oblivious as he made himself out to be in the beginning; he knew it was risky, in case you might want to drop studying with him if he got better, but he was too addicted to your smile at this point. No matter how hard his day had been, a smile from you and everything else was forgotten.

Barnaby wished you would finally notice just how much he adored you, but as long as he could spend time with you, listen to your voice and hear your laughter, everything was fine with him.

Until it was not.

He had noticed you were distracted lately and not as talkative as he was used to. Today’s Potions class was no exception. Professor Snape, who was even moodier than usual, was lecturing the class on the importance of knowing potion recipes by heart.

“You will not always carry a textbook with you,” he droned, “and while I wouldn’t trust half of you to brew a potion even with proper instructions, maybe some of you will be able to produce something remotely resembling a proper concoction by sheer luck. If I see one piece of parchment on the table, you will clean your classmates’ cauldrons after class. Begin.”

Dreading the next two hours of guessing which ingredients to use in what order, Barnaby glanced over to you. But you hadn’t been listening to the instructions, it seemed. Your attention was focused on a piece of parchment in front of you, hastily scribbled lines running across it. Barnaby tried catching a glimpse but when you noticed, you blushed deeply and quickly covered the parchment with your hand.

Barnaby, however, wasn’t the only one who had noticed the piece of parchment. Before you could do anything, Professor Snape had appeared next to you and snatched the parchment out of your grip.

“I thought I said no notes allowed, or didn’t I express myself clearly enough for your convenience?” he snarled.

“No, Professor, you misunderstand,” you gasped, “these aren’t Potions notes, it’s private. Can I please have it back?”

You reached for it, but Snape jerked his hand up so it was just out of reach. “That gives it even less reason to be present in my classroom,” he said coldly, a cruel smile stealing onto his face. “Let us share with the rest of the class what is distracting you from my lesson.”

Your cheeks were glowing bright red as Snape started reading the content of your note.

“Do you like me? Yes or No. Circle your answer,” he read out loud. “How droll,” he sneered over the chuckle of your classmates, “I suggest, next time you concentrate more on your potion and less on your silly personal bearings. Perhaps the result will be more decent then. 10 points from you and detention tonight.”

As he swept past your table, Barnaby noticed your hanging head. You had your hands clasped tightly together in your lap and seemed so small all of a sudden that he felt furious. Even though Snape was his head of house, he had no right whatsoever to embarrass you in front of everyone like that.

“Are you okay?” he asked you gently.

Not looking at him, you shook his head. “Why did he have to do that?” you whispered. “He could see I wasn’t taking notes. There was no need to read it out loud.”

“There wasn’t,” Barnaby agreed. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and lightly placing his hand on your arm. “He’s just a big, old, mean bat. Everyone says so.”

You sniffed, a small smile already spreading on your face again. “That’s true. Thank you.” You covered his hand with yours and squeezed it lightly. The touch sent jolts of energy through Barnaby from where your hands connected. His skin was still tingling when you turned towards your cauldron again, breaking the contact.

“Who was your note for, anyway?” Barnaby asked, trying not to sound as if this wasn’t the question burning red hot on his mind.

You looked at him wide-eyed. “I can’t possibly tell you.”

“Why not? Do I know him?”

Blushing again, you could only nod before dropping your gaze.

“It’s someone I’ve been friends with for a while now, but I don’t know if he feels the same. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by making a stupid move.”

Barnaby held his breath. You couldn’t possibly be talking about him, could you?

“How could it ruin your friendship?” he asked. “If he’s your friend, he’s your friend and nothing can change that.”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe you should just tell him,” he said deliberately casually, “who knows, maybe that friend of yours has been feeling the same for some time now, too.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “You think so?”

Barnaby nodded in agreement. “Definitely. Just try your luck, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

After the class was over and you had parted ways for the rest of the day, Barnaby counted the minutes until the evening when you had agreed to meet for another study session before your detention. He was positively bouncing with energy ever since lunchtime. You had come over to him with a nervous smile on your lips to ask him to meet up with you later.

“Chances are, I’ll need to tell you something,” you had said with a shaky laugh before joining your other friends for lunch. Barnaby had swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to look unfazed, but his insides had been burning with impatience ever since.

That was why he had arrived earlier than usual at the library that evening. He picked all the books out you would be needing and stacked and restacked them several times at the table you were usually working on.

It felt like an eternity until you finally entered the library, each second dragging into an eternity of its own. Barnaby saw you first. You stood in the entrance to the grand room and all of a sudden the library seemed to be a little brighter just by you being there. You scanned the rows of bookshelves with your eyes and a wide smile appeared on your face as they fell on him, waiting for you between books and quills in your favourite spot.

You quickly bounded over to him, a spring in your step that was a stark contrast to the miserable mood you had been in this morning. Before Barnaby even had a chance to ask what made you so happy, you had flung your arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

On instinct, Barnaby put his arms around your waist and held you for a sweet moment that he wished would last forever. He could smell the flowery scent of your perfume and breathed it in deeply, trying to commit every last detail of how you felt in his arms to memory. He was sure you had to feel his heartbeat; how could you not with how hard it was hammering against his ribcage?

“He said yes, Barney! He really said yes!” you squealed, not caring one bit about Madam Pince’s indignant shush.

The sheer happiness coursing through his veins turned into ice that froze him from the inside in a matter of seconds. Confused, he loosened his hold on you and pushed you far enough away from him to look you in the face. The joy visible on it almost broke his heart.

“What?”

“My crush!” you beamed at him. “I followed your advice and asked him out, just now! And he said yes!” you repeated, hugging him again.

��You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you said. Barnaby could feel your breath on the skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt. He hated himself for the shiver running down his spine.

“Why?” was all he managed to whisper in response.

“Because without you, I’d never have the courage to talk to him upfront. It’s all thanks to you that I have a date now. You’re really the best friend I could ask for.”

Every word you spoke was like a dagger pushed up to the hilt into his broken heart, every second he saw you smile at the prospect of going out with the boy you wanted to be with - the boy that wasn’t him - a twist of the blade until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. His heart, that had beaten so wildly just moments before when he had held you in his arms, could have stopped beating right there and then; Barnaby doubted it would have felt much different to the consuming emptiness he felt at this very moment.

You were rambling on and on about where you wanted to take your date and what you would wear but Barnaby wasn’t listening. He didn’t even know who you were talking about; all he knew was that it wasn’t him and that thought was louder in his head than your words could ever be.

“What do you think of that?”

Barnaby realised you had come to the end of your explanations and expected an opinion from him. He forced himself to smile apologetically at you, when all he wanted to do was scream.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he croaked out.

Your brow creased. “Are you okay? You’re so pale all of a sudden.”

“I’m good,” Barnaby answered with a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat and started again. “I’m good, I just caught a cold, I think. I should go see Madam Pomfrey later.”

You made a sceptical sound and raised one eyebrow. “If you say so. So what do you think? Is Madam Puddyfoot’s Tea Shop a good idea or not?”

Barnaby had never heard of this tea shop before, but he’d go to Knockturn Alley for a date if it only was with you. “It doesn’t matter where you take him. He’s lucky he gets to go with someone like you in the first place.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

“I’m just happy you’re happy,” Barnaby said and even meant it, in a way. He just wished the source of your happiness was him and not somebody else.

You hugged him once again and he was glad that you couldn’t see the pained expression crossing his features for a moment. “You’re the best, Barney. I’m so glad to have you in my life.”

You let go and turned towards the table laden with books Barnaby had so carefully set up. “Shall we?”

He sat down with you and watched as you started taking out your notes on objects cursed with minor jinxes. Your eyes were sparkling even more than usual and even now, you were so beautiful to Barnaby it hurt.

With a sigh, he concentrated on what you had to say for a change. His time spent daydreaming about you was over for good now, so he might as well do what the two of you were here for and study.

No, Barnaby Lee wasn’t the smartest kid around.

But even he knew that when it came to you, he had missed too many chances.

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Lady of the Lake pt 2

You stood on the wall, rain hitting your face as you looked at the army before you. You knew these men must've been scared out of their wits. You felt terror in your body along with them.

There are many theories as to why men scream when entering battle. Fear. To drive themselves. You stayed silent. Men were inspired by a speech given by Aragorn, as were you. They yelled and you just stayed silent, nodding in approval. Aragorn was next to you now, watching the lands. You could feel your tattoos practically burning. Should you use this ability? Should you risk death? Should you call for her?

You remembered the witch's warnings, you remembered what it was like meeting her once. Were you prepared to face that feeling again? Were you prepared for what may come?

As the orcs stood before you, you drew your blades, men following after. You weren't even listening to any orders being given. You were focused on the armies. You were ready for this. Now all you needed was that one word to be screamed. That one order so that you could charge. No one was moving, the silence being so loud. A man though, accidentally shot down an orc. You couldn't blame him. A person can only hold an arrow drawn for so long in the rain. Men tensed up and the orcs remained quiet. But finally an order was given.

"ATTACK!" was shouted, men charging and the sounds of sword fighting started. You blocked a few arrows, looking for Théoden. You found him fighting with ease, feeling a sense of safety as Haldir fought next to you. Aragorn also kept by your side, refusing to leave you outright. He felt as though he had lost enough, losing you was not going to happen on his watch.

Your blade struck down a orc behind Aragorn, you looking at him to silently ask his status. He nodded to you to say he was fine before you ran to the wall. You kept having this feeling. Someone was watching you. You spun around, the rain still coming down hard before you saw a shape in the night sky. It was a raven. You swallowed hard. She was watching. She knew something was going to happen. You ran across the wall, warning Théoden of the witch's arrival. He frowned, Gamling leading him into the keep for safety as you cut down any orc that tried to follow. You looked around to see the raven near Haldir.

You frowned as you started cutting down any orcs near you. It seemed like the bastards were just multiplying. You were trying to clear a path so Théoden would be safe while also trying to get to the elven general. You struck down another orc as another readied to kill you. It brought down its sword before Aragorn blocked the attack, stabbing it and kicking it back. A strike of lightning lit up the night. You turned to see Haldir orcs.

The battle raged on as you saw another blast of lightning and Haldir right before he was struck down. "NO!" You yelled, sprinting to him. Sound stopped. Everything felt frozen as his sword clattered to the ground. Aragorn yelled, running with you. You couldn't let your people lose. Not like this. You drew your dagger, looking at your wrist. The tattoos of chains seemed to almost move as you stared at them. Théoden ran towards safety before seeing a raven in the sky. He frowned before seeing you. He knew exactly what this omen was.

"Y/N NO-" "EVERYONE, OFF THE WALLS! NOW!" Gamling yelled as he noticed your dagger in your hand. Aragorn turned around, seeing you slide your blade across your wrist. A loud boom emitted from the skies, a force knocking everyone else over.

Aragorn slowly lifted his head seeing you standing. But there was a stranger sight. The rain had frozen in midair. It was like it had just stopped. Orcs were down, slowly rising. They were equally confused looking around them. "Atigat's ij witch katu! (There's a witch here!)" One of them shouted.

You were the lone woman, standing on the wall. Aragorn rose, using his blade as a source of leverage. "Y/N!" he called. He stumbled forward but a force seemed to block him. He blinked. "What magic curses this land!?" Gimli asked. "This isn't the land!" Legolas breathed. "Then what is-" You faced the battlefield. ".... It's her." Aragorn breathed. You steadied your breathing. "Lar- mime óma, ni am Y/n l/n, save mime nórë. Lar- mime summons (Hear my voice, I am Y/n L/n, save my people. Hear my summons)." You said, voice echoing.

Your voice wasn't raised. It was very low, but somehow it was traveling for miles. "What is she calling on!?" Legolas asked. "I don't-" a loud roar cut everyone off, a dark shadow flying overhead before landing in front of Helm's Deep. You locked eyes with a large bird before it took the form of a woman. Her hair was dark as the night that surrounded you, she wore red that resembled the blood on the ground. But her eyes, were a piercing yellow. Despite the strange characteristics, she was beautiful. But it didn't take a orc or a man to know who stood before everyone.

She looked at you, eyebrow raised. "You call on me, yet you know the risks. Is this what you wish to do?" She asked. You looked at Théoden and then to Aragorn. Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded. "My life for these men." You said. She nodded. "Very well." She said, holding out her hand. She summoned a staff made of a dark wood, raven's feathers hanging off of it.

She spoke a language not even recognize by the elves but one you clearly knew as you spoke with her. A pulsating light formed in your chest. Your eyes seemed to glow as you both gripped the staff, speaking in the same ancient language. The rain water was moving to one spot, the orcs frozen in place. Morrigan watched you, saying nothing as you proceeded to use the rain almost like arrows.

Each of them fell, one by one. Morrigan finally slammed her staff into the ground, any wounds that the men had were healed, the orcs returning to the earth and leaving grasses behind. She looked to you as finally you let go. You saw the land, orcs gone, the battlefield still.

"Thank... you." You whispered before collapsing. Aragorn rushed forward, kneeling by your side. Morrigan stayed standing, not even giving you a second glance. Aragorn put his ear to your chest, hearing nothing as Théoden ran over. "What have you done!?" He asked Morrigan. She sighed. "'Twas the girl's choice Théoden. Her life for your men." She stated. Tears burned Aragorn's eyes.

Morrigan looked up to the sky. Théoden sobbed holding you close. He lost his son already, now he had to lose his daughter? Aragorn felt as if he left so many things unsaid with you. He felt something for you, something more intense than friendship. Morrigan looked behind her and saw the men all kneel in respect. You had changed the lives of so many people. "This girl. What has she done for you all?" She asked a man. "She saved me wife before the plague could take her..." "she saved my brother from a attack." "She always made sure my family wouldn't starve." "She loved my daughters and kept us safe." Morrigan closed her eyes, trying to make a choice. She sighed before turning to you. Your flesh was cold, your heart unmoving. She looked back at the battlefield. "She will live another day." She stated before tapping her staff to the ground and turning to a crow before flying away.

Aragorn looked at your body, still unmoving. His heart sank, him holding you close. Théoden bowed his head, tears falling from both of the men's faces.

Then... you coughed.

Aragorn pulled back, you coughing a few more times. He looked at you as you slowly leaned forward. "Y-you're alive!" Théoden breathed. "Indeed I am..." You muttered confused to your state. Aragorn looked at you up and down before kissing you. You sank into his arms, holding him close. "Don't you ever leave me again." He said. "No promises, I have shit do." You teased, him rolling his eyes. You stood up, looking at your wrists. The chains were gone now, replaced with strange runes.

"She... released me..." You muttered. Théoden looked at you confused. "Who was that woman?" Gamling asked. "The Morrigan. One of the most powerful witches in middle earth." You muttered. "You know the Morrigan!?" Legolas asked, clearly alarmed. "...I suppose I have some explaining to do. For all of you." You said.

You all returned to the hall, Rohan's people dancing and singing for their victory as you sat at a table with Aragorn, Éowyn and Théoden. You sighed, your eyes still looking at your runes. "The village... the first attack it was... it was my fault." You explained. Théoden looked at you confused. "When I was a child I had a history of having these... magical outbursts. Things would break on their own, objects would move... but then came a day when I heard my mother speaking to my older brother. She said that she couldn't take care of me anymore, my magic was becoming increasingly dangerous. So... I had a outburst and" you sighed, leaning back with sadness in your eyes. "I killed them. My selfishness costed most of the lives of my village and my friends. My mother remained and she just..." You shook your head. "You were a child Y/n..." Théoden said. "Murder is still murder. I killed them and that burden will stay with me for the rest of my life. " You said. "How did the Morrigan cross paths with you?" Aragorn asked.

"She was my guide to Rivendell. The travel was long and tiring indeed. But she guided me. The woman was cold at first but it was something where she observed me. Even after I was with the elves. The second time I used my abilities I used them again for my own life. I was attacked by Orcs roaming the lands and I found that I had a aptitude for controlling water so..." "You used the lake." Aragorn nodded. "Six men died because of me. It wasn't the whole village but it was enough to provoke Morrigan. She bound my abilities and told me if I were to use them again, it'd be lethal." You muttered. "How did those men die?" Éowyn asked. "Drowned... Caught in my crossfire but at the time I didn't care." You admitted. "Why did she let you live?" Théoden asked. "I-" "I believe I can answer that." A voice said.

Morrigan sat down, her staff by her side. "Y/n you started your journey dangerous and selfish. You were lethal to those around you and because you were a child with little understanding to the world, you didn't care. I bound you to me because someone needed to supervise you." Morrigan said. "Wait so her powers were locked until you showed up?" Aragorn asked. "Yes." Morrigan nodded. "...So why let me live back in Helm's Deep?" You asked. She sighed. "You have proven yourself to have changed. You're no longer that overly destructive child. You are someone who was willing to sacrifice her life for thousands. You chose your people over yourself." She explained. "Why are you here?" Aragorn asked. "Well I've never been one to miss a celebration." She said. "Really?" Éowyn asked. "No. Gondor may be in danger. I will be flying there tonight. Thought you all should know." She said before getting up. She walked off, opening the doors to the hall before turning into a raven and flying off.

You sighed. "She still watches you." Aragorn said. "I'm not sure as to why." You muttered. You turned to Éowyn and Théoden. "If you wish me to leave after this information... I understand-" "You saved us Y/n. You made it a point to save our people... as far as I know orcs happened upon the village." He said. You looked at Éowyn. "I still believe you to be a good person... have no fear Y/n our friendship has not and will not change my sister." She stated.

You smiled. "Thank you. Now... I believe there is a party and people want to see how much their king can drink." You encouraged. Both of them left the table and you played with your hands. "You deserve a break too you know." You said to Aragorn. "I should be saying the same to you." Aragorn said. You looked at him, and sighed. "We haven't... discussed... Us." You said. He rose a brow. "No we haven't." He agreed. "HA! I CAN GO FOR NINE MORE PINTS YOU LIGHTWEIGHT BASTARD!"

"Want to go outside?" You asked. "Please." He nodded before leaving with you. You sat on the steps of the hall, the stars scattered across the night sky. "You've sacrificed a lot." Aragorn said. "... I am scared... all the time... that I will become who I once was... and all of my work, all of my training.. everything will have been for nothing." You said. Aragorn sat next to you. "That won't happen." He said. You looked over. "How do you know?" You asked. "When all of us told you not to make that sacrifice you still did the moment you knew your men would all die. You made that split decision in a moment of fear that prioritized your people over your own life." He said. You looked at him. "You are very wise." You chuckled. He smiled. "87 winters and you'll learn somethings about the world." He said. "But not enough to take over Gondor, right?" You asked. He looked over. "I saw your ring... and I've seen you in visions." You explained. "...Visions of what?" He asked. You looked at him, almost seeing a vision as you made eye contact. For a split second you could see him with a crown in Gondor's armor. "You being king..." You admitted. He looked away, silent to your mentions of this.

"Why haven't you made a claim?" You asked. "I...I fear I am just as weak as Isildur. I cannot put my people through the same fate, not again." He shuddered. You put your hand over his, him looking at you. "You are not Isildur Aragorn. The fact that you stepped away from power out of fear of doing the same thing as him, proves that. Isildur would've accepted his claim, no questions. But you stepped away out of fear for what's best for your people." You stated. He blinked, looking at you. "...Y/n..." He muttered. "Or I'm just a crazy witch, who knows at this point." You shrugged. He chuckled, holding your hands. "Y/n, you're something else, you know that?" He said. "Mm. Many say I'm deadly. Others go with crazy." You answered making him smile.

This was a moment of peace. Finally. You could breathe, you weren't in some dungeon, you weren't in danger. You closed your eyes inhaling. "I'm glad I'm finally at peace... and I'm glad you're with me Aragorn." You said. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "I... Y/n when you died I realized I've left much unsaid with you. I don't want to call it love because it could be unrequited but I feel strongly for you-" you kissed him. "I do love you Aragorn. Life is too short to not tell you that." You told him. He let out a breath, presumably one of relief. You nearly kissed again but noticed something glow before a raven flew down, taking the form of a concerned Morrigan.

"Gondor calls for aid."

[fatefulfaerie]

Abnormality

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #6/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 2,225

Incarnation: Age of Calamity

Additional Prompts Followed: Timeline Alteration

“UTA” inspired by the “TVA” of the Disney+ series “Loki”

Trigger Warnings: abduction, brainwashing

Before Link knew it, he was being pushed along a dark hallway, hands tied and feet tripping on each other when he was pushed too abruptly.

“Faster.”

He could barely see, but long, blinking blue lights told him it was a narrow space, and his boots sounded as if they were walking on steel. He walked faster nonetheless. His own iron armor made even more of a ruckus.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked over his shoulder to the man who was pushing him. “What’s going on?”

He was in Hyrule Field last he remembered, returning to the castle after battling a Moblin. He saw an odd, egg-shaped robot and the next thing he knew he was pushed to the ground, landing in the steel trappings of wherever he was now. He was brought to his feet and pushed whenever his captor thought his pacing was too slow.

The man never answered. Link was blasted with light when a door opened as if automatically with the same noise as a sword slinking into a sheath. Link, who marvelled at such unprecedented technology, was pushed in before he could remark at it. The man behind him was gone when those same doors closed behind him.

Link looked behind him and there were no longer doors, just a wall. So he looked in front of him.

The room was clad with a silver material unlike stone. Angles jutted out at odd places and Link had never before seen architecture like this as he slowly paced forward towards the table.

Someone cleared their throat, a woman. Link’s head popped directly forward.

“Name?” She asked.

“What’s going on?”

“Name?” She repeated. It seemed Link found another person who would not humor his questions.

“Link,” he answered.

The receptionist seemed annoyed, eyes rolling to the back of her head and her eyelids fluttering. Link wondered what he did to upset her, but she scribbled something down on a piece of paper nonetheless.

“Birthdate?”

“August 16th,” Link replied. “But--”

“You have been charged with the crime of temporal misdemeanors,” she interrupted. “How do you plead?”

Link’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

“T-temp…” he tried, but failed. “What even is that? What did I do?”

“How do you plead?” She asked. There seemed to be no negotiation.

“G-guilty,” Link stammered. “I guess.”

She pointed her pen to the left, where there was now an opening, a doorless entrance.

“Step onto the platform for processing please.”

Link hesitated.

“Now,” she said without even looking up, and so Link did as he was asked, stepping onto the platform with oddly textured lines. With a jolt, it moved him along, Link’s arms drifting from his sides and knees bending as if bracing for danger. But before he could even get a sight of what was in this next room, his vision was clouded by white mist, a substance that shot a tingling feeling throughout his entire body until he couldn’t even feel his body. He was paralyzed completely and before he could fall, mechanized hands clutched his limbs, his arms, his legs. He felt his armor being stripped off but he didn’t have the control over his eyes to see who was doing it or where it was going, to object to showing this much skin and feeling this vulnerable in a strange place. Neither could he employ his vocal nodes to object to the last bit of clothing being removed until he was left only with a blue Sheikah-grade undergarment covering his most private area.

He could still see though, still tell he was being moved along into the futuristic building with no discernible connection to anything he had ever seen in Hyrule.

When he finally stopped, he stopped in front of a man behind a podium. Around Link were burn marks and the foul smell of burning flesh. His heart began to race.

“Link 816-D, you have been--”

But the echoey voice of doom was stopped when someone came racing through a now opened door, a woman in a blue dress with jagged and yet structured patterned white lines. The dress was far too tight and far too short for anything fashionable in Hyrule, but the dark-haired woman looked professional and put-together nonetheless. The fact that her dress almost exposed her knees was the least of Link’s concerns, it was just odd.

He definitely was not in Hyrule.

“He is to be questioned,” the woman said. Link couldn’t deny she was beautiful. He tried not to think about it. “Concerning the matter of the leading variant at large.”

“Very well.”

Link felt the greatest sense of relief when he was able to move again, permitted to step off the platform, and given garments to clothe himself in. They actually quite resembled the white and blue that everyone in this place wore, Link given white pants, a blue shirt, and a jacket that said “variant” on the back.

He stayed silent until the woman sat him down in a room, sitting across from him with a welcoming smile.

“Sorry about all that,” she said with her hands clasped into each other and her elbows on the table. “We don’t have the best reception here at the UTA. Let’s just say you are very lucky to be with me right now.”

Link didn’t quite know what to say.

“I-I’m sorry but…” Link stammered. “What is the UTA? Why...w-why am I here and...who are you?”

She pursed her lips.

“Somehow I always forget you guys come in here with no context,” she said, almost apologetically. “Allow me to explain. My name is Whitney and I am an employee of the UTA, which stands for the Unified Timeline Authority. We are in charge of making sure that the timeline is pure of contamination such as unauthorized time travel, timeline splits, and nexus events that cause timeline splits. We have worked long and hard to turn a chaotic and temporally lawless timeline of Hyrule into a unified and cohesive timeline. We work tirelessly to make sure the timeline stays straight, and doesn’t veer off from the set path.”

It sounded rehearsed to Link, but more than that, it sounded confusing. He got bits of it but he still stared, overwhelmed beyond belief.

“Okay, okay,” Whitney said, pulling out a piece of paper and a pencil. She started drawing a straight line on the page.

“Here is your timeline. You pull the sword at thirteen but you put it back, right? You didn’t tell anyone?”

Link nodded.

“Okay so time moves along and you age, as you know.”

She started drawing another line, exactly parallel to the first.

“Meanwhile, there is an alternate universe where you do keep the sword. Believe it or not, these both are heading towards the same destination until BAM!”

She stopped drawing the first line abruptly and let the second keep going straight. She continued the first with a line askew, making an angle.

“You encounter the little robot and everything changes. The destination is put in jeopardy at a rate we’ve never seen before. So we step in.”

“You have seen the robot so we took you. We also took the robot so he can do no further damage. We then go to where the robot came from in the first place and make sure he doesn’t come again. Thus, we have two robots. Both are now destroyed. Now I know what you’re thinking. Two robots but one of you, how does that fix it? Eliminating the second robot made it so that it never contaminated your timeline, and so there is now another Link that made it to the destination, the event where all alternate timelines become one. Thus you are the extra Link, a variant.”

She erased some of both lines and made it so that the two lines converged into one, drawing a dot at the exact place where they did and labeling it “the destination”.

“So I’m here because I saw the robot?”

“Not quite. You see, we could have wiped your memories or even wiped you but we took the opportunity to gain some…intel…about another variant.”

“Who?” Link asked.

“You,” she answered simply.

“What?”

She almost laughed.

From below the desk she pulled out a clipboard, the exact one that Link saw that first woman with. She handed it over to Link, who took it and knitted his brow at what he saw.

At least half of the names on each and every of the many pages were either Link, Zelda, or Ganon, each name accompanied by two to four numbers and a single capital letter.

In the middle of the last page was what the judge called him, Link 816-D.

“Yeah sorry about that,” she said. Of all the things she could apologize for, she sounded too casual to be apologizing for any of them, for kidnapping him, for stealing the armor he earned, for uprooting his life. “You are actually the fourth Link to come in with that birthday, thus Link 816-D.”

Link put the clipboard down slowly, and returned his gaze back to the diagram.

“The destination,” he said, before looking up. “What is it? Why is it so important that you can’t have it not happen?”

The destination is the singular moment where we were finally able to unify the timeline into one. We refer to it as the calamity.”

The word struck fear into Link’s heart.

“C-calamity…” he began, attempting to fight his shock at how cheery she said that word, how casually she referred to something that could kill thousands of people. “As in Calamity Ganon? Are you serious? You...y-you want that to happen? Do you realize what that means?”

Whitney nodded.

“It’s unfortunate,” she said. “But it was necessary that we let it happen. The near destruction of Hyrule was the only way to unify the parallel timelines. It isn’t the first time we took advantage of a disaster to slowly work towards unification. There used to be three separate timelines that were nowhere near parallel, mind you.”

Link went pale, cold. His eyes stung and his lungs paused. Not only did they permit the calamity but they let entire kingdoms be destroyed for their order.

For some reason Whitney assumed that Link was just as comfortable as her with the situation.

“The variant we are concerned with exists in the single timeline beyond the destination but the variant is trying to undo the calamity, and we need to know why. Activating that robot and sending him across parallel timelines was his first attempt. He is, of course, only a variant of you, but we feel that questioning you will lead to a bit of clarity as far as his motives. If you submit to questioning right here and now, we can offer you a job, you won’t have to worry about being destroyed or anything. I used to be a variant, too, you know. All of us were variants once. We’d love to have you join us.”

Link wondered how long this woman had been here for her words to sound so fake, so insincere, so rehearsed. Perhaps she was kidnapped as a child, perhaps she was raised by other people like her, who lost themselves gradually.

Thus Link most assuredly did not want the job, did not want to be a part of something that trades apocalypses for senseless organization, that trades lives for convenience.

The kingdom of Hyrule he once served not ten minutes ago was so much more…

It was...

Well he supposed they were no better, doing those same things, just on a smaller scale.

So he could either work for the UTA or be destroyed like the variants who did not comply. He could die for his morals or he could sacrifice them.

But perhaps there was a third option, one where he fought for his morals, destroyed the UTA from the inside.

“I’ll take the job,” he finally said, Whitney smiled. “But I have to ask...you said you were a variant...who were you?”

It didn’t seem like a question that was commonly asked, and she hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer, it was more like she genuinely forgot. Link narrowed his eyes.

“I was a variant of Princess Zelda,” she said. “I used to go by Hilda but when I got here they labeled me as Zelda 108-A. I was taken the moment Lorule got it’s own Triforce. Lorule was destroyed by the UTA, but...it was already a mess.” Whitney shrugged. “It was probably for the best.”

Her entire kingdom was destroyed and she showed so little empathy. Link could hardly believe it. She was so casual about it, like she was talking about what she had for lunch.

“A friend got taken alongside me but,” she laughed. “You know it’s funny I don’t remember their name.” She shrugged again. “Must not have been a very good friend. I’m sure you’ll be a better one.”

Link pitied that poor friend. He could very well have been her best friend, could have refused to comply and could have been erased from her memory so that she would comply, would slowly lose herself and become another drone of the UTA.

Link inwardly refused to resign to the same fate, to maybe, if possible, save her too.

“What is your first question for me?”

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,425

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Violence, graphic and disturbing imagery, death, language, implied smut, fluff.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: When I told my husband about some of the things that happen in this chapter, he reacted with impressed horror and disgust. (He’s a great audience.) When I went to edit and proofread this chapter, however, that was in my mind and I realized that some of the things I describe in here are pretty weird and gross and I’m a little perturbed that I wrote them without realizing exactly how weird and gross they were. I wasn’t aware I also had a horror writer in here. Hmm. Anyway, fair warning: graphic horror movie style descriptions.

That said, these two were fun to write, and I might write more with them reuniting after the Blip. TFAWS was a gold mine for inspiration and I’m itching to write more Sam and Bucky interactions now that I have more of them in my head. Feel free to let me know if you want that. 😊

I would have had this up faster, but the God of Mischief has been busy of late and he was occupying my mind and my keyboard for the past several weeks. Every time I sat down to my computer, he took over and it has been too much fun to stop. Soon, I promise. 😉

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

 And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

 Bucky shook his head and snorted. "We're gonna have to have a talk about your timing, doll."

Bucky dragged his eyes from your retreating form to focus on the threat outside. He'd be damned if he'd let these assholes hurt you. Especially when he needed to hear you tell him you loved him again, when he still needed to tell you he loved you, too.

"JOSEPH!" You shouted as you threw the door open, your hair smoldering as you stepped over the body in the doorway. Your voice was a mockery of the strident tone he'd taken as you'd made him wait while you spoke to Bucky. You walked forward until you were standing at the          top of the stairs onto the front porch. "If you want me to be quick, do not send me meals. Or did you not send Brit as a sacrifice to the creature inside me?”

Joseph took a single step forward, losing his breath in a sigh of awe as your skin began to glow the red-orange of a fire's heart from the inside out, your eyes glowing molten gold as you spoke. "He's pleased that you'd send someone so valuable, but he also hopes you understand," your lips curved in a cruel, hungry smile as those brilliant eyes swept over the robed figures ranged behind him, "it's not going to be nearly enough.”

Bucky could see the shudder of fear run through the small crowd and figured at least half would panic and run should you attack. However, as he'd kept his eyes and the sight of his gun on Joseph, he could also see the desire on the other man's face as he eased closer when you didn't stop that first tentative step.

"That's not going to be a problem," the man said with pure lust in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw a twinkle of light just before a wall of flame erupted into being between Joseph and his followers, spreading from the left to the right. As he expected, half of them broke and ran immediately, joined by a few more besides. A few diehards ran towards the flames, but the heat screaming off of the fire easily kept them at bay. He figured Kiki was in control of them and focused in on the only threat left.

Joseph seemed mesmerized by the sight of you as you slowly descended the stairs toward him. "Are you a god?" You intoned the words in the same popping, roaring voice Bucky remembered from that first meeting and his eyes swept the scene for confirmation that Kiki was coming in from the left as her wall of fire indicated.

"I will be!" Joseph cried as he lunged towards you, only to stop abruptly at the blast of heated air that swept between you as the wall began to move in a swirl, whipped into a river of fire. The leading edge was bright gold with streamers of vibrant orange and red and hints of turquoise heat that hit the man directly in the chest and poured into him.

When he'd absorbed the last bit of fire, he looked up at you next to your front door where you'd retreated and smiled a cruel, anticipatory smile. His body continued to jerk and contort in wicked and unsettling ways that seemed to be preventing him from following you up the stairs to take his revenge.

You were deeply horrified by what was happening to him, though you didn't move any further away because you could hear Kiki muttering as she rummaged around inside Joseph. You didn't know what she was looking for, but you knew that he was dead as soon as she found it, either because of what she was doing or the man in the window waiting for his moment. You could see, however, that Joseph thought he was on the verge of victory, and you pitied him.

When you heard her crow in delighted discovery, you whispered, that pity ripe in your voice and on your face. "Good-bye, Joseph."

In the next instant, Kiki was clawing her way out of him, starting at his chest and climbing up his throat as he clutched his neck in nightmarish pain. Your eyes stayed dry, but you didn't enjoy suffering, even his. When the little flame body that Kiki had in this dimension came pushing out of Joseph's mouth in front of a hoarse scream, Bucky ended his torment with a single bullet to the heart.

The blackened body that fell to the ground was the last straw for the last few cultists who hadn't already fled. You saw them run for the forest in your peripheral vision but couldn't watch, your eyes glued to the happily chattering little fire trying to drag something out of Joseph's body.

As grateful as you were to never have to worry about Joseph ever again, you weren't made of stone and your stomach churned when Kiki managed to pry loose whatever it was she was so intent on retrieving. When the object fell heavily to the ground, she evidently lost her grip as she went tumbling several feet, but she was up and making cheerful scolding chuffs of sound in an instant.

The little flame creature scampered in merry leaps around something that looked like a dark quartz stone a little smaller than a tennis ball, with jagged spikes of black glass sticking out of the top. You frowned in confusion when Kiki continued to make huffing and scoffing noises that you couldn't understand as she got behind the rock and started pushing it forward.

"Y/N?" Behind you, Bucky murmured your name in a voice gentle with sympathy. Whatever else Joseph had been, he was pretty sure the man hadn't deserved to die like that. If he'd had his way, Bucky would have moved more quickly and made the end much less painful. On top of that, he hated that you'd had to see your little friend do something so gruesome.

"Yeah?" You sounded weird, like you were both puzzled and worried, but you didn't turn to look at him, your gaze on the wild flickering of Kiki on the ground next to the charred remains of what was once Joseph.

Bucky reached out, hoping he was doing the right thing, and slid his arm around your waist to pull you in and cradle you against his body. "Are you okay?"

"I guess?" If you weren't so focused on Kiki, you'd have melted at the tenderness in his tone, in his touch. As it was, you snuggled back into him even as you craned your neck to try and see what the little flame was up to. "I don't know what Kiki is doing. Kiki!"

Kiki's head popped up and she scampered forward a couple feet and shouted happily, It's Grumble! She scampered back and climbed on top of the stone, her front limbs wrapped around a couple of the spikes on top. I found Grumble in the human demon!

"What the hell is Grumble?" Your hand came up to grip Bucky's where it rested against your hip. As you stepped forward to get a closer look at whatever Kiki had found, you pulled him with you by the hand you kept wrapped around his, needing him with you. Stopping at the edge of the porch at the top of the stairs, you watched Kiki playfully rock back and forth on top of her discovery.

The little flame made the popping sound that served as her most delighted laugh, something you'd heard only a couple of times since you'd met her. No! Not Grumble. Grumble! You could hear very little difference between the two sounds, the second only more intense in its rumbling sound.

"That sounds like the same word, Keek."

Kiki laughed again and rocked the stone as her little head tilted down and she chuffed and rumbled at the object beneath her fiery feet. I love it! She shouted it in her popping, crackling language. She sounded so happy, so relieved, you relaxed by a fraction, enough to be tempted when she continued, Come meet Grumble, then, and waved you forward with one arm of flame.

You looked at Bucky, who was watching you communicate with Kiki with a raised brow and ready stance, not sure the danger was as over as he had believed. "She found someone named something that sounds like her word for 'grumble'."

Bucky tensed and his gaze dropped to the happy, chuffing fire where it was perched. He didn't know exactly what Kiki was, or what all she could do, but for now she resembled a small four-legged creature with a diamond shaped head and long almond shaped eyes made of blue flame. She scorched the ground wherever she ran, and he wondered if this was now why she seemed content to sit on her rock. "Where did she find this someone?"

Your mouth spread in a sickly expression, but it could still be described as an attempt at a winning smile. “Inside Joseph?" When Bucky understood that this was what Kiki had been doing between pouring her fire into him and the bullet through the heart that had ended it, the horror of it hit him like a brick. He looked back to you to find the same horror in your eyes. "I think?"

Bucky couldn't stop looking back and forth between you and the happy little flame continuing to scold the thing beneath her feet. "What is it?"

It's Grumble. She patted her hand against the obsidian spike she was holding and her eyes squinched up in delight. He's mine. He followed me through the hole but got confused and hid inside the demon man because I aimed at him. With that she dropped down and seemed to hug the stone, her flame wrapping close with what looked like affection.

You smiled a little at her apparent joy. "Okay." Still, you needed to know more about whatever had followed her from her world. She'd told you stories of some of the things that lived there. "But what is Grumble? Like, you're made of fire. What is he made of?" You were getting more and more curious, but you didn't move down the stairs yet, not sure that it was safe.

Oh! Kiki sounded surprised at the question, looking down at the stone she was perched upon with a head tilted in confusion. When she looked back up at you, that tilted head was a counterpoint to her perplexed tone. He's rock. You could almost hear the 'duh' that came after that sentence and you snorted softly in amusement. That's why he was so hard to move. Her voice took on a gentle, loving tone, and you realized that whatever or whoever Grumble was, he was evidently precious to Kiki. He's stubborn. And he's scared.

As you started down the stairs, you heard for the first time a rumbling at frequencies at the bottom of the audible range. You almost more felt the sound than heard it, so low were the vaguely annoyed growling noises that had Kiki answering in a spitting, roaring language that sounded like an approximation of them.

You got to the bottom of the stairs, doing everything in your power to keep your eyes on Kiki and her rock and not on what used to be Joseph. Once there, Kiki's face spread in what she used for a smile as she looked up at you and patted the stone beneath her again and said proudly, Grumble.

As he couldn't understand her, you explained to Bucky. "Grumble is this rock."

"I kind of figured that out for myself, thanks."

You shot Bucky a laughing grin, loving the irritated scowl on his face, delighted that he was back to regarding the world with a vague distrust. "He's also alive, and Kiki's friend. He followed her here when she got caught in Joseph's portal."

Bucky pulled you close and slung an arm around you to keep you there. "Pretty good friend." He smirked at you when his almost suggestive tone had your eyes flicking to his. You smirked back in acknowledgement before turning your gaze back to the flame creature that was now making a soothing chirring sound.

"Is it okay if I pick him up?" you asked her, needing to get away from Joseph as soon as possible. "So we can go inside?"

The little fire chirped a cheerful assent and nodded before immediately looking down to scold when the rock gave off what sounded like a hostile rumble. Bucky’s arm around your shoulders tightened slightly in response, a little concerned by it, and unwilling to watch you step again into peril so soon after the last time. "Let me, doll." You quirked a questioning eyebrow in his direction and he turned you in his arms to lean forward and brush your lips with his own, the gratitude he felt at having you safe bright in his eyes. He rested his forehead against yours, relief blowing through him, and smiled gently at you. "You've put yourself in danger enough tonight. I'm already gonna have nightmares."

You heard the dregs of fear in his voice, saw the relief of it in his face, and knew something of what it had cost him to watch you walk out the door to face Joseph. "Between Kiki," you answered, turning your cheek to tenderly rest it against his, "and you, I was never in any real danger."

Bucky's arms came around you in a move both fast and fierce. The next moment you were pressed firmly against him. His face was buried in your throat while he shuddered once, hard, before his hold gentled, and his lips brushed your skin as he spoke. "Sure didn't feel like it."

You simply held on, giving him the moment he needed to calm himself. He held you a moment longer than that, just for the joy of having you close. When he let you go, he flashed that million-watt grin of his that hit you like lightning every time and bent to pick up the little rumbly stone with his vibranium hand.

Kiki hopped out of the way and skittered up the hand you'd held out to nestle into her spot behind your ear where she could watch your world from your perspective. She had bonded herself to the roots of your hair, which is why your head started to smoke when she got angry. She was always more comfortable when she was closer to your scalp. From her perch she hissed in an encouraging tone towards the rock grumbling in Bucky's hand.

Bucky's eyes were on the stone, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. He didn't look away when you took his hand and began moving up the stairs toward the house, too focused on the resentful grumbles of annoyance vibrating in his hand, up his arm and into his brain. He thought that if he just worked at it, he could come to understand what the different pulses and vibrations meant.

"We think he likes you." Your voice seemed to pop and growl in the same way Kiki had spoken to Grumble and drew Bucky's attention. While he'd been trying to understand the rumbles of the little stone in his hand, you'd led him to the front door and the unconscious body on the threshold. He bent and hauled the only cult member left up and over his shoulder with his free hand.

Bucky eased past you to carry Joseph's lieutenant to the kitchen, part of his attention still on the now curious purrs coming from Grumble. "Yeah. Cool." He was clearly distracted, and you wondered what about Kiki's friend had him so captivated. "Let's go call Steve so he can come clean this up."

"Actually," you said as you hopped up onto the kitchen counter to watch Bucky drop Brit to the floor, "I have a better idea."

By the time you made it back into bed, it was late morning, and you were unsteady on your feet, the weariness of the night having long since caught up with you. Still, your house was clean of Brit's presence and your yard of Joseph's body thanks to the phone call you'd made. You'd once done Maria Hill a favor and she was only too delighted to repay it. Even so odd a request hadn't fazed her when faced with the opportunity to no longer be in anyone's debt. Once Maria's crew had left, you and Bucky had been able to fall into bed in a tangled heap of relieved exhaustion.

If Maria'd had any questions about who had disabled and professionally restrained the tall and powerful person in your foyer, or about the bullet exactly through the heart of the incinerated corpse on your lawn, she kept them to herself. You imagined Nick Fury had already received a full and detailed report, but that was to be expected. You could only hope she was focused on you, considered it a small price to pay to distract them from Bucky's presence in your home.

Now that you'd found him, you would not give him up without a fight.

Bucky had stayed in the little library at the front of the second floor with Kiki and Grumble while you'd dealt with the people Maria had sent. Though he'd considered hiding in the forest during the clean-up, you'd been anxious at the thought. He couldn't stand to get that far away from you, not when he could so clearly see the worry in your eyes when he suggested it.

While he waited, he'd tried to communicate with Grumble. Something about the rumbling vibrations that came from the little stone resonated with his metal arm. If he focused on the sensory data he was getting from the vibranium, he could recognize tone and feeling. He would swear with practice he could truly communicate with the creature.

The clean-up took long enough that he got a little of that practice, was able to communicate enough reassurance to convince Grumble to open small, almond-shaped obsidian eyes. Those eyes had seemed to dart upward to the flame that popped and crackled on top of him. She whistled excitedly and, wrapping her arms of flame around his spikes, rocked him back and forth in what was clearly joy.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at her antics, especially when he could feel Grumble's affection for her. He had placed one vibranium finger against one of the facets, could feel the relief, the gratitude underneath amused devotion, confirming Bucky's suspicions regarding their relationship. Whatever form it took, Grumble had followed Kiki because he loved her. 

Bucky could understand that feeling easily. He understood now he would follow you into the jaws of hell if he had to.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Instead, he was laying on his side and nose to nose with you in the warmth of your bed and the only thing he cared about was hearing the words again. His arms were wrapped around you, his metal arm under your head, the other pressing you against him to feel your skin all over him.

Until he'd started sleeping in your bed, he hadn't realized how hungry he was for touch. Once he'd found the glory of your body warm and soft against his, he'd swiftly become obsessed. You were a feast to the famished, sweet and hot and delicious. His preference for having nothing between you whenever possible had been immediately apparent and something you indulged without comment. That silent acceptance inspired his everlasting gratitude as he hadn't known then how to tell you what it meant to him.

He knew now.

"Doll," his voice rumbled from his chest into yours and had you humming in pleasure and pressing closer, "I told you I wanted to talk about your timing." The feel of your body, warm and generous as you snuggled against his skin made both his body heat and his heart ache, and his hands smoothed over your skin in ways meant to make you shiver.

Your face melted into a bashful anxiety that made Bucky's heart pound like a drum. He couldn't believe that you could ever think that he'd be anything but endlessly thankful that you could feel a fraction of what he felt for you and he was terrified that you'd misunderstood. "Say it again, please," he whispered, his eyes burning like blue flames, "when there's time for me to say it back."

Your breath rushed out in relief, in joy, and your smile shone as your eyes blazed. You'd hoped the softness in his eyes had been reflecting his heart. "I love you, Bucky."

The sound of the words, the shape of them as they left your lips sent a feeling thrilling through his entire body, as though they had seeped beneath his skin and into the center of his being. His voice was hoarse with that desperate emotion when he answered. "I love you, too."

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours and he was taking your breath away. You let him, not needing air when you were breathing his breath, breathing him. Your body already yearning to his, your skin set aflame everywhere he touched, you gave yourself up to his embrace with nothing held back.

Bucky was drowning in you, in the soft warmth you'd shown him from the first time, gladly going under. He loved to hear the words, but now that he knew the name of the emotion that left your mouth so soft against his, he had to keep tasting it on your tongue. Your hands were as fervid as your mouth in their race over his skin, as greedy as your lips as they fed from his. The feeling went to his head and soaked into his body to make him ache with a joyous kind of need. The sound of your pleasure in your throat seemed to resonate with his bones.

His lips left yours to press to the pulse in your throat, wanting both the taste of your skin and the thump of your heart, glorying in the temptation of your voice. "I think my luck changed, too,” you murmured.

Bucky's body seemed to clench in reaction to the ache in your tone and he rolled until he was stretched out on top of you, his hips between your thighs, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He was smiling sweetly as he brushed his lips over yours, but that smile turned sly as he bent to kiss your neck again. "I met your ex. Your luck completely changed."

The feel of your laughter vibrating in your throat under his lips sent a rush through him, lust and love tangled together to keep his touch tender even as his hands began to wander to incite, to arouse.

Skin to skin and heart to heart, you were soon entwined and rocking toward ecstasy. Always a joyous experience, your joining was even sweeter, now that you had given each other the love you’d both been holding back. The words were as sweet on your lips as they were to his ear when you whispered them as you quaked in pleasure. His arms enveloped you and the choked cry of your name had your hands gliding over him to hold him through his own rapture.

A long time later, once he’d adored you to his own exacting standards, pleasuring you thoroughly and doing all he could to erase the memory of the night before from both your minds, you lay boneless and satisfied in each other’s arms.

“I kind of feel weird about what we just did.” His voice was low and raspy and made you shiver agreeably. His tone was so quiet and calm, it didn’t break the silence as much as it dismissed it. You marveled at the fact that your body was utterly exhausted and still yearned. Even now you could want him. “You know, with them here.”

You glanced at the nightstand where Kiki lay curled up on top of Grumble, both ostensibly asleep. You could still feel the gentle hum of her awareness in the back of your mind, however, and knew she was still half-awake. You smiled and turned back to Bucky to nuzzle his mouth with your own.

"Kiki lives at the roots of my hair; she's seen it." You'd used up what little energy you had and let your head fall back to the pillow. Bucky, on the other hand, lifted his head to stare at you as you continued. "They're not interested, I promise." His look of mildly horrified confusion made you snort, but you answered defensively. "She sets fires if she just wanders around freely. This is the first time she's been able to hang out somewhere else."

"She lives in your hair?" You laughed out loud at the tone of his voice, rich with baffled shock, and the worried eyes that raked the top of your head as he craned his neck to see your scalp. "Doesn't that hurt?"

You were still laughing as you lifted one heavy arm to draw his head down to yours for a long, tender kiss. You should have known that his one worry would be for your safety, your comfort. This was why you'd fallen in love with the man, the generous heart that beat so true beneath that delightfully gruff exterior.

Your voice was a little breathless from the kiss when it broke, but still soft with remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her, about Joseph, any of it." That remorse also softened your mouth as it brushed over his beautiful face. "At first it was because I promised to keep her secret, then it was because I was afraid."

Bucky appreciated the apology but considered it unnecessary as he could easily understand your reticence considering the circumstances. Even if he wanted to be angry, he was pretty sure that was impossible with you soft and warm in his arms, with your gentle mouth brushing love into his skin. He should probably be concerned that you had such a hold on him, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Snuggling you closer, he smoothed his palm slowly up your spine as he closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation of your skin against his. "Afraid of what?" He murmured the question, and you could feel in the way he pressed you closer that he was wondering if he had the energy to love you one more time. Alas, you were pretty sure you did not, but that didn't stop your heart from kicking like it was willing to find out.

You used the arm you'd slid around his waist to pull yourself tightly against him so that you could bury your face in his neck. His palm was just rough enough to send shivers through you as he skimmed it over your skin. "That it would be too much, too weird." You smiled against his throat when he scoffed. "I have custody of a fire elemental. She's kind of a lot."

Bucky scoffed harder and rolled his eyes as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I'm an international fugitive because I spent the last several decades a brainwashed assassin." His hand had reached the nape of your neck, only to turn and start the path back down, his touch both soothing and tender. "That's kind of a lot, too, but you don't seem to mind."

You sighed in pleasure, in contentment, and let your eyes drift closed. The warmth of his body, the smooth skim of his skin over yours, the rumble of his voice as he spoke all combined to leave you boneless and sleepy in his arms. "I knew what I was getting into," you murmured and the beginning of a slur to your tone alerted Bucky to your fading consciousness.

He smiled and felt the last of his own tension start to fade. If you were as happily content as your body seemed to communicate as you rested so trustingly against him, he saw no need to stay on guard. He let himself relax and enjoy the sensation of love and safety that had been so rare in his life until he met you. "You were on fire the first time I saw you," he reminded you gently, smiling at the memory now that he knew how truly safe from the fire he was. "I wasn't exactly in the dark."

You tilted your head back so that you could look into his face. His mouth was soft with affection, his blue eyes bright behind lowered lids. The way-past-five-o'clock-shadow darkening his features only added to the deliciously dangerous look of him. The sight of him made your heart race and your throat swell. A little breathless with it, with him, you kissed him gently. "I love you."

Bucky's grin flashed, dazzling white against the dark of his stubble. "I will never get tired of hearing that." His pretty lips brushed yours once, twice, before he gave in and sank into a long, tender kiss. When he raised his head again, your eyes fluttered open to meet icy blue hot with emotion. "I love you, too, doll."

Your face lit up with a bright and happy smile that made Bucky feel ten feet tall. When you snuggled into his arms and closed your eyes with a sigh of contentment, seemingly determined to fall asleep in his arms, he simply adjusted to maximize the comfort of you both and prepared to follow you into dreamland.

Just as his eyes were falling closed, Bucky's gaze landed on the little stone that had followed Kiki into this world. The vibrations that seemed to resonate with his arm and into his brain were still causing questions to chase each other in circles around his mind. There was only one person he would consider trusting with this secret, and she was also the only person who understood vibranium well enough to answer any of those questions.

"How do you feel about international travel?" His voice was loud enough to keep you from sliding into sleep, but still a low, sexy rumble. If only you could stay awake. "I know someone who would kill to meet Grumble."

You snorted, softly, and turned to rub your face against the skin of his collarbones, basking in him. "Let me know when you convince Grumble and I'm in." Your mouth twisted sardonically against his chest, even as you started to relax back into sleep. It was impossible to stay awake when your worst enemy was dead, your worst worries were over, and you were safe and comfortable in the arms of the sweetest man you'd ever known. "Then we can all try to convince Kiki."

Bucky couldn't resist the siren song of the softness of your body, bonelessly trusting, nor that of a deep and dreamless sleep that he knew would be his reward for getting you through the crisis safe and sound. "Will that be difficult?"

"She's paranoid and temperamental." Bucky could hear a small, half-hearted hiss coming from the direction of the nightstand. That hiss prompted a forceful and challenging change to your tone. "Yes. Unless Grumble has some ability to persuade that we don't, it will be very difficult."

Next came a sound like a small tumble of gravel, but the little clacks of rock against each other had such an amused tone to it, you couldn't help but hear it. Bucky laughed out loud, as he could hear the smug assurance underneath the laughter and knew Grumble was perfectly capable of persuading Kiki. Her hissing denial was clearly weak to everyone in the room, and it was clear she was as smitten with Grumble as he with her.

Though the little flame sounded irritated, you could hear the reluctant amusement mixed with attraction in the back of your mind and wondered what Kiki saw when she looked at the other creature. Whatever it was, she was as caught in her sexy, grumpy partner as you were in yours.

Bucky grinned at you, thoroughly familiar with the feeling of smug amusement he was getting from Grumble, since he got to experience it every time you lost your train of thought looking at him. You grinned back, reluctantly amused by the arrogance all over him, and thinking you and Kiki had a lot more in common than you'd thought.

The End

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle​ @samwilsons-pillowpecs​ @cheekygeek05​ @lbouvet​ @diinofayce​ @bibliophile1773​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @miraclesoflove​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @destiel-is--endgame​ @irritated-bisexual​ @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

4x12 - GSR fix-it fic

(A/N:  What the motherfuck- TUMBLR HAS A TEXT BLOCK LIMIT?!!!! UUUGGGHHH!!!! I guess this is gonna have to be in two parts. But, I guess...this whole thing is pushing 9000 words, so I'll split it 4500-4500. Yeah. I'm as tired as Gil now. I'm gonna go sleep with him. I was inspired to write this after watching that video.  Anyways, they're actually together in this one.  Aka when Gil FINALLY goes home, he can rest his forehead on Sara's and reassure himself that she's actually still okay, and that she's actually still right there, with him.  Because I crave this for them.  So, there are many and heavy contextual changes. Fyi, I'm not writing out every single piece of dialogue/action, hell no.  I'm just writing whatever's relevant to GSR. Oh and, warning - canon-typical ns/fw

{I'm sorry about the formatting but I would like to give} Special thanks to @addictedtostorytelling for...basically saving my ass with all the details of this fic. Thank you for answering my questions, no matter how inane, dumb, unnecessary, or worse. And of course @stokes-theorem got me out of a panic attack; it is much appreciated 🙏)

Gil walked through the house of the 419 of the night, having had to put protective coverings over his shoes so that he did not disturb any evidence he might accidentally step on. He had to keep his back to the wall and walk sideways as well. (The sound of his footsteps were adorable.) As he passed the spare bedroom, he noticed that the victim possessed a collection of butterfly-resembling trinkets, all displayed nicely on her shelf. He made it to the area of event at last, squatting down to take a closer look at the body.

His eyebrows jumped up in shock - the victim had a strong resemblance to Sara. For a few moments longer, he stared at his (secret) girlfriend's image, a dozen thoughts swirling around in his head but never aligning themselves. It was his unfailing sense of duty that allowed him to literally get his head upright and get back to his team, who was waiting outside. But when he opened the door, the very person in his line of sight was Sara; again he stared, this time at her actual self. Inside, there was a dead body, who looked so like her, but here she was, living, breathing and- turning her head to stare right back at him. But the one's gaze held such a different meaning from the other's.

Jim, who was past Sara in Grissom's line of sight, thought that he was the one the team leader wanted to see, so he stepped between the scientists. "Ready for us?"

"For now, no one enters this house except CSI."

[CUE THE INTRO]

Gil assigned Warrick to the car, but he assigned Sara to the perimeter, to which she shook her head in disbelief and questioned, "What? You just did a one hour walk-through. The perimeter cannot be a priority." On 'not', she shrugged and laughed wryly.

His gaze immediately turned beseeching. "I need you to work the outside. Catherine and I will be inside." He momentarily shifted his eyes in the direction of the door at the last bit but immediately looked back at her, his eyes even more pleading. Sara gave him an 'alright, fine' smile and went to do as he said.

Gil did not examine the car, but there was a fair chance that it would yield a fair amount of evidence. However, he had, as Sara remarked, gone over the perimeter, so he knew that Sara's scouring of it would bear no fruit. He deliberately did this; he wanted to dissociate Sara from the case as much as possible, in his own little way.

While Catherine went to interrogate the victim's friend, Gil took the opportunity to go back and stare the body for a bit longer.  He was (understandably) haunted that the 419 looked like the love of his life.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear Catherine walk in behind him; his head flinched to the side when she spoke, "One thing I can never get over with this job: anything can happen to anybody."

Gil clicked his tongue and responded, "That's why we're here," before going back to looking over the corpse.

Soon enough, Sara was let in a little more on the action when she had to crawl under the house and unscrew a pipe running from the bathroom to get the water that had been drained into it, as well as process the actual pipe.  However, Gil insisted that she was to return to the laboratory and test just those pieces of evidences as soon as she was done; his intent was that she would be occupied with something appertaining to the case but not in such a major capacity, thus satisfying her curiosity if only on a temporal basis.  Gil and Sara did not know it, but when she looked up into the pipe, Gil happened to be spraying luminol onto it on the other side.  (A/N:  Can I just take a moment to appreciate the cinematography here?  As well as the music <3)

The bugs helped the bug man out again; flies swarmed the dustbins that had pieces of corpse inside them.

After those were sent back to Al and David, Gil went back inside the house.  This time, he examined the victim's collection of synthetic butterflies.  He was turning over one that was blue, translucent, and had a base so that it could stand, a thoughtful frown on his forehead.  If Sara had been there to see him, she would have kissed it away.  He put the butterfly down and picked up a framed picture of Debbie.  With her arms straight up in the air and an open-mouthed smile that showed her top row of teeth, it was evident that she had been jubilant at the time of photography.  Gil shook his head; not because he pitied the loss of her joy, but because he was once again struck by her likeness to the greatest joy in his own life.  He tore his eyes away from the photo and looked at himself in the mirror, trying to collect himself.

But the adverse was achieved, because the bed was visible in the mirror, and he envisioned the victim sitting on it facing away from him, alive and well.  She then looked over her shoulder at him; the image was replaced with that of Sara.

Grissom clenched his jaw.  He stiffly tilted his head to one side, his gaze at himself hardening.  All in an reinforced effort to steel himself.

He was forcibly yanked out of his thoughts when his phone rang; his head flinched a little way in its direction while his eyes flickered down to it.  He picked it up and manage to announce in his normal voice, "Grissom."

"Hey!"  came the voice of the very woman who plagued him so, her voice cheery; she had dismissed any offence she had felt earlier from her mind and forgiven him, just being happy to hear from her man.

But her voice made him drop his mouth open in shock. Restraining the last of his resolve from flying out the window, he said, "Sara.  Uuuuhhh listen I'm in a bad area, I'll call you back."  He deliberately raised his voice a little to make his lie more believable.

Even though he could not see her, she gave a little nod; physical embodiment of her acknowledgment.  She responded by raising her voice just as he did when he next spoke.  "I got a skin tag off the bathroom drain pipe."

"Skin tag.  That's great.  Uh, give it to Greg."

"Yeah I did.  Hey do you want me to come over there and give you a hand?"

"No I'm-I'm-I'm fine," he stuttered, his free hand moving up then down again, as if he was physically dismissing (his emotions besides) her offer.  "I'll-i'll-i'll- uh...I'll talk to you back at the lab."  He immediately hung up after that.  He raised his head to glare at himself; he needed to force himself to push whatever emotions he had aside so that he could focus on the case.

As for Sara, she frowned in concern, but went on brushing what she put down as his typical eccentricity aside and went to help Warrick out with Michael Clark's car.  A third party would have enjoyed watching them work, especially with John M.  Keane's music.

After that, Sara and Warrick convened with Catherine in the break room to go over the course of the physical events of the murder.  Grissom joined remotely by holding his pager to his ear with one hand, while the break room's table had a speaker that his phone was tapped into; it was certainly much easier to communicate with Sara remotely and in a group where he could avoid speaking directly to her instead of communing in private where he literally had to face her.  Since Grissom was at the house, he walked through it himself in accordance with his team's narration.  When Sara spoke, he had to tilt his phone away from his ear, catching himself tripping again.  Since he was at the scene of the crime, he narrated how the deed was done.  As always, he had been envisioning the actual events, so it was difficult for him to picture such a thing happening Sara's likeness, but he pulled through; he did pause for extremely brief moments, and those could be put down perfectly as him taking time to think.

Sara, Catherine and Warrick finally went home after one and a half shifts.  As Sara approached the door to her and Gil's place, she could hear Hank scratching at it.  She smiled and opened the door. "Hey!" she called at the same time that Hank barked. Hank then stepped behind her and sniffed the air. "He's not here," Sara told him, gently pushing him inside with one hand and holding her kit with the other.  She sat on the couch and directed him to sit next to her.  She took her phone out of her pocket and showed it to him.  "We'll call him, huh?"  Hank had come to understand that that little slab of plastic with an area that would light up was something that humans used to communicate with each other.  There were frequent occasions when one of his humans was away, and the other would hold this object in between him and them.  Then, when the human pressed some things that made beeping sounds, there would be a certain tone for a while until the other human's voice could be heard from it; this was one such occasion.

Sometimes however, the other human's voice would not be heard.  In those cases, he and the human would just bark or speak into the slab by themselves.  After several hours, the slab would start up with a ringing sound, and when the human made a beep, the other human's voice could be heard.  He would always bark joyfully then and wag his tail.

So Hank smiled at Sara, tongue hanging out as he panted eagerly.  He watched and listened as she made the slab beep, and a tone followed.  Not too long after, the tone ended, and was replaced with a, "Grissom." He had had to turn away from the area of wall he was swabbing and take the phone out of his inner breast pocket.

Hank immediately started barking into the object, letting his human know that he was excited to hear from him and missed him.  Both humans giggled.  (At least Hank managed to cheer Gil up for a little bit.)  Sara absentmindedly ran her other hand down his ear as she waited for him to stop barking so that she could have her turn at speaking. The dog was aware of this, and let his mother have her turn in due time. "We miss you," she smiled.

He sounded forlorn as he answered, "I know... I miss you too...but I have to finish this." He was frowning sadly, and his shoulders were slumped. Sara thought that he was sad because he regretted not being able to come home to her. While this was true, he had another reason: that he had to deal with...this. And it was not that he had to deal with it; it was something that he had taken upon himself to. All he wanted was to protect his Sara, even if it meant hiding (fortunately minor) details of the case from her, and foregoing sleep altogether.

"Why not come home? Take a break. And you can continue tomorrow," she tried to coax him.

He shook his head even though she could not see him. "No. You go ahead without me," he said woefully.

She frowned in concern. "We gotta stop doing this." She was referring to the fact that they often stayed up for the whole day to work on cases instead of getting sleep.

"I know, I know," he sighed, his free hand squeezing his temples. "I promise I'll get more sleep after this case, okay?"

There was a period of silence when Sara nodded. "Okay," she said genially.

She heard her boyfriend huff a sigh; he dipped his head defeatedly when he did that. "Look, I-i-i'm sorry," he stuttered for the second phone call from her in a row.

She shook her head, "Don't be. It's alright. I'm guilty of the same thing." As well as she could hear that he was in dire need of sleep, she would not force him to since he did not want to. Plus, there was no way she could get Gil to come home without people questioning as to how she managed to get through to the stubborn workaholic; suspicion would be raised as to the true extent of their relationship.  He was at a loss as to what to say.  So, she rescued him as usual, "I'll see you back at the lab?"

He felt as if there were chains around his body that had just been loosened. Finally, something he could answer honestly! He felt as if he was ripping them off as he answered, "I don't think so. I still have to process the carpet-"

"The carpet?! Gil, that thing runs over every inch of floor!!!" Hank, who had been contently resting his head on Sara's lap, jerked his head up at the sudden interjection.

"I know," he groaned slightly, the vocalisation coming more naturally now that he was free. The boxer lay his head back down. "It has to be done though."

She nodded before saying, "I know. Don't run yourself into the ground, okay? I mean," here he could hear her snicker, "no more than you usually do."

For the first time in over a day, he smiled. A small but genuine smile that made the corners of his storm blue eyes crinkle endearingly; if Sara was there to see it, she would have kissed him. "I'll try not to." And, ah, how nice - she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Take care of yourself. Remember to eat at least. I love you."

"I'll try. I love you too. I love you Hank!" His head jerked up again and enthusiastic barking ensued. The humans followed suit with more giggling before they hung up. With his spirits lifted anew from his conversation with Sara, he pocketed his phone and got back to work with a little more energy than he had before.

As for Sara, she put a hand on Hank's head and said, "Well boy, let's go and eat some breakfast huh?"  He gave a cheery bark and jumped off the couch.  Sara closed and locked the door, carried her kit and followed him down the stairs.  She hurried to put her kit away and then popped back to the kitchen to set out Hank's food, and then get herself food. They ate, went for a walk, and returned. Sara took a shower, and put on Gil's shirt after. When it came time for bed, Sara asked Hank to lie on the bed with her, and cuddled him. "Since Gil isn't here, I'll hold you tonight," she smiled. He seemed to understand as he nuzzled her face and lay his head back down.

A little after the phone call, Gil did go and eat. He shed himself of his coveralls, put them in his car, got in himself, and drove to the nearest diner. He ate there and then took away a second meal for his lunch, which he ate at the appropriate time. Sara went to the laboratory at nine o' clock that night, wanting to do all she could to help her boyfriend. She went to check on Warrick's progress.  Upon finding him sifting through the contents of the victim's vacuum cleaner with a pair of tweezers and coughing profusely, she teased, "He-he-heyyy. Blacklung."

"Ah...I've been sifting through this trash for about six hours." That meant that he had been working for the entirety of the swing shift. "You come here to rescue me or make fun of me?" the poor man retorted.

"I am just looking, relax." She pointed to one of the petri dishes Warrick had set out to sort the evidence. "What are these white fibres here?"

"They must be from the spare bedroom, because all the other carpets are green."

Sara looked at the plan drawing of the house. "Spare bedroom wasn't on his entrance or exit path."

"Look, all I know is that they were near the top of the bag, so it must've been one of the last things he vacuumed." Sara gave small nods of acknowledgment.

"I did manage to find this butterfly pendant..." Warrick moved his tweezers to the petri dish where it was and picked it up, "...with some white fibres in it. Looks like it's from a necklace, or a bracelet. And it has this link, which has snapped so I'm thinking...sign of struggle?" He straightened up a little bit to raise his point.

"Killer was in that spare bedroom."

Gil's panicky obsessiveness was certainly affecting a fair few of his teammates. Catherine went to the scene of the crime at the same time as Sara returned to the laboratory.  She knew that Gil was very stressed out about the victim looking so much like their dear friend, and so she wanted to help him.

(Poor Gil...he did not realise that when he worried, his team family worried too and would do whatever they could for him; he did not realise that they could love him as much as he loved them.  He had such heavy doubt about his own lovability, so much so that he even almost rejected Sara when she first asked him out.)

Catherine walked in to see Gil processing the carpet (to the amazing soundtrack). During the conference, he had mentioned that he had processed the carpet on the threshold of the bathroom, and at present he was processing the area of carpet just beyond that.  Her work-wife face on, she said to him, "Don't tell me you never went home."

Gil looked up at her, one hand still on the carpet and the other holding his filter paper. "Okay." Since she did not want to hear anything to that effect, he decided to water it down by saying, "I just got started in here.  I haven't even got into any of the rooms yet."

"You know you lose your edge after sixteen hours, and you're into your third shift. She brought her forearms out to her sides. "I mean I'm all for overtime but, this is just plain greedy."

He shook his head tiredly before reassuring her, "My knees can't take this anymore." As fuelled as he was from his food, it still physically hurt to remain on one's knees for an extended period of time.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Yes."

"Ah," she nodded approvingly.  "Then, how about a shower?"  Gil shook his head.  Catherine raised an eyebrow in turn.  At Gil's look of horror, she clarified, "I mean at your place.  You need to go home."

"As soon as we find some evidence, I promise."

"With fresh eyes you won't miss it."

Her work-husband groaned as he stood up, his knees creaking.  "Just talk it through with me will ya?  What do we know?"

Catherine's eyes shifted to the side in thought.  "Alright."  She inhaled deeply before continuing, "The bathroom is where things got started. Candles, oils...steam shower...cleaned up, oiled up...sexed up."

"Let's go back to the bedroom," Gil voiced, moving his head a little way in the direction of the bedroom. They got their UV-protective goggles out of their kits, with Catherine taking the torchlight as well.  Cath shone the light on the topmost bedsheet, but nothing showed up under the fluorescence. "No, nothing on this sheet," Gil noted. He lifted that sheet to expose the one underneath, to yield the same result; he gently cocked his head to one side in acknowledgement (which was cute).

"She changed her sheets for her date; I would," Catherine remarked.

Since there was nothing to be found on the top surface of the bed, Gil let his gaze wander to the side of the bed. A ring embedded into the mattress caught his eye with a loop red cloth threaded through it with the rest stuffed under the mattress caught his eye; this time his head jerked a little to the side in vigilance. He squatted down and pulled it out, passing hand over hand.  When it was completely free and he could see what it was, he transferred it to one hand so that he could take off his goggles with the other.  He then looked up at his colleague with an uncomfortable expression and called, "Hey Cath..." When she looked at him, he held the thing up as if he was holding a dead rat and continued, "...got silk?"  His eyes shifted to the object as he asked that.  What he meant by that was if there was an identical finding on her side.

She looked down at her side of the mattress, and opened her mouth at the discovery and looked back at him.  Gil kept an inquiring gaze on her and took the opportunity to stand up.  She bent to her side while reaching an arm down and fished the cloth out.  "Why yes I do."  Gil looked back at the one in his own hand and shook it to see if anything would fall out; he was still disconcerted and frowning though.  His unease was turned into scepticism when Catherine said, "Iiii don't mean to embarrass you but um...some guys need leverage," as she stepped towards the foot of the bed and removed the sheets to uncover the barrier.

"They do?"  He was frowning a little bit harder; Sara certainly never complained.

Grinning in the hopes of finding something, Catherine gave a nod before saying, "I'll dust for prints."

While she did that, Gil's phone rang again.  He took his phone out from the same place he had when Sara called.  "Grissom."  He stuffed the hand not holding his phone comfortably into his pocket.

"It's Warrick.  I have somethin' for you - I found a butterfly link.  With some white fibres in it."

Grissom started walking to the other bedroom.  "Butterfly where?"

"In the vacuum bag.  You check all the rooms?"

"Lemme look again, and I'll get back to you."

"Alright." Grissom had reached the spare bedroom by then, so he put his phone away and got up to the shelf where the victim's butterfly collection was, a smile gracing his face at the sight of insects. He shone his (regular) torchlight on the contents of the shelf. When came across some more photos of Debbie, he drew himself back slightly, but quickly tore his gaze away from them; this was not the time to dwell on his feelings. His gaze averted to a blue jewellery box next to them, decorated with even more images of butterflies. He opened it; inside, there was an assortment of accessories, all butterfly-themed. He carefully used a finger to move them about, pushing them aside to see if there were any broken-off pieces. He did find one near the top right of the box.

In the meantime, Catherine had successfully made a print show up.  She tape-lifted it with a triumphant smile and proudly brought it to show Grissom.  "Hang one.  Toe print.  I'll have Sara compare it against both victims."

"Good."  Sara was the only unoccupied person.  "Warrick found a butterfly charm in the vacuum bag...I think I just found a piece from the same chain in this box."  He pointed to it.

"Butterfly huh?"  Catherine mused, her eyes moving to look over the rest of the trinkets.

"She had a collection." He seemed quite happy to announce that, and it was no wonder why.

"Gifts?  From her...gentleman callers?"

"Maybe the killer was taking his gift back.  As in, leave no trace.  Maybe he finally ran out of patience and got sloppy."  At the last sentence, his voice deepened, as if he was challenging the unseen and unknown perpetrator.  Upon shining his torch on the shelf below, he found a strand of hair.  Short and white, as would come from an elderly man.  He squatted, with Catherine following suit, and picked it up with his tweezers.  "And this is why I didn't leave."  His voice was soft with excitement and victory. Catherine left to bring the hair and toe print back to the laboratory, giving the print to Sara and the hair to Greg. Gil got back to Warrick and informed him of the matching butterfly.

Sara went to take the lower ten cards of both victims. Having finally gotten the chance to look at Debbie, she moved the swivel chair she was sitting on to draw herself up beside the victim's face. She stared down at it.  And suddenly, she understood.  She understood Gil's skittishness, understood why he had been reluctant to let her in on the case.  And she was, of course, haunted; it could very well have been her on Al's slab.  She glanced about, not knowing what to think; she could not articulate her emotions even in her own head. Eventually, they settled on one person: Gil. Gil, her protector; the person who had been 'protecting' her from this case at any rate.  She would speak to him to clear her head; she could always talk to him, and he would never turn her away. Well...he used to. But that was when his feelings towards her were even more of a mess than they currently were. He had progressed a lot with her help.

With that temporary comfort, she finished up and went to run the prints through AFIS. That took several hours. By the time that day shift roller around, both Debbie Marlin and Michael Clark were ruled out.  She then went to find Gil.  Or Catherine; whichever she found first. She went to the shift supervisor's office; nobody was there. And nobody was in the assistant shift supervisor's office either. But after some wandering around, she found Catherine in the locker room, sitting on a bench and changing her shoes. "Hey," Sara called, trying to seem cheery, "you seen Grissom?"

"He's still at the crime scene," Catherine responded, glancing at her as she did.

Sara nodded to signify her acknowledgment before reporting, "I eliminated both victims from the print you pulled off the bed."

"Well we know she was fishing off the company pier..." Sara responded with a look and a nod. "You uh, seen Debbie?" Catherine looked at her properly, wanting to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah," she said laconically, not wanting to give anything away.

"And?" Catherine enquired.

"Yeah I compared her...toe prints," she avoided still, her expression hardening.

Seeing as that would lead nowhere, Catherine decided to comment, "If I didn't know better I'd think that it was you on that table."

"I didn't really...look at her face," Sara denied. Noticing Sara seemed sad somehow, Catherine relented and just gave her a knowing look. Sara let her face fall, and allowed herself to sound as pleading as she really was when she asked, "If you see Grissom will you tell him?" Catherine nodded sincerely. Sara just walked off after that. The assistant shift supervisor convened with Jim and they went to Desert Palm print samples.  They did find a match; Dr.  Tripton.  Catherine phoned Gil and informed him of it.

[dawn-aethwyn]

Crimson Sunshine

[Trigger Warning: Self Harm / Mental Instability]

Process. Nijah needed time alone to process. It made sense. She dumped a lot on her at once. Things she kept to herself all the time from everyone else. It was a lot of heavy stuff, things that would make people think twice before befriending her. So, a reaction like this, taking time to process feelings and thoughts-- this was understandable, right? But then why did it hurt so much? Was she being childish again? She brought her hand up to stare as she rested her head along the back of the porcelain tub.

It was fear that gripped her heart. That harrowing sensation that she might lose the one person who was her source of empathy and relief. Her solid rock to lean on and find balance. The person who helped her regardless of her pain, self-pity, and sadness. Nijah had always been there to offer a guiding hand. Not one that coddled, but one that was there to help her walk on her own two feet again, hovering just far enough away to catch her if she fell. She was always there to offer an objective standpoint or practical solutions to her own perceived problems.

Perhaps it was because of this absence of objectivity or practicality that Dawn felt lost and her mind wandered to more insensible thoughts. The water in the half-filled tub had grown tepid and her exposed flesh felt cold to the touch. She held the tip of the thin blade to her forearm and hesitated. Would this count as another secret? Would this make her lie more? Would this be something she’d have to keep from Nijah? If it never came up, would it ever be an issue? But, what if she found out? What if she needed more space to herself, more time to process things?

What if she processed and realized that she no longer wanted to be around her?

A light moan and a shaky breath escaped her delicate lips as she raked the razor along her flesh. In that precise moment she hadn’t mired herself in what-ifs. It was just the feeling. The physical searing that took away from the pain in her chest. If she was going to hurt herself with a myriad of thoughts that ranged from abandonment and heartbreak, wasn’t this the lesser of two evils? Small lacerations were clean and easy to heal with a bit of conjury, after all. At least she rationalized it that way in her head. But it was just that, wasn’t it? A simple excuse.

Justifications, reasons, excuses, none of those really mattered as she made her second cut; blood from the first trailed down her arm as drips sounded in the water. She didn’t need to worry about the why’s or torment herself mentally anymore. This feeling gave her a distraction. Was this foolish? Was it reckless? She didn’t need to worry herself over the details; what mattered was that the piercing feeling in her chest felt lessened as she cut into her flesh.

‘Weak.’

Harsh judgement came from the voice echoing in her skull. Weak? Of course she was. That’s why she was there in the tub in the first place. She felt the voice slowly creeping in some more and opted to drown it out with another slow and methodical incision.

The voice wouldn’t relent as the soul crystal around her neck began to burn red hot. Her veins nearest the stone darkened and red strands started spreading beneath the flesh-- her flesh felt on fire while the fine branching blood vessels underneath her pale, near translucent skin began to form crimson lines resembling the intricate webbing of a spider or perhaps the splintering of glass that had shattered but retained its form. She dropped the razor and her hands gripped white-knuckle tight on the edges of the tub as her form writhed.

‘If all you want is pain, I can give you that.’

How long had it been since she had been forcibly absorbing the dark aether from the soul crystal? Weeks? Months? The woman it had belonged to, the woman whose voice it was that spoke to her now, had led a sinister life and wielded a grim power reminiscent of those harnessed by Dark Knights; the crystal, of course, was from a long line of those avengers who embraced their emotions to call upon the abyss. They did this to exact vengeance, cold, harsh, and mercilessly upon those that they deemed deserving. These dark deeds and acts find their way to carve themselves upon a person’s soul no matter how well-intentioned. The scars from these acts were carved along with the memories and aether stored in the stone- pieces of their souls; and instead of learning from their whispers and memories, she had been absorbing them.

The most prominent of which was the soul of the woman who was slain in agony by Nijah herself: Adala Himaa. Now Dawn’s soul was entwined with hers and their fates tied together. Whatever remnants that remained of Adala were becoming a part of Dawn. She did her best to keep this change at bay but it would slip out-- in a physical altercation here, a life threatening situation there, a heated work conversation, an argument laden with emotion: anger that seethed from within.

Just when she had found some sense of normalcy in her life everything seemed to work against her.

Some sense of normalcy…

“Nijah!” her eyes shot open and she grabbed the stone, pulling it off her neck and away from her chest. The vessels along her chest began to return back to their natural state and she was able to catch her breath from the searing pain.

‘Oh? Found some inspiration did we? To escape from the pain? I thought you wanted to stop thinking about that?’

“I know! I know I’m weak. Okay?!” she shouted at no one. “Can’t you see that?! Why I’m doing this?! Don’t you know that I know?!” her reddened eyes swelled as tears escaped them. She brought her hands to cover her face and sobbed pathetically.

‘Causing yourself pain, mutilating yourself, that accomplishes nothing. Are you going to sit in your bathtub and do this every time your feelings are hurt or when you want to numb the pain? Or when you’re finally so numb that you do it to feel something? Is that it? Grow up. Face the pain.'

“But it isn’t going away if I don’t do this!” she pleaded.

“And it won’t go away if you keep doing this. You have to face the difficult things. The things that hurt you, the things that you’re afraid to lose, the things you’ve lost. It won’t be over quickly, it never is.”

“It’s not just about how I feel! I-- I d-deserve to…”

‘Oh please spare me the wailing. You feel guilty so you deserve it, right? Penance, as it were? So is it that or that you want the pain to go away. Make up your mind. Weak. Pathetic. Foolish.’

“I told you. I already know that I am!”

‘Then stop. Being. That. Way.’

Dawn sneered and rasped out, “You make it sound like it’s so easy, like I can just flip a switch and things will be all rainbows and butterflies!”

‘Does it have to be one or the other? Suffering or contentment? Not everything is so black and white. Not everything is so absolute. Look at you, it’s either one extreme or the other, mn? There are plenty of shades of gray. And in those shades is where you find truth. Pain is a part of life, and you have to learn to live with it and grow with it.’

“I’ve lived with pain. I’ve known pain. I’ve known suffe-”

Her rebuttal was interrupted by a singular thought from the familiar voice.

‘What would she think of you right now?-- Oh? Cat got your tongue? Go on, tell me about how you’ve learned to live with pain. Look at yourself right now and then say that you’ve learned to live with the pain.’

Her voice was weak and she seemed as if all the strength had been sapped from her as she sank into the water tainted with her own lifeblood, “It’s not the same. When mother died, I learned to live again. When father sailed away, I learned to live again. When I lost my eyes, I learned to live again. I don’t want to learn to live again…”

‘Oh, boo-hoo, is it too hard? Or is it that you can’t anymore without her? Hah. The thought hurts you so. Appropriate. At least you can feel some anguish with me since your loving murderess was the one who killed me. Sounds less like love and more like an obsession to me.’

“And? So what? What if I’m obsessed with someone that I love?”

‘Obsession can kill you.’

“So can love.”

[abigailnussbaum]

The Watch 1x01 - 1x02

The first two episodes of BBC America’s The Watch aired this weekend, and I’ve seen basically zero discussion of them on my twitter and tumblr feeds. Which I assume is because most of the people I follow are Pratchett fans who have been horrified by the press releases and the trailer (or, for that matter, the lackluster reviews) and decided to write the show off before it even started airing. To be clear, this is an entirely reasonable approach, but there’s nothing else on right now and I was bored.

Quick verdict? It’s not dire, but also not so interesting that you’d feel compelled to keep going with it. In fact, my most powerful reaction after the first two episodes is puzzlement - I can’t understand who the intended audience for this show is. The thinking seems to have been “everyone will be interested in a brash, in your face, rudely comedic fantasy cop show!” And maybe that’s true, but The Watch isn’t particularly brash, in your face, or even that comedic, so what’s left are fans of the genre(s), who are reasonably spoiled for choice right now (the show The Watch most closely resembles is Carnival Row, which is not amazing but still has a greater depth of emotion and a more interesting world). Why anyone would go out of their way to watch a show that seems to be working so hard to stamp out anything original about itself is a question the creators don’t seem to have asked themselves.

More thoughts below the cut.

First, something positive: I quite like the look of the show. There was obviously a lot of pressure from previous adaptations, not to mention the famous illustrations associated with the books, to strike out in an original direction, and I think the show really found one. Instead of fantasized-medieval-through-Victorian, The Watch’s Ankh Morpork combines those period and genre elements with modern ones. So The Mended Drum is now a seedy nightclub with DJ lighting and an open mike stage, and the city’s walls are covered with graffiti tags. The more distinctive settings - the Patrician’s palace, the Unseen University library - are not as interesting, possibly because the budget wouldn’t stretch to make them look really spectacular. But the core approach of the series, that Ankh Morpork is an old but modern city where there are also a lot of fantasy elements, is a fun and refreshing one.

Second, despite all the prevarication and spin in the run-up to the show, this is a Pratchett adaptation. It isn’t merely “inspired by” Pratchett’s novels, as the show’s title screen insists. It isn’t taking Pratchett’s ideas and making its own things with them. I can only assume that these claims were made in response to the backlash against stuff like “Sybil Ramkin, young, hot vigilante”. But despite changes like that, this is actually a fairly straightforward adaptation of Guards! Guards!, which also incorporates elements from Night Watch, plus some rather deep cuts from the rest of the Discworld corpus (the second episode, for example, implies that the ultimate villains of the series are the Auditors of Reality). So yeah, The Watch doesn’t have the excuse of being its own thing. It is a Discworld adaptation, but a bad one, that fails to understand a lot of fundamental thing about the world and the characters.

Third, I think the thing that most strikes about the show is how low-energy it feels. Despite billing itself as something outrageous, and despite some work on the visual front (and in Richard Dormer’s Jack Sparrow-esque performance as Vimes), the show itself feels almost bland. You see this in particular when it comes to the humor. It’s not that The Watch isn’t trying to be funny. There are jokes, and a few of them - mostly the ones original to the series - are mildly amusing. But when it comes to Pratchett’s own humor, the show simply has the actors deliver the gags and references in the most low-key way, and unsurprisingly the result is that hardly any of it lands.

Now, to be fair, this has been a problem with Pratchett adaptations since the 90s. Most of Pratchett’s humor is based in what his third-person narrator tells us about the world, and is hard to convey in a dramatic presentation (Good Omens tried to solve this problem by putting a lot of Pratchett’s narration in its voiceover, with only limited success). But even the dialogue-based jokes are so arch and stagey, that to deliver them successfully would require committing to a lot of very specific, demanding choices from the actors and writers (off the top of my head, the only show that even comes close to that kind of humor is Brooklyn Nine-Nine). It would have to be a high-concept, meticulously executed sitcom, whereas most Pratchett adaptations have been fantasy dramas with jokes. 

So it’s not entirely The Watch’s fault that it isn’t managing to convey the zany energy of Pratchett’s novels, but at the same time, it also clearly isn’t trying to. Its attitude seems to be that simply the existence of things like troll cops or assassins’ guilds who leave a receipt are funny in their own right. And sure, even in a media landscape in which fantasy has been mainstreamed by Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings movies, and Game of Thrones, not a lot of fantasy settings have an orangutan librarian who only says “ook”. But what makes The Librarian funny isn’t that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan. It’s that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan who still behaves exactly like a librarian (while also doing ape things like swinging from the bookshelves and eating bananas), and that “ook” can convey almost any concept in existence. The Watch doesn’t seem to realize this. It seems to be assuming that just putting that stuff on screen, or parroting Pratchett’s lines, will be hilarious in and of itself, while leaving out a lot of the specificity of setting, character, and tone that made the books sing.

You see this also in how it handles its characters. Everyone fixated on Lady Sybil when the promos came out, because that’s the most egregious misreading of the original (and rooted in the most boring assumptions about what audiences want and will respond to). But it’s everywhere. Take Carrot, for example. In the books, Carrot is fascinating because he’s never entirely what you take him for. He’s innocent, but not naive. Principled, but not a zealot. A goody-two-shoes, but not a prig. He’s always a lot smarter than you think he is, and most importantly, he genuinely likes and is interested in people. 

The Watch delivers none of this, and instead makes Carrot your basic hothead rookie who just wants to take down bad guys and sees the more seasoned, cynical officers who keep trying to slow him down as hopelessly corrupted. There’s none of Carrot’s openness, or his genuine love of the city, in this character. Instead he’s sullen and judgmental. And look, we could have a long conversation about which one of these characters is more useful to us and our ongoing conversation about policing (as well as a much shorter conversation about which one of them is truer to the ideas Pratchett was trying to convey about policing). But what feels more important to me, when coming to evaluate a new series that is trying to make an argument for why you should keep watching it, is the simple fact that there are a million places where you could find a character like The Watch’s Carrot, and hardly anywhere where you could find one like Pratchett’s. 

Again and again, it feels as if, in the pursuit of what it thinks of as outrageous, risk-taking storytelling, The Watch jettisons the unique characters from the books and replaces them with ones that we’ve seen a million times before. Angua in the books is kind of neurotic, and extremely thoughtful about the way her condition can incline her to see other people as objects to be used and consumed (which Pratchett later develops into an aspect of his theme of monsters-as-aristocrats). In the show, she’s obsessed with how her lycanthropy makes her “the real monster”. Oh boy, I’ve never seen a werewolf worry about being a monster before! I’ve never seen a scene where they send their friends away just as they’re about to transform! This is cutting edge stuff, I tell you. And while we’re on the subject, it gives me no pleasure to report that Anna Chancellor as Patrician Vetinari is thoroughly meh, because no effort has been taken to convey the character’s intelligence, near-omniscience, and constant scheming. Vimes is intimidated by her because she’s his boss and she’s posh, not because of anything specific to her. She feels almost identical to a million other posh rulers whose job it is to infodump to and threaten scrappy, working class heroes.

Which brings me back to my original observation: that I do not get who this show is for. It’s not for Pratchett fans, because it deliberately drops a great deal of what made his writing and characters special in favor of the most generic, predictable choices. But I can’t help but feel that anyone who is into this sort of extremely familiar cop story will be put off by the dragons and the wizards and the orangutan librarian, not to mention Dormer’s gurning performance. The whole thing is almost fascinating to watch - a work that clearly believes itself to be boundary-pushing and different, when really it’s just dull but with dragons.

[calliecat93]

Callie’s Disney Princess Retrospective: Beauty and the Beast

(Snow White) (Cinderella) (Sleeping Beauty) (The Little Mermaid)

The Little Mermaid was a huge success for Disney. It was such a big success that it began the Renaissance Era of Disney Animation and returned Disney to the top animation studio. While many people such as John Musker, Ron Clements, and Glen Keane can be credited for the film's success, the biggest player by far was lyricist Howard Ashman. He put his heart and soul into the film, and not just with song lyrics. He wanted the characters to connect to the audience. He wanted to play a part in the story. He wanted this film to be something special, and he succeeded. But he was also frustrated, could be argumentative when others didn't like his vision, and unknown to everyone, he was dying. After winning two Oscars for The Little Mermaid's music, Howard revealed to composer Alan Menken that he had AIDS, and he didn't have much longer to live.

However, Ashman wasn't going down before completing one more film. Though he had been writing music for Aladdin, he ultimately ended up as the lyricist of another film. A film that had been through many different iterations and was handed off to newbie directors. Little did anyone know just how impactful this film would be for Disney, and for the industry as a whole. Well, except for Ashman himself. The film that we are discussing today is the first animated film to ever, ever be nominated for Best Feature. That film is 1991''s Beauty and the Beast.

Overview

Belle is a beautiful young woman, but is seen as an oddity in her village due to her love of books and her utter disinterest in local heartthrob Gaston. When her father, an inventor named Maurice, leaves for a science fair, he ends up taking refuge in an old, abandoned castle. But the castle is actually enchanted and acts as the home to dozens of talking inanimate objects... and a fearsome beast. When Belle goes looking for her father, she offers to take his place as the Beast’s prisoner. But during her time in the castle, Belle discovers that this Beast may not be as much of a monster as he appears, and this may lead to both discovering true love...

Review

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I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that this is by far one of Disney’s most beloved films. It got praise form both critics and movie-goers when it came out, and it’s only become more beloved in the nearly 20 years since. Belle is praised as a feminist's icon and the film for it’s themes of toxic masculinity, judging a book by it’s cover, and some of the darker aspects of society like those we blindly praise. I... like the film, but I never loved it to the extent as others. Not because it’s bad, that is a ridiculous notion. I just liked other films more and Belle just didn’t interest me as others like Cinderella or Mulan or Ariel. But seeing it again as an adult who has seen the darker aspects of society since I was a kid, it REALLY rings more deeply than it did back then.

One aspect that no one can argue about is the animation. The film is beautiful. It has some of Disney’s best animators at the time such as Glen Keene, Mark Henn, Andreas Deja, and so much more. There was so much life put into the film and it is a true visual spectacle.I meant hey managed to take inaminate objects, and bring them to life. Sure they have faces to help humanize them, but to make us believe that these are talking, moving objects that were once human is still a VERY difficult task. But they have so much personality like the suave, passionate candlesick Lumiere or the stuffy, orderly Cogsworth. The backgrounds andf settings are also great fromt he Sleepy Hollow-esque village to the gothic castle of The Beast, to the creedy woods that look even more terrifying when it snows. There’s so much color and lighting that is used so well, especially with the castle eminating so much mystery and intrigue compared tot he plain village that Belle is from.

But the setting we all remember most of all is the ballroom. While Disney has been using CGI some before, such as Big Ben in The Great Mouse Detective (yes,t hat WHOLE setting was computer graphics), this is probably the biggest use to date. The ballroom is a gorgeous golden color and looks so big and vast. It takes you’re breath away. There’s a reason why this is the most well-remembered part of the film. The animaiton for this film was very straining, especially due to conditios to accomodate Ashman that we’ll get to later. It was stressful, but they absoluteley put their all into it. When you watcht he ballroom sequence, added to the dance and Angela Lansbury’s lovely vocals, you forget that you’re even watching a movie. It feels like... well, love. It’s by far one of Disney’s best looking features.

As I said in the intro, the film ultimately fell into the laps of two relatively rookie animators; Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale. This was after several various attempts to adapt the film, with none successful. Wise and Trousdale’s biggest claim to fame at the time was doing animaiton for EPCOT’s now defunct Cranium Command attraction (look up Who Stole Buzzy, boy is THAT a story) and while they had worked on other features, they had never been in the director seats. To make it more difficult, due to Ashman’s health continuing to gradually decline, Katzenburg decided to move produciton over to New York to spare him from having to travel. Which is a VERY noble effort and it’s sweet that they were willing to do so to keep working with Ashman, but as you can imagine this was quite a strain on the production team and as before, they would sometimes clash with Ashman and his vision. Still, they along with Menken returning as composer and writer Linda Woolverton, they reworked the then-script into something that they were happy with.

The setting is very reminiscent of another Disney work, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. One of two segments from the Package Film Era feature The Adventure of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. We all know the story of Ichabod and his infamous ride where he encountered the Headless Horseman. Here we have a similar quaint village where people seem rather simple-minded. Like in Sleepy Hollow where everyone took notice tot he rather strange looking Ichabod Crane, we see a similar notice of Belle who is an anomaly to them. Though unlike Ichabod, who had pretty much everyone under his thumb and is kind of a gold diging jerk, Belle is ostracized and is a FAR better person. Gaston bears a striking resemblance to Brom Bones in both looks and social status (tough Brom isn’t as bad in comparison or even compared to Ichabod, though still a Jerk Jock) and the Bimbettes bear a bit of similarity to Katrina. I wouldn’t be surprised if the crew used Sleepy Hollow as inspiration for setting and character design. Only thing missing is the Headless Horseman, which that would have been interesting XD

The film deals with several topics. There’s the standard ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ and ‘true love conquers all’ messages. Both of which are handled very well. But there are also some that IDT Disney had ever really tackled to this point. There’s encouraging women to make their own choices, which Disney HAS tackled but this one does it differently with Belle rejecting the standard good-looking man and falling for the monstrous looking one. In fact there is really a strong theme tearing down toxic masculinity and male entitlement. It says that no, men are not obligated to a woman and that women have the freedom to reject them no matter the societal pressure. Especially if they act as despicable as Gaston. With how much more aware we’ve become of how horrible some men in power can be and how they use that power on vulnerable women, this remains a relevant message to todays audience. It let’s women be empowered, confident, and enjoy things like reading as well as have the hope of finding those who will be accepting. These are all important things, and the film does an excellent job in showing it and what actual love should be like. The Beast especially starts as a jerk, but once he decides to become better and wants to be better for no ulterior reasons, he proves worthy of Belle’s love. That’s how love should be and how a person should change themselves. Again, very well done.

Despite his health and being downcast about not completing Aladdin, Ashman still put his all into the film. As I said, they outright shifted production to another state at a time when social media and things like Skype and Zoom were a distant dream. Still, Ashman along with Menken put their all into the soundtrack, and it paid off big time. This film, along with The Little Mermaid, really set up the precedent for Broadway-style animaed films and considering that they continue to be successful, I’d say that that says a lot. There are a lot of memorable songs int his fimlm, and there’s even some that didn’t make it in. One in particular, Human Again, actualy got animated and added back for the film’s IMAX release and various home media releases (sadly it’s not in the Disney+ version). The score is also very well done, especially at the end. Just listen to the music when the Beast finally turns human again. It added to the outright magical animation will leave you in awe as much as Belle was.

But what about the vocal tracks? Good question. Let’s go over them:

Belle/Belle Reprise: Our first song which as the name suggests, is about our leading lady. It does a lovely job establishing her character as a book-loving, intelligent young woman feeling that there was be more than this life ans village that she remains stuck in. It also establishes the village’s rather simple-mindedness and socital expectatons, finding Belle a beautiful but very strange girl because of her loving reading more than getting married. It also establishes Gaston’s smugness, entitlement, and holding the entire village’s admiration, The music is optimistic, but there’s a lot here that’s gonna take a dark turn a the film goes on. The reprise is short and more somber, but let’s Belle express her unwillignness to marry a man like Gaston, wanting to find love on her own terms. Little does she know what’s awating her right after.

Gaston: No one can have a song named after Gaston like Gaston! Yeah, this inspired plenty of meme’s, didn’t it? Even Disney itself has gotten in on the fun haha! But seriously, this is a fun villain song. I gotta give Gaston this, he’s a smug, horrible person but he shows that he can back up many of his boasts. I don’t doubt that he can eat dozens of eggs a day or is as strong as an ox. The song also further shows the town’s utter blind devotion to this brute, not being concerned about his entitlement to a girl who clearly isnt interest and more because of how handsome and grand he is. Isn’t society fun kids?! But then at the end, after Maurice is kicked out, it takes a darker turn as Gaston makes his plans to essentially blackmail Belle with her father’s safety... and right back to blind praise! I feel zero sympathy for any of the villagers in this film. But yeah, a song with a lot of dark implications, but still a very enjoyable villain song.

Be Our Guest: This is a true show-stopper, and I’m not just saying that. Lumiere wanted to create a show, and BOY did he succeed. The song is the most like a Broadway number in it’s composition and grand feeling. The fact that we have a huge number full fo singing, dancing, stuntwork, etc is being done by a bunch of dishes and pretty freakin’ impressive. Yet the animators gave it all so much life and Jerry Orback sings with so much passion and energy and it is just SO much fun to watch! Especially with poor Cogsworth at first trying to get everyone to calm down, but by the end he gets real into it... well until Lumiere knocks him to the side. The only negative is that for being a song about serving Belle dinner, aside form a bit of The Grey Stuff she didn’t even eat dinner. For shame! So 1 out fo 10 of food servive, but the show was worthy of two thumbs up!

Something More: This was the song that replaced Human Again. It’s a sweet song about Belle and Beast beginning to realize their feelings the more that they spend aroudn each other. Belle sees that Beast may not be very well-mannered or much of a looker, but he does have a good heart and the more they interact, the more it begins to show. Belle’s kindness, intellience, and willingness to look beyond the surface has Beast falling in love with her, yet his fear of being a monster is still holding him back. Still as we see the two do things like have dinner, play in the snow, or even Beast letting Belle read to him, the more we see that spark of love slowly grow, even if they haven’t fully grasped it. It helps advance the romance, and it’s just really sweet.

Beauty and the Beast: The song that won Menken and Ashman another Oscar. It’s not hard to see why either. The song is beautiful. It’s performed by Angela Lansbury, and her gentle vocals accompanies by the gentle orchestra is just lovely. The woman outright did the song in one take. One take. That is insane, yet it happened. And I can see why because the song is just beautiful. It adds to much to the already majestic ballroom scene, being about two unlikely individuals finding love and ultimately making the other a better person. It’s just a work of beauty. There’s also the pop version by Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson, which I also really love. It’s more commerical, but still very pretty especially with Celine’s gorgeous singing voice. Both versions are beautiful, and the first thing I think of when I think of this film... and no, not just beause of the name.

The Mob Song: This is exactly as you would expect with a song with that title. It’s dark, angry, and scary. Gaston rallies the troops to kill The Beast, convincing them that he is a danger to them all. They grab their torches, weapons, and there’s just this tense atmosphere throughout. This is the culminaiton of al the socital expectations and blind devotion to a person who doesn’t at all deserve it. It’s also a very accurate protrayal of the mob mentality, where you become a part of this hivemind following the rest of the crowd no matter how wrong it may be and despite your own senebilities. The only ones who don’t fall into it, Belle and Maurice, get tossed into a basement for their trouble. What makes this song sad though? In Disney+’s documentary Howard, produced by Don Hahn who also produced this film, it was explained how in the eyes of several of his colleagues, it seemed like Ashman was venting about the AIDS epidemic. That was a VERY dark time where the gay community was especially under fire, persecuted, hated, and so many other horrible things because the world chose to blame them for it. Ashman was a gay man. He had an ex partner die of AIDS, and had another partner at the time who talked about him in the documentary. Imagine being scapegoated just because of your sexuality, even though you never caused any harm, and society hated on you and others fell into he mob mentality, and they went as far as to either demand you to die or do the job themselves. All because you were different. Really adds a new perspecive to the song, doesn’t it? This can be applied to so many groups too, which makes the song even scarier, but also emphasize even more how dangerous the mob mentality is. Very effective song.

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Sadly, Howard wouldn’t live to see all of his numbers to completion. With his health declining rapidly, Menken and various others went back and forth between Burbank and New York in order to work with him. Ashman worked until he psycially couldn’t anymore. He was even giving notes to performers like Paige O’Hara despite barely being able to talk. He managed to complete his work, at least to my knowledge, before his passing on March 14th, 1991, just a few months before the film’s release. After a screentest, which proved very successful, Don Hahn and some other colleagues went to see Ashman in the hospital to say their goodbyes. Hahn told him of the reception, and jokingly asked who would ahve expected that the film would have turned out so great? Ashman’s response? “I did.” The work he managed to do for Aladdin would be included in the film, which we’ll discuss when we get to that one. The soundtrack won the Oscar which was awarded to Ashman (as well as Menken) posthumously and a dedication to him was including at the end of the film. It’s always sad to see such a talented individual leave us far too soon, but his work truly brought new life to Disney and is beloved even all these years later. That is a legacy that will never fade.

Now we get to characters, and we have quite a good number of them. We have of course the village that Belle is from. On the surface, they seem like pretty plain people, satisfied with their way of life. But this also causes them to at least not think highly of those who break from that way of life. The men work, the women care for the children. If men don’t work, they’re jerk slobs. They all especially fall into blind admiration for the strong, handsome Gaston who is hailed as a local hero. So much so that no one gives ANY of his terrible actions an ounce of consideraiton. Selling Maurcie tot he looney bin? Well he’s alreafy viewed as crazy, so ah well. Belle trying to tell them that The Beast isn’t a monster? While their first imprression of him is defeniteley a bad one, the fact that they listen to Gaston and not the woman who actually interacted with The Beast says a lot about how simple minded they all are. I hope they learned their lesson after all was said and done, but even if not Belle doesn’t have to pay them any mind anyways.

The only person who is accepting of Belle is her father, Maurice. He’s viewed as a crackpot, but Maurice is a good-hearted, smart, and perfectly sensible man. He’s a bit of a goof with how his inventions can go haywire, but otherwise is no diferent from any other person. But like his daughter, his interests have him judged instead of what he’s like as a person. It’s especially sad when he tries to get help to save Belle, and he is merely laughed at and thrown out because of his status. Maurice is a loving father, accepting of Belle and of her interests and choices. She isn’t interested in Gaston? Fine with him. People view her as odd? That’s utterly ridiculous. It’s really nice to have a parent who is supportive and involved int heir kids life, especally compared to Triton last time who may be caring, but is utterly against everything that matters to Ariel. In fact it’s the firs ttime we’ve had this since Snow White and Cinderlla’s parents are dead and their stepmothers are horrible, Aurora grew up away from her otherwise caring parents, and Ariel... it’s complicated. Maurice is a good guy and it is good that Belle has someone who accepts her unconditionaly. She loves him so much that she sacrificed her happiness for him twice to protect him, which really shows how strong their bond is.

That brings us to our villain, Gaston. He is a hunter who is muscular, handsome, and has physical skills that he can back up. However he is also entitled, egotistical, sefish, and just a horrible person. He wants to marry Belle only because of her beauty and instead of trying to get to know her or shifitng atteniton to any of the girls who would gladly grovel before him, he pursues her despite her not liking him. It’s especially bad when he goes to her house, sets up a huge engagement party, and gets into her personal space in his attempts to charm her. She not only rejects him, but promptly humiliates him. Yet instead of thinking that he had tried far too hard and jumped the gun, he blames Belle for daring to reject him. He reflects exactly how society can view someone like him. No one thinks about the woman, they only see a good-looking man get rejected despite us not knowing anything about ther perosn or their relaitonship. Especially if that man is essentially a celebrity, which makes people look past anyhing.

But none of these things are indicitive of an evil perosn. An arrogant jerk yes, but not evil. That all changes when, after Maurice tries to get help, Gaston comes up with a new plan. He decides to have Maurice admitted to an asylum for being crazy, and to use this to force Belle to marry him. This is what shifts Gaston from a jerk to a true villain. This is how far his entitlement and selfishness goes. He is willing to take Belle’s own elderly father and use him and his freedom as blackmail to force her to marry him. Even compared to the four villainesses before him who committed horrible acts such as attempted murder, mental/emotional abuse, and even attempting world domination, this is utterly despicable. Then there's him deciding to kill The Beast. Despite what he says, it's not because of the potential risk to the town, it's solely because he sees that Belle loves him and can't stand it. He outright calls her crazy AND locks her and Maurice up out of pure entitlement and selfishness. He doesn't give a damn about Belle or her though and well-being. Only about his own.

Gaston is entertaining, but very much evil. As I said above he bears a lot of similarity to Brom Bones from Disney's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. A muscular jock-like figure often the most beautifiul girl in town. Only while Brom was a jerk, he was arguably less bad than Ichabod Crane depending how you looked at it. Gaston essentially has Brom's muscles an Ichabod's selfishness. He cares only for himself and his own pride. Admittedly he put up a decent fight against The Beast, but that's only because Beast wasn’t fighting back until he saw Belle. When he did, Gaston whimpered and begged like the pathetic man that he is. Then he stabbed him despite being spared out of pure spite. An act that cost him his life. Fun fact, originally he survived the fall and was truly killed via the wolves. They ended up saving that for Scar's death in The Lion King. But yeah, Gaston died in the undignifiedmanner that he deserved. A despicable but memorable villain who was perfect for this film.

Then we have the castle characters. You’d think that it would be difficult to give life to a bunch of furniture and appliances... and it probably was. But this movie makes it look easy. They do give most of them humanoid features, like eyes and a mouth, but not all of them and even then it would be so easy to make it look creepy. But the castle staff is just os much fun and beaming with personality. We’re gonna discuss the main four: Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, and Chip.

Lumiere is a candlestick, which matches his passionate characterization. He’s a showman. A romantic. A more daring, out-going character compared to his frequent frenemy Cogsworth. Cogsworth is a clock and I think he’s implied to be the Beast’s butler or some other kind of advisor. He’s stuffy, nervous, and the most lawful of the characters. Though he CAN get into the fun of things with a little provoking as demonstrated in Be Our Guest and the big battle during the climax. Hoenstly, Be Our Guest is a great number to demonstrate the two’s contrasitng perosnalities. Belle has been banned from eating and Cogsworth doens’t want to both break the Beast’s orders nor cause a bunch of noise that would anger him. Lumiere however? He’s dead set on getting Belle to fall for the Beast, so she should be treated as their guest, not a prisoner. Plus he and the other staff are tired after ten years of being stuck as they are and all alone, so cue the extravagant show number. Lumiere is having the time of his life while Cogsworth tries to convince everyone to stop... but by the end gets caught up in it and joins in ont he fun. Too bad that Lumiere knocks him off the center stage at the end haha. But yeah, their constant banter is amusing but they are clealry friends, especially in the fight where Cogsworth saves Lumiere. They’re both also performed wonderfully by their VA’s, Jerry Orbach and David Odgen Stiers, the latter of whom would appear in several more Disney films, including one for this series that we’ll get to fairly soon.

Mrs. Potts is a teapot and her son Chip is a tea cup. I guess that Chip ended up that way to match his mother, which her being a teapot matches her mothelry persona. She’s very kind and consoling towards Belle and seems the most understanding about The Beast and why he acts ike he does. Which since I think that she was essentially the house caretaker, makes sense since she’d have likely been the one looking out for him. Plus she herself is a mother, and since Beast has the emotion coping skills of a child, she’d know how to deal with it. Chip is the token child character, though not a bad one. He’s a nice kid with a huge curiosity. It’s really cute how hen allt he adults are seeing the bloomign romance between Belle and Beast, he’s uttelry confused like any kid would be haha! He takes a liking to Belle quickly, though more like he sees her as if she were an older sister than any kind fo crush or the like. He’s also smart, figuring out how to use Maurice’s inveniton to free Belle and Maurice quickly...and him wanitng to do it again got a good laugh out of me haha! Mrs. Potts is a nurturing mother and her with Chip is so sweet,e specially when they’re truly human again. Plus her advice of how things will turn out alright in the end is advice that I look back on sometimes. it’s really comforitng.

So... as I’ve mentioned in these reviews, a big issue is how underdeveloped that the prince has been. The first two were plot devices only. Phillip and Eric were better int hat they were active int he plot and Eric had some more perosnality and motivation than the other three did. But it just didn’t feel like the male elads were... quite at their full potential yet. They generally didn’t recieve any character development and were mainly there for the sake of being a lov einterest to the heroine. That all changed in this film with our hero, The Beast.

Beast is one of the most well-developed male leads in a Disney Princess film. A few like Aladdin, Naveen, and Eugene rival him for overall best (though tbf the former IS the lead of his movie so that may not count) but Beast helped make the princes more equal to their princess without overshadowing her. Beast is the co-protagonist to Belle and the character that recieves the bulk of the character development. The opening tells us all that we need to know: Beast was once Prince Adam, a spoiled brat. When he turned away an elderly begger, it turned out that she was an Enchantress and she cursed him into his monsturous form. Since he looks like a monster, he subsequently acts like a monster... or more accurately, like the child that he never truly grew out of emotionally. He’s angry, lashes out constantly, and roars at the top of his lungs when at his limit. Like how a child screams and throws a tantrum when things don’t go their way because they lack the social and emotional coping skills to handle their feelings properly. Becoming a beast left Beast isolated and ashamed to face reality, and thus he didn’t learnt he proper coping skills. He accepted that he would forever be a monster, and succumb to acting like one.

That is, until the day that Belle arrived. When she offers herself to free her father, it’s the opportunity that Beast never beleived that he would get. If he can win her love before the rose petals all fall, he’ll be human again. He’ll be free. While he begins still acitng agressive and even bordeirng on emotionally abusive, e isn’t heartless. When Belle is crying about not getting to say goodbye to her father, Beast seems to legit feel bad for hurting her. It doens’t change his behavior, but it’s still a small moment that shows some humanization. It’s important to add moments like this and his despair when using the mirror to hear Belle talk about him. She’s justified in disliking him at that point, but it’s his reactions that matter. It shows his insecurity, his fear, his utter despair that he’ll be cursed for the rest of eternity. He’s already succumbed to acting the part of a monster and is already struggling to act more polite. As amusing as the scene of him yelling at Belle through the door is, it demonstrates just how hard this is for him but if he can’t improve his behavior, then he has no chance. He knows it, and views it as hopeless. It helps humanize The Beast, showing that despite his appearance there IS a human soul in there somewhere. Someone who on some level does want to be better, but he doesn’t know how. If not for these moments, Beast would have been utterly unsympathetic, but they pulled it off.

The turning point comes after Beast rescues Belle from the wolves. Remember, he’d already pretty much given up on winning Belle over and being human again and the confrontation on the third floor certainly didn’t help matters. He could have just let Belle to her own devices... but instead he went to save her. I sincerely do not believe it was because she was a prisoner or because he needed her. He had given up. He had succumbed. But he did it anyways, showing that he isn’t a bad person. It’s something that Belle sees and she gets him back to the castle to treat him. She called him out on his temper, but is sincerely grateful and Beast is stunned by this genuine act of kindness. She didn’t fear him. She wasn’t disgusted by him. She didn’t even leave him to die despite having pretty good reason to leave him and go. Belle still chose to save his life as he did her’s, showing Beast probably the first true act of love that he ever experienced in his life. We know nothing of his family and while I’m sure that staff members like Ms. Potts certainly cared for him, clearly they didn’t do much to quell his spoiled behavior. Belle was kind because she’s a kind person, and Beast finds that he wants to be kind to her in return.

From that point, we see Beast in a new light. He calms down significantly. He’s happier. He carries himself less like a wild animal and more like a person. He’s outright excited when he prepares the library to surprise Belle with. He’s still awkward as shown with his table manners and interacting with birds durign Something There, but he is trying. He’s trying for Belle. He activly enjoys her company. He sees how beautiful she is physically, but that’s not why he likes her. She’s kind, intelligent, independant, and she makes him feel in a way that he never has. He still feels that she can’t love him because of what he is, but the change that she has caused is so evident. He’s fallen in love and the ballroom scene only strengthens that with himt he happiest that he’s been all film. But the crowner that truly demonstrates htis? When Belle expresses missing her father, he lets her use the mirror. Not only does he seem legit concerned when they see Maurice freezing to death but when he sees Belle’s clear distress, he decides to let her go. He’s sad when he does so, knowing that she may very well never return. But Belle’s father needs her. he can’t force her to say and be miserable. He loves her so much that he decided to let her go. But it does mean that he gav up his final chance at being human after feeling more human than he had in ten years, and he is left in despair.

His despair is so strong that when Gaston and the mob arrives, he doesn’t even try to fight back. He just waits and is prepared to let whatever happens to him happen. Fortunately Belle coming back restores his will to live and he fights back. When Gaston grovels for his life, what does Beast do? He grants it, simply growling at him to leave. It is that moment hat shows how much of a better person that Beast is compared to Gaston. He was an angry man bordering on abusive, but he changed. He met someone who wasn’t willing to take his behavior, but was also willing to see the good that was in him. He changed for her, and it made him a kinder, more selfless person. The only thing that remains is his self-loathing, even saying that maybe him dying is for the best after Gaston has stabbed him. Fortunately Belle confesses her love, and it not only saves his life, but breaks the curse just in time. Beast is restored to Adam, having earned the right to having his humanity back. It was a lovely way to cap off his development, and allowed him to earn his happily ever after.

Beast was very much Belle’s equal. Even nowadays they’re both promoted and marketed pretty equally. One’s story would have been incomplete without the other. They gave each other what they each wanted and needed. I’ll go into specifics for Belle when I get to her below, but in the Beast’s case he needed someone kind, but also independent. Someone who wouldn’t tolerate his behavior and push him to change himself, but still kind-hearted enough to see that there is something there and be willing to help. Belle treated him in a way that no one else had. She was defiant, but also caring. She pushed him to rediscover his humanity. She got him to want to be kind. She got him to want to be a better person, and he not only treated her better but he was kinder to his staff as well. He finally grew up from the spoiled brat that he was before. He had found a reason to, and his love was so genuine that he let Belle go to be with her father again. It’s a beautiful story of growth and did enough to make Beast’s issues clear and not excusable, but sympathetic enough that we wanted him to be better and feel happy when he does so. He’s the best developed male lead in a Disney Princess film up to this point and helped pave the way for equally well done male leads. Ones not there just to fill out a plot beat and be the princesses’ reward, but to stand at her side as her equal.

Boy did THAT one get long. there’s other minor characters. Le Fou, The Bimbettes, the psyche ward keeper voiced by the late, great Tony Jay, various other castle characters, etc. all of them are entertaining, I just don’t have much to say about them. So then... we have one more to go.

Belle Analysis

https://youtu.be/M4ne1A1aNrI

Belle is one of the most praised and beloved Disney Princesses of all time. She is smart, playful, independent, and kind-hearted. I feel like she gets overly praised at times, mainly because some like to use her to bash her four predecessors since she didn’t have the goal of falling in love. I won’t repeat what I said about the four, you can read the reviews, but it’s a VERY unfair argument not just to them, but to Belle as well. She’s used as a tool to bash other female characters instead of being loved for herself. Then agains he also gets bashed for the Stolkholm Syndrome argument, which we’ll get to that aspect here soon. But for now, let’s just discuss Belle piece by piece and see where the path leads us.

Belle’s intro establishes everything right off the bat. So much so that the intro sing is literally titled Belle. She’s bookish and cheerful, but it’s clear from her interactions witht he villagers and their own gossip that she’s seen as weird. The only people who seem to like her as she is is the bookshop owner and her own father. The women are jealous of her beauty, the men only see her for her beauty, and both sides are confused at her lack of conformity. Belle lives in a town that clearly has very old-fashioned views regarding gender roles. The men work, the women get married and have babies. They all seem content with this... except for Belle. She enjoys books and adventure, musing about wanting more than the provincial life that she has. She strolls through the village with her nose stuck in a book, but has no trouble navigating at all depsite the distraction. Books provide her a source of adventure and thrill that her limited life does not. She breaks those old-fashioned norms and he village is uttelry baffled at to how she can be this way. But what truly makes her a bafflement to everyone? Her utter rejection of Gaston. While just about every other women swoons at his feet, Belle couldn’t be less impressed if she tried. She’s familiar with how he is and if she had’t recieved his advances before their first scene, she’s probably seen it enough times to know that she doesn’t like him. Him dismisisng her passion for books and insulting her father did him no favors.

On the surface, Belle does’t seem bothered by these things. But when home, she does express some hurt about ti to her father, the one perosn who loves her for her unconditionally. She knows that she doesn’t fit in. She knows that she’s not happy with her life. She wants someone to understand her besides her father. She wants more to life where she can be herself. She wants to find love on her own terms and not have to deal with the advances of men like Gaston. None of this stops her form being able to handle herself, as demonstrated when Gaston goes to her house to force a proposal. She handles kicking him out with utter grace and her “I don’t deserve you” line is icing on the cake. But none of that changes how she feels. If anything, it enforces it. The village is all on Gaston’s side and at that point, her father has left for the science fair. He won’t be there forever, hence why she wants to find someone who will love her for her. To control her own destiny. To those who feel forced into their gender roles or being forced into a relationship that they don’t want whether by an agressive person or by peer pressure, Belle’s struggle is very relatable. Her independant spirit is also admirable as while she is dismayed with where she’s at, she still is able to smile and live her life as she wants. She’ defiant. She makes do with what she has and is able to handle what’s thrown at her with pure wit and ingenuity. Gaston nor anyone else can bring her down... at least, not until her wish for adventure ends up unexpectedly granted.

Before we progress forward, let’s pause to discuss Belle’s VA, Paige O’Hara. When Beauty and the Beast was beginning casting, O’Hara was already a rising Broadway actress and Disney happened to be seeking Broadway talent specifically. After several call-backs, she finally earned the part. She’s credited Howard Ashman as a huge help in guiding her to finding her voice as Belle, and she performs the role beautifully. She captures Belle’s independence yet playfulness very well, as well as her defiance and heartbreak in certain scenes. And her singing? Beautiful. Maybe not on par with Jodi Benson, but you can tell why she was a rising Broadway star. Today, O’Hara works mainly as a painter with Belle very much being one of her main muses. Sadly due to how much her voice has aged, she rarely plays Belle herself anymore, the role nowadays being primarialy done by VA Julie Nathanson. While she also does a lovely job at the part, O’Hara will always be the first to bring the character to life. Fortunteley she still shows a lot of love for the role and has attended multiple events and even got to reprise Belle at least one more time during Ralph Breaks the Internet. She had reprised Belle multiple times between various DTV films, TV appearances, and other events. So even if she is limited nowadays, her large body of work will live on forever.

Back to the film, Belle discovers that her father is in danger and ends up at the castle. We all know what happens at this point. Belle offers to take her dad’s place, Beast agrees, and Maurice is kicked out before Belle can so much as say goodbye. She’s distraught at this, and who can blame her? In a matter of hours, her life as she knew it was ripped away from her. Now instead of her old provincial life, she’s a prisoner in an enchanted castle ruled by an angry beast. Even when given the nicer room, she doesn’t feel that much better. She’s never going to get to see her father again or even know if he’s safely back home. She has no reason to believe that a rescue is coming. Some may say that she should try and get out, but isn’t she allowed this? To be upset and at a loss of what to do? It’s not like she just cries the whole time, she calms down enough to refuse to go to dinner despite the others insisting that she does. Even when Beast yells at her to do so, she refuses. She may be a prisoner, but she’s not going to play the victim. She’s going to be as she normally is; however she wants to be.

Soon, Belle’s able to calm down enough that she decides to go explore the castle. She is ultimateley a curious, adventurous spirit. Regardless of the circumstances, she can’t help but want to learn more about this new, strange place and these new figures that she’s encountered. You can tellt hat she’s warming up reatly during Be Our Guest where despite not actually getitng to eat anything, she is just havng far too much fun to care. It gets her spirits back up and now she can’t resist exploring more. Even if it risks The Beast’s wrath, one her curiosity has peaked, she can’t resist it. It’s a great strength, but also probably her biggest flaw. Despite having been told not to and knowing by now how Beast will react, she slips away from Cogsworth and Lumiere to go explore the West Wing. This ends with her seeing the trashed area, finding the Enchanted Rose, and getting yelled at by an enraged Beast. That is the last push needed to make Belle decide to escape.

So now that we’re at this point, we have to talk about one of the big topics that comes up when discussing this film: Stockholm Syndrome. To put it simply, Stockholm Syndrome is when the victim becomes emotionally attached to their aggressor and doesn’t want to leave them and tries to justify their actions. So when the vicitm is rescued, they may react negativly or even aggressively towards the rescuers in favor of the agressor. it’s a psychological response. This is actually a case where I was able to go to a professional to ask about it,: my own mother. My mom is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and currently works as a therapist. I’m fairly sure that she’s never treated anyone with Stockholm, but it is something that she knows of. I did ask her about if the film did glorify Stockholm Syndrome as some accuse it of. The gist of what she told me is... well, there’s enough in-film that either side can use it to prove their case. After all she DOES develop positive feelings towards Beast while a prisoner, so one can take the context and use it as an example, and same for the side who don’t agree. Ultimately Belle is a ficitonal character. We can’t sit her down and give her a psychoanalysis because she’s not real, and most of us doing these analysis’ aren’t therapists, psyologists, or mental health experts anyways. I’ll leave some sources below if you’d like further reading on the topic, but doing research isn’t the same as being a professional trained to go over these kinds of things. My mom said at most, Beast can be viewed as emotionally abusive, though it is because of his own trauma and he did ultimately improve to be a better person.

I fully agree that yes, if someone wants to make the arguent that the film promotes Stockholm Syndrome, they can. It’s their opinion, this came out in a diferent time than now where we take things like emotional abuse in cinema far more seriously, and in the end it’s a piece of fiction and people are free to view it however they wish. But the same also applies to me and in my opinion, no. Belle does NOT suffer from Stockholm Syndrome nor does the film glorify it. Now I am not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. This is strictly my opinion going off my understanding of it. I may be wrong and if that’s the case, I apologize. But from what I know and understand, the case in the film is not a straight forward situation like the various case studies in the real world. Plus I think we see enough of Belle being defiant and not feeling positivly towards Beast to see that she certainly hasn’t developed any psychological attachment towards him to cope with her situation. We’ll be seeing her feelings towards him change, but I’ll explain why I don’t feel that it counts down below. But again, I’m not an expert. This is just my understanding of it.

So... why the long tangent there? Well we’re now at the wolf attack scene. The turning point in the relationship. Belle’s effort to escape ends with her cornered by a pack of vicious wolves. Fortunateley, The Beast rescues her and drives the wolves away... but he is inured in the process and passes out. As I said in Beast’s character breakdown, he didn’t have to do it at that point since he’d given up, but he did so anyways. It showed that he isn’t a bad person. Something that Belle also saw. The Beast had been aggressive and rude to her throughout, and she had every good reason to continue on her way now that the path was clear. But Belle didn’t. She got Beast onto her horse and took him back to the castle, the closest shelter, to treat his wounds. Is this because she feels compelled to do so after forming a psychological dependency or attachment to him? No. We see as she treats his wounds that she still isn’t going to tolerate his temper and rudeness towards her. She stands up for herself and talks back at him until he calms down. She very much retains her independence. So then... why did she save him? Because Belle is a good-hearted person who just saw this seemingly hateful beast save her life when he didn’t have to. She isn’t the kind of person to leave an injured person to die. She did it out of kindness and gratitude as we see when she genuinely thanks Beast for saving her life. She’s seen a new side to him now, and it’s made her reconsider her earlier stance. Thus Belle remains at the castle.

The characteristics of Stockholm Syndrome include positive feelings towards the captor and belief of goodness in the captor, no real effort in escaping, learned helplessness, and feelings of pity to the captor. You can read the list and learn more here, and the link will also be with the sources. So you’re probably looking at that and going ‘...uuuggghhhh’ at the movie right now. Which fair enough. However let’s also look at where we are now. This is the part of the film where Beast makes an honest effort to improve himself. He’s nicer, trying to be more polite, and treats Belle as a person. She’s really not a prisoner anymore at this point and while mybe theposisbility of being human again is motivating Beast, for the most part I think it’s because he genuinely grows to like Belle. As for Belle, I think that she likes the castle. It’s enchanted and full of intrigue and mystery, just like in her books. It’s the escape form that provincial life in the village that she’s been longing for. It’s a temptation that she just can’t resist. The staff all like her and treat her kindly and no one tries to force her to be something that she isn’t. Beast especially loves Belle’s love of books, even giving her the huge library to repay her earlier kindness. Belle is able to be who she is and be around those who are accepting of her. Even fi for the staff it’s for ulterior motives, IDT that they’re faking liking having her around and Beast certainly isn’t. This isn’t really a straight-forward captive or abuse situaiton that Stockholm Syndrome would apply to in my opinion, especially since Belle never once succumbs to the Beast’s terms. She only respects and acts friendly with him when he does so towards her, and they are both clearly benefiting positivly from it. We know that Beast has no malicious intenitons regarding Belle and it’s Lumiere and co. insisting on the relaitonship happening moreso, and that’s because they want their humanity back so it adds a bit of complexity. It’s just not a straight forward case where we can easily apply Stockholm Syndrome to and get an accurate reading, at least in my opinion. She certainly is FAR from helpless.

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So then let’s discuss Belle’s feelings for The Beast. We know how much Belle’s influence changed The Beast. But what about Belle? She really doens’t change during the movie, nor did she realy need to. She’s already confident about herself, likes herself, and she knows what she wants with her life. Sure her curiosity can get her into trouble, but otherwise she didn’t realy need a character arc like Beast did. What Belle needed was acceptance. To find someone who would like her for who she is and not see her as weird for it. Beast doesn’t at all view her that way. He enjoys being around her because she’s smart and independant and even gets her to read to him. It’s that kind of acceptance that Belle hasn’t recieved from anyone outside her father. The more that she sees Beast try to be better, the more that she sees how sweet and endeairng that he really is and she’s more than happy to help him. I think that seeing this kinder side bloom and that acceptance and even enjoyment of her is what makes Belle fall in love with him. It’s what helps make the ballroom scene so magical. Two people considered outsiders coming together and dancing the night way happily together. It’s beautiful, magical, and the perfect culminaiton in everything prior. They brought out the best in each other. Made each other happier in a way that no one else had ever done. They’re better now because of the other, and it’s just lovely to see.

But of course, we know what comes next. While happy with Beast and being at the castle, Belle still misses her father. When she sees him in the snow and horirbly sick, she’s distressed. Seing this, Beast allows he to go. Honestly I think that Belle could have left whenever she wanted at that point and Beast wouldn’thave fought it, but she was staying willingly at that point because she was happy. But her father needed her now. If she truly had Stockholm Syndorme, I don’t think that she would have done so. But she doesn’t really give it any kind of thought here. While sad to leave The Beast, she has alreayd mad eup her mind when told that she could go. She leaves to save her father, The Beast giving her the mirror and unbeknownst to her Chip tagging along. Belle fortunateley gets Maurice home safely... and just in time for Gaston to initiate his plan to have Maurice locked away. Belle is of course shocked and outraged and in a panic, uses the mirror to confirm The Beast’s existence. Despite her insistence that he isn’t a bad person, it’s too late. Gaston realizes that she’s in love with the ‘monster’ and we get the iconic line: “He’s no monster Gaston, you are.” Beast treated her like a person and improved himself from his more toxic behavior. Gaston treated her like the prey that he seeks during his hunts, refusing to let up until he’s won. Beast had even kept his word about letting Maurcie go and returned him to the village safely, and of course let Belle go to help him and even seemed to feel guilty for what he had done previously. Gaston though? He shows no guilt over trying to use Maurice to blackmail Belle. He continues his horrible behavior not only by forming the mob, but locking Belle and Maurice in their own cellar for simply speaking against it. Belle didn’t call Gaston a monster because she’s been conditioned or due to a coping reflex. It’s because Gaston is a genuinely despicable person while Beast grew to become a good person. She saw this and stood her ground as she always has, but this time at the point where she won’t tolerate it anymore. Which if it was your parent being shipped off to the insane asylum by some jerk just because they want to marry you, woudln’t you call them a monster in comparison?

So we reach the climax. Belle and Maurice arrive after Chip frees them with Belle rushing to get to Beast. She makes it and seeing her reignites Beast’s will to live... but he’s stabbed by Gaston. Belle saves Beast from falling over the roof, but there’s nothing that she can do to stop him from dying. She’s devestated, blaming herself for it. Beast’s final words to her are that at least he got to see Belle one last time, and if she hadn’t figured it out before, I think that this was when Belle realized that Beast loved her... and that she loved him. We knew that Beast certianly loved her but we needed it confirmed from Belle as the curse was still intact. As Beast lay motionless, Belle cries and at last confesses that yes, she does love him... just as the last rose petal falls. With that confession, the curse breaks and Beast is ressurected/becomes human again. Belle is shocked as she sees not The Beast standing before her, but Prince Adam. You can tell how confused she is. is this reallyt he same person that she loved? Adam confirms it and Belle looks into his eyes... and that’s all it takes for her to finally smile. yes, it is the same man that she had fallen in love with. They kiss,a nd the curse is truly broken. Everyone becomes human again,t he castle is restored to it’s original state, and Belle and Adam dance happily, free to live happily ever after.

Belle is a role model character. She’s there for girls to look up to, and I think that the amount of fans that she has proves that she succeeded. She encourages girls to be themselves. To be independant and not bend to social norms or pressure. To find love for themselves and not succumb tot he pressure of unwanted admirers or the pressure to marry them. Something that happens far too much in reality. She doesn’t change, but there was no reason for her to. As I said, Belle’s not one of my favorites. Not because I dislike her by any means. if anythign I like her much more now as an adult now that I have a stronger understanding of the film. I just have princesses that I like more, and that’s really it. I also don’t like how some insist that she’s the best Dsney Princess compared to her predecessors because as I hope I made clear in those reviews, the previous four pricnesses are NOT badly done. If anything, I think it’s more anti-femenist to use a woman to bash other women without just cause. Saying that belle is better because she didn’t fall in love witht he guy at first sight or didn’t sell her soul for a guy without caring to analyze those characters isn’t empowering, it’s saying that if you don’t act a certain way as a woman, you’re anti-feminist. Which is a terrible stance. No woman is the same and women shouldn’t be used against women in this kind of way. Regardless, that’s an issue with certain ‘critics’, not Belle herself. She’s a great character and someone that I can admire. Maybe not as much as others, but I can certainly see why she’s left such an impact on so many and not even just little girls. To many people of all kinds. Who could be upset about that?

Final Thoughts

Beauty and the Beast is a lovely film. Is it my favorite? No. I didn’t watch it all that much as a kid. As an adult I have a greater appreciation for it. It’s beautfully animated, it’s themes are well-protrayed and still relevant, the characters are memorable and fun, and it’s music is phenomenal. I can absoluteley see why this as the first animated film to ever be niminated for Best Picture. It’s a tragedy that it lost, but it still proved that animation very much had staying power as Walt proved all those years ago. And of course the film is the final testament of Howard Ashman. He may not have been part of the Disney Renaissance for long, but his contributions single-handedly changed the company and their films for the better. Even today this style of musical films is very much going strong even over 30 years since it began with The Little Mermaid. We lost Ashman far too soon, and who knows what amaizng things he could have one if he were still alive. We can never know the what ifs, but we can always appreciate what came during his lifetime. He, Kirk Wise, Gary Trousdale, Alan Menken, Don Hahn, various animators, and so many more did so much to bring this film to life, and it will forever stand as a true Disney Masterpiece.

The film was a giant success, and Disney wasn’t slowing down one bit. The very next year, another animated feature would come out. A film about a dashing street rat who found a magic lamp and unleashed a magical genie who would make all his dreams come true. But wait you may ask, isn’t this a Disney Princess retrospective? Yep. So why am I talking about a dashing hero? Well there is a princess in it, but she occupies a bit of a unique place in the line-up. She is the first and so far only Princess to not be the main charater in her film. But she still left a huge impact and i included in the main lineup so we are NOT leaving her out. So next time, come along as we enter a whole new world to discuss 1992’s Aladdin, and in particular Princess Jasmine.

Image Source: Animation Screencaps

Further Reading on Stockholm Syndrome: Healthline, Medical News Today, GoodTherapy, WebMD,