text: You'd been holding back your tears and Dean and Paul lead you far, far away from the barb wired ring. You were sentenced to Hell, captured by two demons that seemed to be in love from what you'd observed, thrown into briars, and finally forced to kill three people cold heartedly. Could this day get any worse?! Oh that's right, Dean was also pissed off again. You were not looking forward to his wrath, but knew both you and Paul were going to have to face it whenever Dean finally stopped dragging you two across the underworld of Hell.
  
  You look at Paul again, wondering how he's feeling. Is he as scared as you are? He seems to wear a cool, blank face, as if nothing were wrong, but there was pain in his eyes obviously from the way Dean was grasping the hand so hard. You were sure he'd broke Paul's hand, from the awkward angles of the fingers in the hold, but Paul refused to say anything and just endured it. As you endured the painful hold on your arm that Dean had.
  
  The walk is almost silent, except your breathing which is coming down hard from practically running this whole time to keep up and prevent from being dragged. You'd never gone so long running. You'd never had to until now. You're lungs feel like their on fire and the hot air doesn't help. Every breath you take is like sandpaper against the lung walls. You feel like you're dying, but you know you can't stop. So you just endure as best as you can.
  
  Finally after another ten minutes, Dean leads the both of you into a room. Other people are in the room operating on someone else. Blood is pouring everywhere, and you're wondering if the person's still alive with it's chest wide open and that much blood loss. But you hear the groans, and realize they are. You look away feeling sick.
  
  "Fugite! Egredere!" Dean shouts. The demons operating suddenly scramble out of there and Dean releases both you and Paul, slaming the door behind them shut and locking it. The person strapped to the table groans and pleads for help but you're too nervous about Dean to notice.
  
  "Dagger now." Dean demands holding out his hand towards you.
  
  > immediately give it to him
  You immediately give the dagger to him. You're not about to risk anything. He snatches it away angrily and gives it a brief look over, before turning to Paul. Paul is silent as he stares forward, not even acknowledging Dean in his face. You wonder how someone could have someone like Dean staring them down like this and not even flinch.
  
  Dean demands something in the same language he was using earlier. Listening hard enough, you determine it's Latin. He vaguely points in your direction as he seems to be yelling at Paul. He pauses waiting for an answer. Paul takes a moment to think it over, and process what he's going to say before replying. Paul's words are calculated and firm. He doesn't break eye contact with Dean for a second, as he speaks. He too, speaks in Latin, but his voice is low, and calming. When he finishes, Dean back hands him hard. The sound makes you flinch.
  
  Paul remains where he's at as Dean circles around him speaking again. Paul's breaths are slow and even. His eyes stay forward on the wall. Dean's words pause again as he places Paul's dagger to his throat and whispers something in his ears. Paul frowns a moment again thinking over his words, choosing carefully.
  
  Dean growls in frustration and shoves Paul to the ground casting aside his dagger and pulling out one wrapped in plastic. Paul stays down. His eyes are on the ceiling as he lays on his back. Dean crouches to his side and slowly pulls the knife out of it's plastic cover. You can see it's made of iron, instead of steel or any other metal. Paul's eyes shift from the ceiling to the dagger, but then he stares back at the ceiling.
  
  Dean slowly traces the blade over his black skin. Paul flinches and clenches his teeth to remain quiet. You remember reading somewhere that Iron hurts demons.
  
  > say "Leave him alone."
  "Leave him alone." You say. Paul shoots you a hard glare to shut up and be quiet, but it's too late, Dean's already up and pointing the dagger at you now. You're starting to regret speaking out but you couldn't let Paul get tortured for something.... nice? If nice meant he'd given you advice and a dagger telling you to kill someone. Regardless, it just wasn't right. He'd helped you in your weakest moment and so you couldn't just turn your back on him in his weakest moment.
  
  "Hold your tongue now, or so help me, I'll cut it from you." Dean threatens. Paul moves to sit up, but the look Dean throws at him, makes him freeze again and just lay still. Dean turns back to you. "He got himself into this. I will deal with him first, then you. Wait your turn, human." Dean says waving the dagger near your throat.
  
  You immediately give the dagger to him. You're not about to risk anything. He snatches it away angrily and gives it a brief look over, before turning to Paul. Paul is silent as he stares forward, not even acknowledging Dean in his face. You wonder how someone could have someone like Dean staring them down like this and not even flinch.
  
  Dean demands something in the same language he was using earlier. Listening hard enough, you determine it's Latin. He vaguely points in your direction as he seems to be yelling at Paul. He pauses waiting for an answer. Paul takes a moment to think it over, and process what he's going to say before replying. Paul's words are calculated and firm. He doesn't break eye contact with Dean for a second, as he speaks. He too, speaks in Latin, but his voice is low, and calming. When he finishes, Dean back hands him hard. The sound makes you flinch.
  
  Paul remains where he's at as Dean circles around him speaking again. Paul's breaths are slow and even. His eyes stay forward on the wall. Dean's words pause again as he places Paul's dagger to his throat and whispers something in his ears. Paul frowns a moment again thinking over his words, choosing carefully.
  
  Dean growls in frustration and shoves Paul to the ground casting aside his dagger and pulling out one wrapped in plastic. Paul stays down. His eyes are on the ceiling as he lays on his back. Dean crouches to his side and slowly pulls the knife out of it's plastic cover. You can see it's made of iron, instead of steel or any other metal. Paul's eyes shift from the ceiling to the dagger, but then he stares back at the ceiling.
  
  Dean slowly traces the blade over his black skin. Paul flinches and clenches his teeth to remain quiet. You remember reading somewhere that Iron hurts demons.
  
  > stand there silently watching
  You stand there silently watching. You're not about to get between the two demons.
  
  "I need to know why, Paul." Dean says lowly. Paul doesn't immediately answer which pisses Dean off. Dean angrily backhands him and then the knife is plunged into Paul's arm. Paul cries out with pain but then starts laughing.
  
  "Careful, Dean, or you'll have a deeper mess to clean up." Paul teases. Dean growls a little and takes the knife out with one yank. Paul again cries out but silences himself quickly.
  
  "Enough with the games, Paul. You should be lucky I haven't killed you. You know the price of this is a one way trip to Ammet." Dean hisses darkly, but you can detect some worry in his tone.
  
  "Relax, none of them saw." Paul says softly almost soothingly.[Themes: edutainment, serious, drama, socially important]
  
  This is meant to teach you about the effects of beauty standards on various kinds of people, in different times and different places. It's pretty simple--I'll ask you a question, you choose your course of action. Try to succeed in a world obsessed with the need to be flawless.
  
  Let's get started! Now, who are you?
  
  [Author's Note: A game on beauty standards for Nicole's ISP, made Nicole herself! Follow the stories of completely different people, with the only constant being the pressure to be flawless.]
  
  > EASY: You are a twelve year old African American girl with a low income and a desperate need to fit in among your peers. Lately, some kids have been making fun of you at school.
  Welcome to your new life! You've got a great sense of humour, a supportive best friend named Emily, and a lovely sister who does her best to take care of you when your caring mom's busy working late. But, unfortunately, these traits end up meaning nothing in a world centred around beauty! Can you stay true to yourself and the people you love all while being pressured by the standards?
  
  The walk home is long and tiring. Even worse, you're on the thin side of things because there isn't much food . And those skinny arms aren't going to help you if one of the boys at school picks a fight. You notice a group playing ball on the park to your left, and duck your head, hoping not to be noticed.
  
  "Hey, frizzy-hair!" one shouts, "do you shampoo with thorns or something?"
  
  > defend yourself. You don't need to take this guy's mouth.
  Did I mention this guy has at least a hundred pounds on you? He's from your class...but he's also been held back. Twice. Do you reeeealllly wanna insult him?
  
  > Well, YEAH. HE NEEDS TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON.
  "With a face like yours, I'd be careful who and what I make fun of," you say warningly. The rest of the boys say "oohhh" and "burrrnnn", but the one guy is clearly about to kill something.
  
  This would be an excellent opportunity to practise running.
  
  > RUN LIKE THE REST OF AMERICA DOESN'T.
  "Hello?" you venture, walking up the stairs, which creak warningly.
  
  No one's home. Figures. Mom's probably working overtime and your sister's out with friends, undoubtedly longing through windows at designer clothes.
  
  You notice your sister's bedroom door open. There's a product called "Hair Relaxer" on her bedside table. Hey...it's supposed to make your hair soft and straight. Well, if it gets the boys to stop making fun of you...maybe you should try it.
  
  > remember your sister not talking to you for DAYS the time you borrowed (and broke) her necklace. It's best not to risk it...leave the hair relaxer.
  You sigh and leave your sister's room. There's a long, dirty mirror in the hallway. Looking at your reflection, you hate what you see. Frustrated, you pull aggressively at your hair only to have it knot into your fingers. Gahhhh. Your friend, Emily, has silky blonde locks. Maybe you should ask her for advice.
  
  > walk downstairs and ring Emily through your ancient landline.
  When she hears how anxious you are, Emily is immediately concerned. She tells you she'll talk to the teacher who will hopefully deal with the boys.
  
  "I've always loved your hair, you know. I think it's really unique...everyone has my kind of hair. You should learn to embrace that you're special."
  
  You almost cry. You're so happy to have such an amazing friend and even if you get teased, you know she'll back you up. Plus, she's right. Who needs hair like everyone else?
  
  Time passes, and you decide to...
  
  > go to sleep. Life's too short to care about petty teasing. You'll deal with school when it comes.
  When you go to school, the boys do continue to tease you but after being consistently ignored for a month, they give up. You soon forget why it bothered you so much in the first place. On your birthday, your sister does your hair in some lovely braids and tells you she ended up hating her relaxed hair since her scalp got so itchy and now it can't hold a style. You're so glad you didn't take her things, because you'd be in loathe to lose your friendship.
  
  Thanks for playing! You persevered against the pressure of beauty standards. Are you happy with your choices?