#STARTERS. opening line / transform and roll out!

[runecollector]

How to become an Anachrotourist : A guide by REM. You can imagine fancy space travel if you’d like, or you can just start paying attention. Your method of transport is entirely up to you. Teleport through words, poetry, the frequencies created by others. Step through the doorway and feel the world shift. Archways of all kinds are portals, some man made, some formed by the natural progression of erosion and outside sources.

IN THE STORE.

Return to a service station. A place of passing, somewhere familiar and liminal. Acknowledge the strange sensation you get in the pit of your stomach, staring out at the all encompassing dark lurking behind the bright “open 24/7” sign. It is open all the time, and that places it out of time. The store feels undeniably sterile— there are stains here and there, sealed together by the obligatory red dirt staining the grit in between the slippery chipping tiles. A reminder of the outside and how we are not far from it. The air conditioning prickles the back of your neck and feels vaguely the same temperature as the brightly lit freezers. You catch a whiff of plastic packaged sweet rolls, cinnamon churros, and a machine pressing coffee. Though this place feels undeniably empty and quiet, there are still folks shifting in and out of the entrance—and the patient line at the counter doesn’t seem to get any shorter. The sales clerk is nothing but a large black mass of energy. Though dark is usually associated with negativity, it is just the physical manifestation of this clerk's transformative state. Exploring the dark matter. One could say.

The people, however, in their pajama pants—large t-shirt—roadtrip attire, in the flesh, pass right through you. Like the clerk at the counter, you are also exploring the dark matter. Pushing the limits, deciding what is permanent, and what fluctuates.

Down the various small aisles, there’s snacks—wasabi peas, yogurt raisins, chili mangos, toffee, taffy, gummy bears, gummy worms. propane lighters and blow torches, bungee cords, sharp blades in a spinning compartment with every expected name, slingshots, average things to collect in passing.

Down another, there are souvenirs reflecting the old world —white sage, bells, incense, fire starters, rocks. Wrapped in plastic, packaged for consumption. Next to the assortments, are a collection of pamphlets.

NAVIGATING THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST.

Here is where you drive ATVS FAST.

Interested in a souvenir and a weekend of OWNING YOUR PLACE? Let me direct you to our wall of rifles.

Out in the desert, where there is nothing, and nobody, that means YOU can party it up.

Camp on public land (We are here to enjoy and connect.)

and BE SURE TO FIRE YOUR GUN. (We long to be impactful and in control.)

Find a knife with your name on it.

It's sure to be on the handle.

it's all so unserious.

The sinking feeling returns. How to be parallel? How to be temporal? How to understand the endless rock to a deeper degree? How to leave no trace? There are no wrong ways to spend time in the desert, just ways to be mindful about what it means to co-exist with an ancient place. There is a pathway, and blatant disregard/blissful unawareness/ appreciation and self control are all directions that sever.

OUT OF THE STORE

Standing there, illuminated by the light of the refrigerator, knowing beyond the plastered brick and mortar walls is the wilderness—there are decisions to be made. How to visit and shift through every location like I have once been there before, while also taking in the awe of the current momen?. You become existential while facing the monument.

Fenced off wooden houses, abandoned and ghostly, monuments that once belonged to pilgrims and cowboys. Monuments like the graffitied trailers in open fields, train carts stretching across plains, and farm houses speckled across the hazy horizon. Remember the road your drive on has been walked, wagoned, and travelled by all types of souls. Eat an ice cream cone outside of the modern day gas station, feel the vanilla drip down your palm. Stare into the desert and be pierced by the sun. Feel the awareness that you are not the first to see this place. There is comfort knowing that even if you cant see it, there are rock structures and prehistoric lively-hoods built in alcoves, atop narrow ledges, and in the strips of canyon, lurking untouched by modern civilization only a short distances away. It is all intertwined. It is all important. There is proof of humanity. And as we travel, as we expand our understanding, preserving the untouched is just as important as preserving the common.

This contrast, the overlaps, all show the harsh divide of humanities progress.

Even with every 1000 years, there is proof of time passing everywhere you look. Existence of people before you, and people to come after. We are tangled in ancestry and culture passed down. Acknowledging the inherent connection to the environment, and the history inherited from the environment, will certainly give you answers. Passings and passages. The spiral ceases and you return to the service station.

Define ANACHROTOURIST

(Just a fancy way to phrase time travel.)

Sourced from the combination of the words

“Anachronism”: a thing belonging or appropriate to a period other than that in which it exists/chronologically out of place”

• You

• The service station

And “Tourism”

a social, cultural and economic phenomenon which entails the movement of people to countries or places outside their usual environment for personal or business/professional purposes.

• You

• The service station

[mxgicthot]

😤 for Mika OR 😱 for Erden

I'm curious <:3c

For yewww both uwu :3

Slight cw for erden's one briefly depicting his transformation phases when he was still figuring shit out.

Emoji starters

😤 - my muse is in a bad mood

Mika's fists clenched against the armrests, her jaw set in a tight line. It felt as if someone had knocked all the air out of her lungs.

The newcomer, like the men on either side of her, wore a crisp black-and-white three-piece suit. He removed his shoes before stepping onto the tatami-lined floor of the inner house, revealing tasteful dark grey socks. Jet-black shades perched on his head, brushing back dark wisps of hair off his face – his stupid fucking face.

Neither of them wore the traditional kimono or shiromuku, yet for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling of being at a wedding.

Mika felt her face heat up, her clenched hands trembling slightly. She straightened up, taking a deep breath to compose herself, the mask of indifference rolling over her features from years of practice.

It was not the first time Mika had witnessed this – after all, it was just sakazuki. A sakazuki that was not hers.

- 159 words

***

😱 - my muse is scared

Burning. That was the first thing Erden felt: a raging, aching, white-hot burn underneath his skin that he desperately wanted to claw at until it stopped.

Blood. Sweat. Vomit. Urine. Those were the first things he smelled, in that order. They always were. He had no idea which part of him was bleeding, but he could feel the sweat cooling on his body, making the burn feel even worse. The faint smell of urine told him he had pissed himself yet again mid-transformation, but that hardly mattered. Neither did the sick coating his mouth, throat, and chest.

Whimpering. That was the first thing he heard: his own feeble whimpers caused by the aftershock of the transformation because he couldn't manage screaming or crying any longer. His voice was of no use, and he could only sniff his tears back as best he could.

Dirt mingled with blood. That was the first thing he saw when he pried his eyes open. His blood, from unknown wounds caused by the beast that lingered slightly below his surface, sated from what had evidently been an energetic night of taking grief out on his body.

- 191 words

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Horror/Angst Starter Prompt | Open

@sometimesrufus asked: @vincent - "Heh, are you…crying?"

The question seemed to come from far in the distance. He was faintly aware it was from Rufus...he was faintly aware of their situation, their location... They were on a trip, more retrieval and running Rufus around to lord his power, from the President, making the VP move about in mostly fruitless efforts. It involved one of the estates with the name ShinRa, as few as they were, they were there. Some were truly used by their namesake, others used by employees to expand their work in different locations to different ends.

But the awareness was falling deeper and deeper, buried under a monstrously mutating awareness that the words he was reading were bringing forth. Yes, he was crying. Locked in his own mind, confused and pained tears streaked slowly now and again down his face. There was not sound, but his shaky breath.

There were reports of figures collected and shipped off to the private labs in ShinRa, but Vincent was sure he knew all labs...were that...Deepground? His awareness of that shadow in the companies depths was present, but there was a familiar ache in his body, and in his brain, as he thought of whether he'd met any of these figures there within. But then...then, it was the names mentioned. Hojo, a name always bound in rage and detestation, and remarking upon how some of his earlier work with beastial transformations could be of use with eventual candidates. Then, there was...her name.

Lucrecia. Brief. A singular line, remarking on a figure, Chaos.

All of this was skating a surface. He was...aware...he was aware of this, wasn't he? And yet memory was scratching the surface of some fierce block in his brain, and something pained and howling was clawing and pounding. His head was aching. His body was aching.

This was...this was an episode. He couldn't be having this right now. Bastard as he was, this was the time to report to Hojo. He fumbled for his PHS, dropping the papers, hands shaking, but he could barely see. Pounding, the beasts within him all growling, clawing. Was it them, or him? Why did he feel he was being torn up from within? He tried to calm his breathing, knowing that electric chip would knock him out if he didn't manage to tame this episode.

And yet....and yet, it wasn't him that took control. It was the greatest beast, taking control to simulate calm for a moment, to ease the protocol that would lead to electrocution until Vincent passed out. But it was not true control At least, not control Vincent would have managed himself. It was Chaos, coming forth through Vincent's body instead of fully shifting, and making fun with this change.

Rufus had neared, too close, reaching out, when Vincent's form that had been curled in and shaking had stilled...and when it stood, it seemed to stand a few inches taller. Hair usually bound in a braid or ponytail seemed to shift and come loose, floating like mist at the tips. He turned a shining red gaze upon the blond, the core of the red shining gold in sunken, gray face. And when his mouth smiled, as was unusual to see on Vincent, especially to this degree, fangs would show in clear, gleeful threat.

The tears left shadowed lines across the grey flesh, and with a roll of shoulders, there was the tearing of fabric as bat-like wings that seemed to have a joint claw burst forth. He beat his wings, and surged, golden-clawed hand gripping Rufus' throat as he flung them to the nearest wall, slamming him there as his gleaming claw shone with dark purple energy, licking painfully at Rufus' throat.

There were no words, only a breathy, gleeful chuckle from the demonic mouth as shining eyes appraised the figure at his mercy. Within, Vincent struggled to regain control, to regain awareness, to regain whatever ignorance had kept this at bay. But it was not until Chaos tossed Rufus across the ground and began stalking forward, that the Turk tore back control. With a lurch and a shuddering, unholy growl, the figure curled in on himself, more and more, until he was on his knees.

There, Vincent sit. Skin, pale, but no longer gray. Loose hair falling like a fallen divinity around his face, hands scrapping nails across the concrete floor beneath them. He took many deep breaths, in and out, before speaking. He attempted what he could of his seriousnes, of his Turk business demeanor, as if trying to force away any weakness with every word.

"...I have been...compromised... We must return to headquarters... I will ensure you are reassigned with a...more suitable guard, as soon as possible... I will take the punishment necessary, for my failure here... I am...sorry...R-Rufus..."

[ladiesinlakes]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[theobaldeu]

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[juellb]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[cunninglyillustriousinfinity]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."

[crystalisla]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."

[ameliasoulturner]

How ChatGPT’s $1,000 Online Income Plan Had Me Rolling—and What Truly Works

INTRODUCTION Curiosity got the best of me one night. I fired off a question to ChatGPT: “How can I earn $1,000 online?��� In seconds, I was hit with every side hustle cliché imaginable—Etsy shops, TikTok dance tutorials, and more. It was like reading a remix of every “make money online” blog post ever written. I laughed at its predictability, but found some genuine insights buried in the fluff. Here’s a trimmed, honest take on the AI’s suggestions, what they miss, and how you can actually hit that $1,000 mark.

AI’S CLICHÉD STARTERS ChatGPT’s opening act: drop‑shipping, affiliate marketing, freelancing. These are staples in the online income world, but they gloss over critical challenges. Drop‑shipping sounds easy until you’re handling customer complaints and squeezed margins. Affiliate marketing dazzles in viral case studies, yet most affiliates struggle with low commissions until they master SEO and email funnels. Freelancing is reliable, but only if you build specialized skills and stand out in a sea of newcomers.

COURSE CREATION INCEPTION Next up, the AI suggested launching a course on how to launch courses—advice squared. This reflects the echo chamber of online education, where experts teach experts to teach experts. Originality wins. Rather than mimicking what’s out there, identify a niche problem you’ve solved, package your unique approach, and market to an audience that craves that solution.

BLOGGING: QUALITY OVER QUANTITY “Monetize a blog,” ChatGPT urged. True, but it left out the secret sauce: compelling storytelling and audience trust. Successful blogs focus on specific niches, share real experiences, and engage readers emotionally. Instead of churning daily posts, publish fewer, high-value articles that spark conversation and loyalty.

POSITIONING YOUR FREELANCE GIG Freelancing advice was generic—write, design, code. It failed to highlight positioning. Beginners might earn $10 per article; veterans charge $200 an hour. The difference lies in expertise and branding. Define your niche skill, build a showcase portfolio, collect testimonials, and pitch confidently to higher-paying clients.

NICHE VIRTUAL ASSISTANCE Virtual assistance seemed promising: $15–$30 per hour. Yet ChatGPT ignored global competition and the power of specialization. General VA work is crowded; a VA who masters social media management, podcast editing, or real estate admin can demand premium rates and consistent clients.

YOUTUBE: THE LONG GAME Creating a YouTube channel topped the list, complete with gear and posting schedules. Tips were accurate but felt textbook. Video success boils down to authentic storytelling, community engagement, and consistency. Monetization takes time—often years. Supplement ad revenue with sponsorships, memberships, or merch tied to your content.

THE NITTY-GRITTY: DIGITAL DETOX COACHING The odd suggestion? Digital detox coaching. Trendy, but risky without credentials or methodology. AI can surface niche ideas, but your skills and market demand must align. Research your chosen niche thoroughly before diving in.

TWO PRACTICAL, READY-TO-GO TIPS ChatGPT did nail two actionable tips: leverage existing platforms and build an email list. Turn your Instagram into a service showcase. Use Medium’s partner program to earn per-read revenue. And never underestimate email—it's the top channel for converting followers into customers.

AUTHENTICITY AND STRATEGY The bottom line: AI is a powerful brainstorming partner, not a turnkey blueprint. It offers breadth, but lacks the human nuances that drive success—intuition, empathy, and perseverance. To transform ideas into $1,000, combine three elements: a clear niche, the right platform, and consistent value delivery.

A CONCRETE $1,000 PLAN Let’s make it tangible. Suppose you’re a graphic designer. Choose a focused offering—say, minimal brand kits for wellness coaches. Showcase work on Behance, Instagram, and LinkedIn. Offer a free sample via email to grow your list. Price your kit at $250. Four clients equals $1,000. Simple, direct, and based on your expertise and real numbers.

CONCLUSION ChatGPT’s suggestions had me chuckling and reflecting. They highlighted the clichés saturating the “make money online” space and reminded me that AI reflections echo its training data. Use AI to spark ideas, then apply your experience, research, and creativity to refine them. That’s how you turn a thousand-dollar brainstorm into a thousand-dollar reality—minus the AI-induced laugh track.

[hookedonapirate]

Sneak Peek—Through the Rising Tide

Thank you @wefoundloveunderthelight for the gorgeous graphic ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So I have this mostly done, just have to add more scenes. And since this doesn't have a lot of context or show Killian's pov, I just want to point out that Killian is not delusional enough to think condoms are always 100% effective, nor is he just trying to make excuses to get out of the situation. There is more to it than what I can show in this sneak peek.

Chapter 10

“I’m pregnant.”

Emma’s heart drops into her stomach and all the air escapes her lungs when she hears the two words that seem to shatter her soul. She knows all too well two simple words can change a life forever. The most traumatizing moments in her life started with two words.

I’m sorry.

You’re fired.

We’re over.

I cheated.

Marry me.

Liam’s dead.

And now, I’m pregnant.

She knows she has no right to be upset, or hurt, even; she keeps telling herself Killian’s not hers, but a huge part of her wishes he was never with this dreadful woman. And it has nothing to do with jealousy. She just thinks Killian deserves much better than this bitch. Emma may not have always felt this way about him, but she can honestly say he’s not the same man she met a year and a half ago.

“Um…” Killian scratches behind his ear, not exactly sure what to say to Milah. “Congratulations?”

Emma has the urge to laugh, but she suppresses it. This isn’t something to joke about. It’s certainly not something Milah finds the least bit humorous. Which is understandable.

She’s carrying his baby.

Kilian’s going to be a father.

No, Killian is a father.

The thought makes Emma feel numb inside.

Milah’s jaw is on the floor as she gapes at Killian in shock and plants her hands on her hips. “Congratulations? That’s all you have to say?”

Killian looks at Emma in sheer puzzlement. But she doesn’t know exactly how to feel, other than disappointment and devastation, so she simply looks at him in shock. Reverting his attention to Milah, he shrugs casually as though Milah didn't just say two life-changing words. “What do you want me to say?”

Milah drops her hands to her sides and sighs dramatically. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says sarcastically. “Maybe what every father-to-be would say. Like for starters, that you’re ecstatic or that this is the happiest day of your life.”

He furrows his brows, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Why would it be the happiest day of my life?”

It takes everything inside of Emma to not give in to the tickle in her throat and dissolve into laughter.

Milah’s eyes almost pop out of her head. “You’re joking, right?”

He doesn't even crack a smile. “Why would I be joking?”

Growing impatient, she sighs again and rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t have time for games. I’m tired and cranky and hormonal and I don’t need smart-ass Jones right now. I need to know that you’re in this.” She looks at Emma, flashing a deadly scowl as she adds, “Just you and me and our baby.”

Killian freezes, his confusion quickly transforming into something else, his face paling and his mouth falling open in shock.

Does he not think the baby is his?

“Wait, what do you mean, our baby?”

Milah laughs hysterically, like Killian just told her the funniest thing in the world. “Wow, I really hope you’re just playing dumb because I really don’t have the patience for this right now.”

“But that’s not possible,” he says, his words cracked as he scratches behind his ear. “I...I used protection.”

Milah becomes serious again, her eyes narrowing. “Wait, you’re not messing with me, are you?” She places her hand on her belly. “You really don’t think this is our baby, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Killian answers matter-of-factly. “I used a condom,” he says again.

Milah raises her voice, throwing the very last shred of patience out the window. “Are you an idiot?! Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective!”

“I know that,” he says through gritted teeth. “But I checked for leakage after I pulled out.”

“Okay,” Emma squeaks, her voice higher pitched than intended. She feels very awkward listening to this conversation. “Maybe I should just go to my room so you two can talk.” They clearly have some things to discuss.

[thewritewolf]

Clever Like a Fox

Summary: A few years down the line and while the face of the enemy has changed, the ones who fight for what's right haven't. Heroes once thought retired return to the fold, leading to Rena Rouge sharing a patrol with Snake Noir. It might be a quiet night, but Alya always has something to say - in the mask, or out of it.

Hello and welcome to my first of four entries for Adrien AUGreste! This will be the final part of my six-month adventure with daily prompts, starting with Marinette March. I had originally intended to do the full month, but at this point I'm too exhausted to do a long-form fic like that again.

Now, the week's prompt was Snake Noir, and the daily prompts I used were Oblivious, Civilian, and Unify.

@adrienaugust

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Years passed for Ladybug and Chat Noir. Circumstances changed, as they often do - Hawkmoth was gone and another villain emerged from the woodwork to make sure the two of them didn’t get too much of a vacation. Of course, with the fall of Hawkmoth, that opened up opportunities that had been closed for far too long.

When the villain made themselves known a second time, they weren’t just facing Ladybug and Chat Noir. Carapace and Rena Rouge had joined them - this time, on a much more permanent basis. After all, Marinette had argued that the kwami had been locked up for too long. They needed to see the world, be with people, if they were going to be effective.

Which was part of the reason it wasn’t Chat Noir and Rena Rouge on patrol for tonight, but rather Snake Noir and Rena Rouge. Neither was the other’s ideal partner for patrol, but Ladybug could only be in one place at a time and she was busy tonight working on her piece for the summer fashion show, her big debut in the industry.

And Adrien intended to be there… as supportive as a friend could be.

“So… what’s on your mind, big cat?”

Snake Noir looked over at Rena Rouge, her back against a section of wall facing him, laying along the edge of the building that he was dangling his legs over. She was watching him curiously.

“Nothing much, I guess,” he said with a sigh.

The silence stretched on, awkward and uncomfortable. It was at this moment that he realized that of their little group of friends, he spent the least time with Alya. With the two of them, it had always felt more like they were the friends of friends rather than being close themselves.

“Nino been up to anything recently?” He retreated to safe, common ground.

“He’s your best bud as well as my fiance,” Rena said with a raised eyebrow. “Something tells me you’ve got just as good a scoop on him as I do.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Snake Noir picked up a small rock that was on the roof and turned it over in his hands before dropping it into the empty street below.

Another stretch of silence passed between them, ended only when Rena sighed loudly and stood up.

“Okay, big cat, how about you help me out with the Ladyblog?”

“What?” He looked up at her, a confused look on his face. “Do you want to drop your transformation and have me give an interview?”

“No, don’t be crazy,” Rena said, waving with her hand as if she could physically brush away the idea. “It is too late in the day for an interview to not look fake. But!” She grinned and raised a finger. “If the Ladyblogger just so happened to spot two patrolling heroes during her nighttime jog, I’m sure they would love to give their favorite journalist a selfie.”

“Oh would they now?” Snake Noir smirked despite himself. “Sounds awfully generous of them. Especially Rena Rouge since she’d have to be in two places at once.”

Rena Rouge made a disapproving noise. “Poor, poor Chat. Your mind is closed to the possibilities.”

Snake Noir raised an eyebrow at her. “That so?”

“Yes. What you don’t realize is that I don’t need to be in two places at once. I just need to look like I am.” She grinned and pulled out her flute, giving it a twirl.

Snake Noir frowned. “I don’t know… Ladybug doesn’t like us abusing our powers like that.”

“It's not like we have a timer to worry about.” Rena rolled her eyes. “Besides this helps throw people off my scent. Otherwise, having no foxy hero pics taken by me on the blog looks supes suspicious.”

“Hm… alright, I guess,” Snake Noir conceded and stood up. “Where do you want to have this spontaneous photo op take place?”

“That’s the tricky question.” Rena Rouge hummed in thought and tapped at her chin. “Somewhere that looks like I could have been just passing through, with enough light for the photo, and empty enough that there won’t be anyone around to poke holes in my story.”

It would take ten minutes of combing through the city before she found her perfect spot, but Snake Noir didn’t mind. Years of modeling had given him a good eye for ideal photoshoot locations and eventually it was him that found the ideal place for their little deception.

Rena pulled her phone out from one of her suit’s magic pockets and set it up against a wall. The soft notes of her flute hung in the air before feeling almost like they condensed and pulled together until they formed a perfect likeness of her civilian identity. Specifically, an Alya that was all dressed up for a jog. Maybe a little too much, but no doubt she was trying to sell the story as best she could.

The illusionary Ladyblogger went from having a blank expression and standing passively to excitement lighting up her eyes, a wide grin splitting her face. She became slightly crouched as if she was caught in the middle of an excited bouncing in place.

“Okay big cat,” Rena the real said, “put those modeling instincts to good use and give me something that’ll make the Ladyblog sizzle.”

“Sizzle, huh?” Snake Noir let himself smile just enough that he knew the small fangs granted to him by his transformation would peek through. He gave the camera a hungry look, the one that his photographers had been asking for more and more these days.

Once the phone had taken a few pictures, Rena lunged forward and eagerly looked through them. The fake Alya turned to smoke and vanished. Her eyebrows rose high up her forehead.

“Oh wow. That’s gonna get the comments section talking, big cat.” She looked up at him and grinned knowingly. “I’m starting to get why M has been such a big fan of your more recent photoshoots.”

His cheeks turned red. “I’m sure she just appreciates them for the fashion.”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so. Not a whole lot of, ah, fashion on display when it comes to your underwear line though.” Her grin turned downright lecherous. “A lot of something else though.”

Snake Noir made a strangled sort of sound as his mind baked from the heat of his blush. Ladybug had photos of that shoot up in her room?

“Come on,” Rena said with a chuckle. “Let’s get back to patrol.”

A few minutes later and they were up somewhere high again, about as secluded as they were before. Really, at this point, they couldn’t even call them patrols. Even when he was with Ladybug (his heart did a backflip as he remembered her and the recent revelation), patrols tended to be just wandering the city or talking the night away.

“Looks like you need to get your mind off things.” Rena Rouge crossed her arms, a teasing look in her eyes. “At least until you get home.” She rested her chin on he palm and stared down at him.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Snake Noir muttered. A little more loudly, he asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, that brush with the Ladyblogger got me thinking - how would you use your powers in day to day life? Assuming you could manage it discreetly?”

“Uh… hm…” Snake Noir rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about it. Destruction was a bit dangerous to use in his day to day life.

“Let me give you some more examples while you run that through your head.” She held up her hand a raised a finger with each point. “Photo ops, like you saw. Recreating stuff. Enhanced stories and hot gossip. Party favors.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much I could use cataclysm for normal stuff, but I bet I could get a lot of mileage out of Second Chance.”

“Ooo, lots of opportunities there. Although it only goes back, what? Five minutes?”

“Yeah. But! There is plenty of stuff that would be under five minutes that I could use it for. Especially if it is just casual use.”

“Go on,” Rena said as he paused.

“Well… cooking for starters.”

“I thought you said it only lasts five minutes?”

“Which is about how long it takes for me to mess up a given recipe.”

Rena laughed in surprise and shook her head. “You two are a perfect match, I swear.”

He cleared his throat nervously. “A-anyway. I’d also practice jokes - see which ones land, which ones don’t.”

“Make yourself seem funnier than you are, hm?”

“I’m already funny, but there is always room for improvement.”

“Fair enough.” Rena had a thoughtful expression on her face as she tapped her chin. “You know, there is one more thing you could practice now that I’m thinking about it.”

“And what’s that?”

“How exactly you’re going to ask Ladybug out on a date.”

[eviesmyspiritanimal]

Independence Day

Summary: Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos all go to see Jafar, Grimhilde the Evil Queen, and Cruella de Vil. The visit does not go well, but each of the VKs learn something wholly valuable. Core Four fluff and tons of angst and feels.

  “Gosh, am I nervous,” Carlos spoke up with a chuckle, and Mal looked back at him and Jay with small grin as she squeezed Evie’s very sweaty hand in her own.

  “C’mon, bro, she can’t hurt you anymore. You’re an adult,” Jay replied, ruffling the de Vil boy’s hair. Carlos furrowed his brow, fixing his hair back into place as he shot a dirty look in Jay’s direction.

  “I’d beg to differ with that statement,” Evie pointed out with a slight laugh and Mal grinned at the girl as she tried to keep her grip on Evie’s hand as steady as it had been when they were in the limo. She really had nothing to worry about considering the fact that Evie had ahold of her so tightly.

  “Oh, come on, E. Take it a little easy on them. Everybody knows that boys don’t mature as fast as girls,” Mal pointed out with a teasing smile that was a bit dampened by the entire energy of nervousness and apprehension that seemed to be charging the air around them.

  The four VKs had all decided that today was the day, and it was the time to finally do it. They had all gotten into Mal’s purple limo that Ben had purchased for her, and they had headed to the freshly reopened Isle of the Lost to meet Carlos’s, Evie’s, and Jay’s parents for the first time since they had went to Auradon.

  Evie was a nervous wreck and had not let go of Mal’s hand the entire trip over. Carlos had been perpetually jabbering, and Jay had been relatively light about the entire situation despite the fact that his jaw had been unnaturally tensed in his times of quiet.

  For her part, Mal was nervous for her brothers and sister. She really hoped that their parents had changed like Mal’s father had, but she was scared of more likely possibility that they had not. After all, her father had not actually ever changed in the sense of his feelings toward Mal, and Mal’s mother had not hardly changed and she was morphed into a lizard, so she had additional motivation to change her ways. But Mal did have to give it to her. Maleficent had grown her heart just enough that she could now talk. Unfortunately.

  But she knew that Jay, Carlos, and Evie had to do this. They had to have closure that they never had. They didn’t get the same sort of resolve as Mal had. After expressing precisely how she had felt about both parents, Mal had actually gained a father and Mal had turned her mother into a lizard, while Carlos, Evie, and Jay had all left their parents without another word outside of promises of wand-stealing and a small blow-up on Family Day at Auradon Prep.

  They needed this visit.

  “Where are we meeting them again?” Carlos questioned, and Evie patiently answered him.

  “At the top floor of the Bargain Castle.”

  “Of course. Where they always met with Maleficent,” Carlos pointed out, and Mal nodded in simple reply.

  “Hey, it’s good news, though. We’re here,” Jay announced with a strained enthusiasm that indicated that he was anything but thrilled.

  Evie’s hand tightened in Mal’s ridiculously to the point that Mal couldn’t help but wonder if she’d leave bruises in her wake. She could practically feel Carlos’s slight trembling and Jay’s tenseness.

  After a long moment of taking in the fearsome sight of her old house, she cleared her throat and looked at the others with a slight smile.

  “Well… You ready?” Mal questioned, glancing at all of them and resting her gaze upon Evie finally. Everyone nodded, and Evie’s warm brown eyes bored holes into Mal’s emerald green ones.

  Mal tried to send as much love and reassurance as she could possibly muster in one stare, and if Evie’s squeeze to her hand was any indicator, Evie seemed to have gotten the message.

  Mal and Evie led the boys in the castle, and they slowly made their way up to the top level. Mal couldn’t help but notice how absolutely nothing had changed in the wake of Maleficent’s capture and transformation into a lizard. Mal was honestly quite surprised that Evil Queen hadn’t tried to take over and change the décor as she had been secretly longing to do for so long.

  They made their way up and stopped just outside the door that would lead them to their parents. Evie took a deep breath, and Mal turned to look at the entire group, silently giving them another chance to turn down the visit and flee. Despite their need for this visit, Mal still wanted to give them a chance to escape if they didn’t feel that they were entirely ready.

  Jay just nodded to her and Carlos looked at his brother before silently agreeing with the former thief. Mal looked to Evie, and Evie nodded slightly, pressing the side of her head to Mal’s in a manner that was reminiscent of an embrace. She couldn’t hug Mal effectively because her hand was so firmly wedged in Mal’s.

  “Okay. Let’s go in,” Mal whispered before taking hold of the doorknob and turning it carefully.

  As soon as she opened the door, Mal was flooded with all manners of memories, and absolutely none of them were good ones. Mal swallowed hard and pushed aside her own feelings in favor of offering as much support as she could give to her family.

  There at the table were Jafar, Grimhilde the Evil Queen, and Cruella de Vil, all sitting there and looking at them in something unreadable. But Mal couldn’t help but think that whatever this emotion might be, it couldn’t be a good sign.

  Evie stepped in next to Mal, and the two boys moved in after them, looking at the three older villains before them. There was a long moment of silence, and the VKs were honestly not sure what to think until they all put on their biggest, cheese-eating grins as they beckoned the group to come in.

  “Come in, kids, come in!” Jafar greeted, and Grimhilde and Cruella nodded eagerly, pointing at the seats before them.

  “Yes, yes, we’ve been waiting for you!” Grimhilde expressed, full of what Mal could easily pinpoint as a much too cheery and what she assumed to be a fake enthusiasm and happiness. But she didn’t say a word in concern to her thoughts, and instead squeezed Evie’s hand a bit tighter in reassurance.

  “For quite some time, in fact,” Cruella muttered, and Grimhilde jabbed her in an attempt to make shut her up. Mal raised an eyebrow slightly, but the four VKs came in the room and sat down before their parents.

  “Oh, Evie! You look so,” Grimhilde hesitated as she gazed at Evie, taking in what she could see of the girl’s full appearance, and Evie puffed up just the slightest bit beneath the woman’s gaze. Finally, after a long while of staring, Grimhilde mustered a small smile.

  “You look so different!” Evie immediately deflated at the statement, and Mal felt a small surge of protectiveness overcome her as she tried to hold back the urge to glare at the villains with her infamous green glow.

  “Yes, being in Auradon hasn’t helped you kids a smidge with your looks. In fact, I think they’ve been rubbing off on you,” Cruella told them with a raise of her eyebrows, and Grimhilde shot her a nasty look, quite obviously attempting yet again to make her shut her mouth.

  “So! Mal, how is your mother?” Grimhilde asked with that stiff little grin, and Mal knew she was just being a suck-up as usual. Always trying to make good with the most powerful person in the room. But she decided she would put away her inherent knowledge of these people and at least try to get along with them for the length of this visit.

  “She’s doing alright. Y’know, still a lizard from our last run-in, but hey, she’s getting better. Keeping her in a glass tank in the dungeon seems to be helping her out quite a bit,” Mal replied nonchalantly, and they all looked utterly shaken by Mal’s seeming indifference to the entire ordeal.

  After a long moment, Grimhilde just shook her head, turning to the rest of the kids, and Mal resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She could see who obviously had become the leader in Maleficent’s absence.

  “What have you kids been doing all this time?” Grimhilde questioned, clasping her hands before her, and Evie looked at Mal with something between trepidation and excitement at the fact that her mother actually seemed interested in something that she was doing.

  “You know, during all this time that we’ve been stuck on this dreadful island,” Jafar pointed out, and Cruella nodded with her lips pursed a bit.

  Evie looked uncertainly at the others, not sure whether she should start their side of the conversation or not, but after they just stared at her expectantly, she decided that she would go ahead and begin their answering.

  “Well, we’ve been quite busy actually. Umm,” Evie hesitated for a moment, collecting herself, and Mal tightened her grip on Evie’s hand slightly to encourage her. Evie glanced at her gratefully before straightening a bit.

  “I’ve begun my own fashion line in Auradon and have been designing clothes for a while now,” Evie admitted, and Jafar as well as Cruella nodded easily. However, Grimhilde was not nearly as impressed. Her eyes were a bit wide as she took in her daughter, but she eventually shook her head with a slight smile, trying to muster some semblances of sweetness.

  “Oh… Well, that’s… Interesting,” Grimhilde expressed, and Evie just smiled barely, knowing that her mother was very much not impressed with what she had been doing.

  “And I’ve even gotten my own starter castle,” Evie added somewhat proudly, and Mal grinned in spite of herself, knowing how much it had meant to Evie to have the ability to purchase a house.

  Grimhilde immediately looked much more interested as soon as the word “castle” had entered the conversation.

  “A castle, you say?”

  “Oh, I call it a starter castle. It’s kind of more of a house?” Evie finished with a bit of a question in her voice as she saw Grimhilde’s eyes narrow. Mal shared a glance with Jay, silently signaling him to do something about this situation as Mal just settled for placing her arm around Evie’s shoulders and getting a bit more comfortable in her seat.

  “But it’s a big house!” Evie assured her mother, tumbling over herself in her haste to explain. Grimhilde just raised an eyebrow judgmentally, and Jay cleared his throat, interrupting Evie so that she didn’t have to continue in this horridly awkward conversation with her mother.

  Evie looked to Jay thankfully and he offered her the slightest of winks before meeting his dad’s eyes. Jafar leaned closer with a grin that unfortunately came off as more of a grimace than an expression of happiness. Mal just gazed at him with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed with the man’s attempts at being civil.

  “Well, I’ve graduated from Auradon Prep, and I’m planning to go to college so I can eventually play Tourney professionally,” Jay told them, and Jafar narrowed his eyes as he eyed Jay in confusion.

  “What’s a Tourney?” Jafar questioned cluelessly, and Jay furrowed his brow as he tried to think of the best way to explain it.

  “Uh… You play it with a stick and a ball and there’s a bunch of flips and stunts you’ve got to pull off to get the ball in the other team’s net,” Jay explained, and Jafar withdrew a bit in disgust.

  “So, it’s a game?”

  “I guess. It’s technically called a sport, though,” Jay informed his father, and Jafar wrinkled his nose as he considered Jay’s words.

  “Huh. I was always thinking you’d own a pawn shop or something. Y’know, where you could sell all of your stolen stuff like your dad,” Jafar explained with a cheery grin, and Jay lost all semblances of a positive expression as he eyed Jafar as if he had grown three additional heads.

  Cruella rolled her eyes as she looked at the father and son duo and then she looked to her son.

  “So, what’ve you been doing, Carlos?” Cruella questioned, and Carlos flinched a bit at the sound of his name on her tongue. He mustered the slightest bits of a smile as he looked at her, not quite able to form words.

  However, he straightened just a bit as he felt Evie’s hand on his knee and Jay’s elbow resting on the back of his chair. He felt the slightest bits of Mal’s fingers touching his shoulder around Evie’s shoulders, and he found that he was filled with much more confidence as a result of their physical support.

  “Oh, well… I’m in my junior year of high school at Auradon Prep,” Carlos began, and Cruella immediately looked lost. Carlos’s eyes widened in recognition as he remembered that the Isle’s high school system was set up differently from that of Auradon’s.

  “I’ve got one more year of school before I graduate,” Carlos clarified, and Cruella nodded, looking much more aware of the situation.

  “And after I finish school, I’m going to go and study to be a veterinarian,” Carlos told her, suddenly looking very afraid as he nervously anticipated her reaction.

  As expected, Cruella’s eyes widened to ridiculous magnitudes.

  “What?! Carlos, why would you want to work on those wretched creatures that put us on this terrible Isle in the first place?!” Cruella demanded, and Carlos trembled a bit at her words.

  “Well, Mom, not all dogs are like that, and they’re really nice when you get to know the right ones,” Carlos weakly protested, and Cruella withdrew in disgust.

  “I thought I raised my baby boy better than this!” Cruella cried, and Mal could feel anger creeping upon her. Mal squeezed Carlos’s shoulder a bit tighter and she increased her grip on Evie as she tried to fight off the beginnings of burning rage.

  “Never mind him and that business,” Grimhilde interrupted, waving away Cruella’s concerns flippantly. “Evie, how has your search for a prince been coming along?”

  Evie suddenly looked as if she had been slapped, and her hand immediately searched for Mal’s so that she could have some sort of comfort. Mal quickly found Evie’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb across the back of Evie’s hand softly.

  “A--- a prince?” Evie questioned nervously, and Grimhilde just rolled her eyes. Mal narrowed her own orbs as she realized that more and more of the parents’ true colors were starting to show.

  “Well, Mommy can’t live in this dump forever. So what about a prince? Have you snagged one yet?” Grimhilde insisted, and Evie swallowed hard, looking at Mal fearfully. Mal just offered warmness and love in her gaze as she encouraged Evie to have the bravery to tell the truth.

  Mal knew how hard this was going to be for Evie, because Evie was currently not dating anybody. She was perfectly single since Doug had dumped her, and both girls knew that Grimhilde wouldn’t take that as an answer and would likely throw a fit about it.

  “Mommy… I’m… Well, I don’t have a boyfriend right now. I’m actually not dating anyone,” Evie admitted, and Grimhilde’s jaw slackened as she gaped at Evie. It was almost as if she was shocked at the very implication that Evie would have the gall and audacity to go against her wishes.

  And that positively infuriated Mal almost to the point of launching across the table and wringing the Evil Queen’s thick neck.

  “But what about Jay?! Son, you’re supposed to open a shop like me, and you’re wasting your life on some silly game!” Jafar piped up, and Mal found that she had all that she could take from these people.

  Before Jay could answer him, Mal shot up from her seat and slammed her hands on the table, her eyes glowing so brightly that she couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to turn into a dragon then and there inside of that very building.

  Jafar, Grimhilde, and Cruella each looked completely terrified at the sight of her, and Mal felt some darker part of her rejoice in their expressions of fear.

  “How dare you? How dare you sit there and act like you have any role in or authority over what these three absolutely amazing people do?” Mal questioned accusatorily, and she glared at each one of the parents in turn. Mal finally settled on Grimhilde first, practically snarling at her as she sized her up.

  “Evie is a beautiful genius that does not need a prince, a king, a noble, or any sort of royalty to make her worthy. Heck, if she wants, she can never get married for all I care. Because I love her the way she is, and I support whatever she wants as long as she’s happy,” Mal looked down at her sister sweetly, and Evie actually had tears in her eyes at this point as she met Mal’s gaze. The pressure of her mother mixed with Mal’s sweet words was more than Evie could take, and it all had boiled over in hot wetness in her eyes.

  Mal then stared down Jafar, causing him to jump a little in his seat.

  “Jay is a wonderful sportsman that does not need to steal and does not have to follow in anyone’s footsteps to make him successful. He loves working as part of a team and hanging out with all of his teammates. Jay is happy, so I support him and am happy for him,” Mal firmly told Jafar before looking to Jay, and her brother smiled at her softly, expressing everything that he wouldn’t say aloud.

  Mal then gazed at Cruella, her eyes hardened.

  “Carlos is a smart, loving, caring, amazing human being that is not just a servant or a slave made to wait upon someone hand and foot. He knows so many things, and he is capable of so many things, and he loves dogs. Carlos is very happy loving dogs and taking care of animals, so I support him one hundred percent,” Mal told Cruella, switching hands so that she could place one on Evie’s shoulder and another on Carlos’s head. She unhappily noticed that he was shivering, but he looked much more secure as Mal held his head in her gloved hand.

  “But, of course, none of you would know about any of these things I’m talking about, would you? Because Evie is your perfect little girl that has to be stupid and is definitely ugly and has to wear makeup to even be remotely pleasing. Because Jay is your errand boy to go and steal anything and everything you want and cannot be anything but a thief for his entire life because he has to be like you. Because Carlos is your baby boy that does everything you want him to do and is a glorified slave and has no feelings, wants, or needs because he has to be your servant,” Mal pointed out to each of the parents, glaring at them each in turn as her eyes never stopped glowing that blinding shade of green.

  “These three don’t have to be anything. They don’t have to be what you set forth for them to be, because all you guys have ever done is hurt them and make them feel as if they would never be anything.

  “You guys never have supported them, and all I have ever done is support them,” Mal firmly told them, and she could feel soft quakes of Evie’s shoulders as she cried softly.

  Mal removed her hand from Evie’s shoulder and gently wiped away Evie’s tears from her cheek with her thumb as she cupped Evie’s cheek. Evie leaned into Mal’s touch heavily and Mal felt her heart ache for the other girl. She squeezed Evie’s cheek ever so slightly, and then she placed her hand back on Evie’s shoulder.

  “This is my family,” Mal squeezed Evie’s shoulder possessively and scratched Carlos’s head as she pointed to Jay.

  “What are they to you?” Mal left the question hanging, and the three parents were so shocked that they couldn’t say anything in response. Mal looked to the three VKs, and leaned down next to Evie’s ear.

  “Guys, are you ready to go?” Mal asked quietly, and Evie nodded swiftly, wiping the tears from her face as she took Mal’s hand and Carlos’s hand and started to get up. Jay got up from his seat and placed his hand on Carlos’s shaking shoulder as they turned to leave.

  “Hold on just a moment! What do our children have to say about all this? You can’t speak for them!” Grimhilde indignantly announced, and the four VKs turned to face the parents. Mal moved her arm so that it was around Evie’s waist and Evie put her arms around Carlos’s and Mal’s waists. Jay had an arm thrown around Carlos’s shoulders.

  Mal looked to the other three, squeezing Evie’s waist fondly as she tried to offer any strength that she could. Jay furrowed his brow and was about to speak up when Carlos suddenly started.

  “W-well, I say that Mal’s right. You have no right to boss us around anymore, and well… I also say that these guys have been the ones supporting me all these years, and… And they’re my family,” Carlos expressed, that rare yet so true bravery shining through as he trembled. Cruella looked rather offended at his boldness, but he stood firmly despite his shaking. Mal smiled softly at him, and Evie held him a bit closer to her.

  “I want to have the choice to be who I want to be. I don’t want to always be a lowlife thief, Dad. I have the opportunity to be something more. And if you can’t accept that, that’s okay. These three are my family,” Jay firmly expressed, his jaw set and his eyes hardened, and Carlos squeezed Jay’s shoulder. Jafar looked exceedingly disappointed, but Jay remained strong.

  Evie took in a deep breath, and Mal leaned her head over and pressed it against Evie’s own. Mal knew how hard it was going to be for Evie to stand up to her mother. Evie was always so hopeful that her mother loved her deep down, despite the fact that she knew better. But Mal was willing to offer any support she could to the bluenette.

  “And… I… I’m happy, Mommy. I’m happy with my business and without a prince and without a huge castle. I’m happy with these three as my family,” Evie explained, several tears slipping down her cheeks but her voice remaining just as firm as ever. Mal squeezed her tightly and pulled her head away from Evie’s to stare down the shocked trio of parents.

  “So, your kids have spoken,” Mal simply told them, looking into the face of each one before the Core Four turned and left out the door.

  They were quiet as could be until they finally left the Bargain Castle. It was then that they released each other, and Mal turned to Evie to embrace her. Evie clung to Mal as if she were Evie’s lifeline, and she rested her chin on Mal’s shoulder. Mal pressed her head against Evie’s shoulder and hugged the girl as firmly as she could possibly manage. Mal could now feel the sobs wracking Evie’s form, and she felt her heart ache for her sister.

  Before long, Carlos and Jay had encircled the two girls in an embrace as well, and they were all just standing there holding each other.

  “It’s okay, guys. It’s okay now. You said what you had to say, and you understand each other,” Mal whispered softly, and Evie nodded, her tears wetting Mal’s shoulder and neck. Mal could feel Carlos shaking, and Jay was as tensed up as could possibly be.

  “You’re free,” Mal whispered, and Evie just squeezed Mal tighter as Jay’s arm slid a bit further around the girls and Carlos head pressed against the sides of Mal and Evie’s.

  They were finally free from their parents. Free to do what they wanted, what they liked, and what they felt like rather than what someone else set forth for them to do.

  It was finally Independence Day.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Not botw but I attempt to write things. 1827 words

Here is essentially a 2am reskin of one of my fics (The Storm) that I reworked so I could submit it as an “Alternate Fairy Tale Ending” project for creative writing. I apologize for the crappy dialogue but hey, at least I submitted it on time.

Also yes I researched it Red Riding Hood’s name was Blanchette ashhshhhshhshhh don’t question it

Ok here’s werewolf fights I guess

- - - - - 

The rain poured against her skin. Lightning struck in the distance, closely followed by a roar of thunder. For now, the sky was dull and overcast, the only colors being the murky grey shine of the storm. It would not last. Beneath the rushing clouds, the glimmer of the moon could be seen. It was full, and cast its light down on the earth below. Only it wasn’t white or silver, instead, it shone a blood red. 

She stood under the shadow of the forest, a small clearing around her. The grass, it’s deepest green, and it’s blades danced against wind. Droplets pattered against large grey rocks around the area. Pine trees shivered with their evergreen tusks, and dead bushes twitched and contorted in the breeze. The woods were alive, and full of fear. 

The clouds were now rushing across the sky at a violent speed, specks of dust could be seen under the velvet shine of the moon. The colors of the sky shifted from pitch to a blazing fire, the air now covered in scarlet shades. Under a blood moon like this, it was sure to come. Blanchette waited for grandmother to arrive.

A figure stumbled out of the dark, a woman, thin and bony. Its body was frail and weak, but the eyes reflected a hunger. It spoke.

“Blanchette, why on earth do you have a sword on your back?”

Ignoring the beast’s statement, the girl dared to take a step forward, her tone as unwavering as metal. “You messed with the wrong family, wolf.”

It chuckled, then laughed, then bellowed. Blunt, yellowing teeth were exposed, showing off an innocent elderly smile, as her grandmother laughed into the night. It walked closer, a silver nightgown blowing in the violent wind. 

“Do you not recognize me dearie? Perhaps you need to get your eyes checked. I’m your old sick grandmama, and I’m quite hungry. Do you still have those delicious cookies you brought from earlier?”

The rain poured down on Blanchette’s hood, but her gaze did not waver. 

“It is you who needs to better your vision. I suppose you didn’t count on angering someone from a family of werewolf hunters.”

It stopped walking. Tilting its head to the side like a dog, it asked, “Whatever have I done to anger you, dearie?”

“Well, for starters, it wasn’t very polite of you to devour the elderly. Attempting to chew on my head wasn’t ideal either.”

It laughed again, it seemed to be enjoying itself. Its voice sounded deeper and gruffer. Grandmother turned its gaze, raising an eyebrow towards Blanchette’s direction, but the girl continued.

“Last time you almost had me, but this,” she gestured to the sheathed sword on her back, ‘this, is going to change things.”

It grinned, “Why don’t we talk about this over dinner?”  

The moon glowed through the trees, its red light finally fell upon the grandmother. The glow caused black mist to appear on the field below. Tendrils, thick and smokey, trampled across the grass, shriveling flowers in its wake. The mass collected into a large conglomerate of black, red, and grey. It rose and expanded with hypnotic swirls, swarming around the grandmother. Its shape pulsed as it took to a large, animal-like form. Smoke became flesh, and flesh became monster, as the beast formed before her very eyes. Its large furry feet pounded against the ground, kicking up dirt. Its stomps made the surrounding trees shudder. It lifted its head to the scarlet sky and howled, its echo melding with the boom of thunder. 

The storm was now at its crescendo, the wind screamed in her ears. The rain soaked her clothes, the tunic hugging her skin. Her hood was begging to billow in the wind, the edges of its scarlet cloth blending with the night. But a single sword kept the hood fitted against her back. A silver sword, passed down through her family. 

The transformation was complete. The moon now waned back to its pale complexion, the sky darkened to oil. Winds lowered their screams, fading back to baleful whispers. The rain and thunder continued, but compared to the horrifying transformation that had happened, the forces of nature were welcome. 

Blanchette observed the creature that had been born out of the dark. Its body was the color of ash, fur soaked, eyes black as soot. Wind rushed through the beast’s silver fur, its claws and fangs were pearly white.  Its sharp teeth grinded against each other, an itch in the back of its throat asked for blood. The Werewolf’s familiar gaze settled on Blanchette. Its eerie eyes glared  at the girl, daring her to remove her hood and stare back. 

Perhaps it would be the last thing they ever saw.

Now the world was silent. The only sound Blanchette could hear was that of her own, rhythmic heartbeat. 

But she had done this before, slaying a beast. After all, her skill at spilling their blood had earned her the nickname, Red.

She sprinted towards the Wolf. 

Still not looking it in the eye, Red yelled as she approached. Her sword was still sheathed on her back, for she knew from experience that closing the distance between them was life or death. If it disarmed her too soon, she would be as defenseless as she was back in her grandmother’s house. The sword was too important, better to wait for the right moment. The Werewolf gave a familiar roar. A flick of its wrists and its claws extended out.

Strike now!

There were several advantages to being armed with only a single sword. It kept her light on her feet, the slim sheathe fastened securely so it wouldn’t fall off should she tumble, roll, or dodge out of danger. Furthermore, her speed was not burdened by too much weight on her back, for strength is only as good as the swiftness of a blow. And of course, a single blade meant you only had to focus on one thing. Sinking the sword into skin. 

Her feet trampled on the soft grass, she was now only a few paces away from the Wolf. With one fluid motion, Red reached back and unsheathed her sword. It gleamed with a blinding light, distracting the beast for a moment. Using her momentum, she thrust the sword’s edge into one of the beast’s legs, putting all her weight and strength behind it. The wolf bellowed. Before it even had time to process the pain fully or react, Red moved back, ready to parry or dodge an attack.

The beast raised its arms into the air, a motion intent on slamming the girl from both sides with its sharp claws. But just before the claws made contact with her body, time seemed to slow. Red steadied her legs, then leaped out of the way, dodging gracefully out of the Werewolf’s clutches. In midair, the world seemed to move at a snail’s pace, she could see the beast in the motion of attacking an assailant who was no longer in front of it. When her feet connected back with the earth, she rushed forward, delivering a flurry of attacks with the opening the Wolf had created for itself. With each blow, the sword gleamed a sapphire glow. After a series of deadly strikes, the rain poured back to its regular pace. 

The Wolf regained its composure due to the new wounds created on its abdomen. Now enraged, it quickened its strikes, slashing violently in any direction in order to get any sort of  hit on her. She dodged, jumped, and rolled. It was a dance in the rain, her footwork being the only thing keeping her alive. With every swing the Wolf made, Red pivoted, backflipped, and dodged, attacking the openings. The beast’s white and grey colored fur matched well with the bloody wounds it was now receiving. 

Ruby and sapphire clashed on the field. Her blade glowed against the black of night. She was doing well, despite the fact he was playing with death. Red hadn’t been hit yet, and it would hopefully stay that way, since one blow could cause her demise. But this had to be done. Whoever the Werewolf ate, it could transform into them during the day. Who knows what chaos this beast would bring about if it got to town. 

They continued their clash in the woods, the storm continued to boom in the background. The Wolf, panting from exhaustion, snapped its teeth, attempting to bite at Red’s hood. When she continued to dodge gracefully, it roared.

“What are you??”

“As I said, it was your mistake to anger someone from a long line of Werewolf hunters.”

Then, she ran. Red, bolted for the trees. The wolf, darted after her, its smile showing off pearly teeth, drool dripping down its chin. The beast scampered through the pine trees, its evergreen shades blending with the shadow. He had lost her, but what was a wolf without its sense of smell. Bringing its face to the dirt, the Werewolf sniffed, looking for the smell of baked goods and steel. It found it, and darted further into the woods. It turned its head, left and right, searching for a glimpse of a bright red cloak. Scampering through the woods, its tail started to lower. Its wounds caused the beast to sulk. 

Then,

Scarlet.

The edges of a red hood billowed in the wind. 

The Wolf eyed it warily. Then, shifting its weight, it pounced!

Not so clever now, are you, girl?

It’s teeth and claws connected with the cloth. It’s jaws ripping the hood to shreds. 

But it tasted no meat. It felt no blood, no warmth.

The sword sunk into its skin. 

The wolf bellowed, an eerie shout that melded with the boom of thunder. Behind him stood Red, her head and shoulders bare, hair soaked from the storm. In her grasp was the blue handle to her silver sword. It had pierced the Wolf, square in the heart. 

She grunted as she pulled the sword out of the Wolf, its body crumbled to the earth. Using the remnants of her hood, Red wiped the blood off her sword. She looked down at the beast, it was barely alive. Then, it breathed, shifting its black eyes towards her. It whispered.

“If you think you’ll walk out of this...alive…you’re in for a surprise…”

Red smirked, placing aboot on the Wolf’s face. “You’re in no shape to be killing anyone, much less me.”

The Wolf gave a crooked smile, “Perhaps not…”

Then, it gave the last of its strength to shove her boot aside. It lifted its head to the sky and howled. Then, the Wolf’s head crashed back into the dirt, dead.

The howl was still echoing through the woods.

Then, there was an answer.

Red looked through the trees, sword at her side. Howls, from at least three directions, filled the night. Each sounded faded and far, but with each echo it sounded closer.

Taking her sword in front of her, she let out a sigh. It seemed her job was not over yet. 

[crimsoncityhq]

The night has been advertised by multiple commercials in the civilian’s homes, and even dead bodies littered on some residence lawns. It’s dusk on a Thursday in February. The gates to the Fire and Ice Festival are lowered after hours of waiting in the biting Chicago tundra, and the crowd, over 4,000 strong, rushes in. Most are expecting a night of drunken freedom, cozied up by the outdoor heaters that promise a warm welcome, but some foresee the chaos bound to erupt across the lawn.

The first act takes the stage, and anyone who isn’t inebriated, courtesy of the open bar, is perceptive enough to realize that, no, that’s not Kanye West. Instead they are mesmerized by the lyrical lip syncher Dante Yeast—he looks enough like him, it’s better not to question it. One would think that the O’Sheas, Vasiles, and the Fausts all gathered in one spot would spell disaster, yet the evening rolls on without a hitch, despite the tensions slowly building in its periphery. Fausts members, too, are scattered across the ocean of bodies, but some faces are missing, figureheads who pull the strings.

 Maybe they’re absorbed by the crowd; maybe they thought better of attending, but there’s a sense of unease that settles in the air. It’s not quite right, but no one can put a finger on why. Another beer, and the thought is lost is the swell of the music—if they didn’t know any better, they’d think the bass replicates the sound of distant explosions.

You’re free to start plotting. You can start posting starters/threads tomorrow, February 20th, 2020 at 7:30PM CST !  Part II coming February 24th ( Plot Slots can be found below the cut ! )

We’re going to allow each person to choose two plot slots for two characters max .If there are any leftovers, we’ll let members know when they can sign up for thirds.

You’ll notice that some of these plots are public, so feel free to have your character react to them/ notice them even if they aren’t happening directly to your character. However, if something feels like it happened privately to another character, please check in with their Mun to see if it’s okay for your character to know.

To be clear: these are not the only things that happen to your character during this plot drop and you are more than welcome to cook up your own trouble.

To sign up for a plot slot message the main! You can start doing that as soon as right now!

CHARACTER A, CHARACTER B, CHARACTER C, are approached by the venue to play as impersonators for the opening act of the show. However, it turns out…they are the show along with other noteworthy impersonators. 

CHARACTER D & CHARACTER E end up camped out at the ticket box office on the other side of the lawn seats. They want a refund for the musical event after their cards were erroneously charged the next day on ADAM & EVE. Much to their surprise they come face to face with CHARACTER F( Faust ).

AUTUMN DAWSON is shitfaced prior to arriving at the music festival. They try to crowd surf before the opening act, and would get immediately dropped if NATHAN BURR didn’t catch their fall. 

CHARACTER I & CHARACTER J purchased tickets to meet the bands backstage. They are led by the security detail of the event to two tents filled with a scent of gunpowder. Upon further inspection, they find a crate of fireworks. Do what you will.

CHARACTER K jumps on stage to hijack the mic and accidentally falls and breaks their ankle.

CHARACTER L & CHARACTER M are dosed with PCP by a stranger serving up “free” cocktails. Everything is a blur and they both snap back to reality an hour later, but they’re in the middle of an intense fist fight.

EFFIE FAUST & CHARACTER O engage in a mud wrestling contest that is being judged by no one whatsoever. 

CHARACTER P & CHARACTER Q make out in a port-o-potty, but realize shortly after they’re locked inside. It’s up to CHARACTER R to either let them out...or tip them over.

CHARACTER S is mistaken as Pat Benatar. ASLI DEMIR drunkenly convinces them to go on stage to sing LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

 CHARACTER U & CHARACTER V go hard on the alcoholic beverages & psychedelic treats  at the start of the festival, by the end of it neither of them know where their shoes or wallets are. 

CHARACTER W finds their soulmate in a drunken stupor and grinds on them for the better half of two hours, only to realize the grindee is ZHI ROU, who has been uncomfortably shifting away from them this entire time. 

CHARACTER Y breaks all of their glow sticks and covers themselves in the liquid. It’s all fun and games until that shit starts to burn. CHARACTER Z does their best to quench CHARACTER Y with every bottled water they can find.

 CHARACTER A1, CHARACTER B1, & CHARACTER C1 are hired security guards for the event. They have no clue who hired them to do it. 

INGRID VASILE  starts to overdose on COCAINE. LEV VASILE notices their struggle and assists them to the med tent. DOMINIC MURPHY is around the med tent and notices the commotion. 

 CHARACTER  F1 tries to charge their phone using the musical equipment & gets electrocuted. Also it starts to play the most recent song listened to on their phone which is SONG OF THEIR CHOICE. 

GRIFFIN DYER is held up at security when they try to enter the venue, because they tried to smuggle in a small animal. CHARACTER H1 isn’t really security and jacks the animal instead.

SERENITY MICHAELS starts to question their sanity when they see a small animal run in circles in front of them and jet off towards the direction of the port-o-potty. 

RACHEL BYRNE feels something small and furry scaling the back of their dress, and, assuming it’s someone’s hand, slaps DAHLIA CAVALLI in the mouth before the small animal scurries away and they have to apologize.

CHARACTER L1 chases the small animal and just when they are sure they’ve caught it, the animal bites them on the neck. CHARACTER M1, who is higher than a motherfucker and hallucinating, sees CHARACTER L1 cradling their neck and automatically assumes a vampiric transformation is happening. CHARACTER L1 has to survive the following attack from a stranger with a pocket knife.

CHARACTER N1 is on their fifth drink at the venue. They hear a loud slurping noise, only to find the small animal lapping their beer in hand. Out of surprise they scream which causes the animal to shit on their hand and run away. CHARACTER O1 looks on in amazement, wonder, and terror as CHARACTER N1 wipes their hand on an unknowing CHARACTER P1. CHARACTER O1 is conflicted if they should say anything but takes a Snapchat video of the whole scenario anyway. It goes viral on Tik Tok the following evening.

The small animal finally gets caught by SANTIAGO PEREZ in a battle that lasts 10 minutes. The small animal is then given to CHARACTER R1 whom they assume is the owner. 

CHARACTER S1 is lost to the world, and passes out directly in front of CHARACTER T1 that had just spent twenty minutes in line for a cup of water. The cup of water is spilled on top of CHARACTER S1.

NAOMI WASHINGTON & CHARACTER V1 become instant buddies when they chant to the sound of “SHOTS” around the crowd. IRINA KOSHKIN takes this literally and pulls out their gun ready to fire. 

CHARACTER X1, CHARACTER Y1, CHARACTER Z1 all show up to the venue wearing the same exact outfit. You have declared them your number 1 enemy for the entirety of the music festival. 

CHARACTER A2 is high as fuck and thinks they’re making a flower crown for CHARACTER B2…..except it’s a crown of shrooms instead. CHARACTER B2 wears the crown, but has to swat CHARACTER C2 away who keeps trying to eat them. 

CHARACTER D2, CHARACTER E2, CHARACTER F2 suffer from dehydration. They try to find help at the med tent, but they can’t find where it is. 

ROSA LEON gets handsy with the bartender at the open bar and leads them away for a quick fuck, allowing RYAN HAYES and CHARACTER I2 to raid the bar freely.

 CHARACTER J2 is the aforementioned bartender and realizes a moment too late their station is being cleared out. Instead of returning to their position, they throw on some neon bracelets and join the party.

 CHARACTER K2 is doing some sick backflips in the middle of the crowd and are called out by the currently performing act mid-set for drawing attention away from the stage. CHARACTER K2 does another backflip to retaliate, but accidentally kicks CHARACTER L2 in the face.

JESSE VALENCIA hijacks a ELECTRIC BLUE STRATOCASTER from the backstage, and they are not caught. 

DAVUT DEMIR feels like they’re being watched and finds a silhouette with a rifle narrowed in on them perched upon a nearby building. They quickly retreat to find OPHELIA O’SHEA and P2 and warn them about the occurrence, who realize there are multiple snipers surrounding the pavilion. 

CHARACTER Q2 swears they heard a sound of explosions over the music, being in front nearest to the stage. They grab the microphone and scream, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.” CHARACTER R2 & CHARACTER S2 start to openly panic. 

CHARACTER T2 (O’Shea) gets into a physical altercation with CHARACTER U2 (Vasile). They don’t stop until one or the other is knocked unconscious. 

ANDREA REED & BIRDIE MENDOZA try to leave the event, but notice that they’re trapped in the auditorium. CHARACTER X2 makes it to their vehicle, but is stuck in place by the surrounding vehicles around them. Unable to escape fully, they return back to the venue. 

CHARACTER Y2 hates their life at this music venue, because they’re stuck behind a rather sweaty individual. Their sweat keeps hitting them in the face, and at one point, they catch it in their mouth. It incites a ferocious bout of vomiting, and CHARACTER Z2 is trying to help, thinking they’ve been drugged, but CHARACTER Y2 can’t even explain what it is that made them sick.

 TATIANA BLANTER is hit with a spare bullet, but no one is able to find where the source is. As no one around seems to have their gun out. CHARACTER B3 conceals their weapon perfectly. 

 NOVA DEVERAUX suffers a panic attack due to the crowd gathered, and clings onto CLARA DAVILLA who is unable to get them to the med tent.

 CHARACTER E3 feels something warm splash on their face. They are unsure if it’s warm beer or urine. They’re pretty sure it’s warm beer, but remain conflicted the rest of the festival. CHARACTER F3 offers the shirt off their back for CHARACTER E3 to wipe the liquid off their face. 

 CHARACTER G3 is doing photography for the event, but realizes midway through the show that the performers aren’t who they say they are. They spot a face they know to be Faust affiliated in the crowd and scurry off toward the exit, only to be stopped by CHARACTER H3 (Faust) at the door.

MILES ST CLARE is the first to notice the lack of Fausts at the start of the music venue. They make their way to the police station in hopes of figuring it out, but instead they encounter burning police cars and chaos.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Out of the Box

Happy Pride Month!! There’s not always much trans content around, so here’s some nonbinary Alix to say to every nonbinary person in the fandom that you are awesome and loved! On AO3 as well here

-

Having a kwami now was different from what Alix had expected. No matter what was going on, where she was, Fluff was always just sort of… there. Watching, hidden, aware of everything and yet so silent. For someone who was used to being a lot more solitary, it did almost seem like some kind of constant surveillance.

She knew, of course, that over time she would come to trust the little kwami – she had seen how her older self had acted during the Timetagger attack. But that was years in the future! Until then, being able to open up to what was essentially a tiny magic stranger was going to be a slow task. She didn’t even have the fun of transforming very often, not when Bunnix’s powers were too strong to be used on the ordinary, day-to-day akuma attacks that didn’t even faze anyone anymore. No, she simply had to go about her life as normal, with the added caveat that an immortal god with unfathomable superpowers was watching her every move.

-

It was after a long, unsatisfying day that she got back to her room that evening, tearing her skates off and flopping down onto her bed with no mind to do anything at all.

Fluff popped out of her pocket, a worried look on that adorable little face of hers. “Is everything okay? You seem to be in a bad mood! Are you alright?”

Oh, where to even start. It was hard to explain all the little things piling up – losing that skate race today, her knee stinging from where she landed on it after a particularly nasty trip, knowing that she had too much homework to be getting on with and no desire to even start.

But to tell the truth, those were all normal constants in her life, and nothing to be too upset about. What was really getting her down, it was… hard to put into words.

Fluff flew over and gave her cheek a little prod. “Don’t tell me you’re ill! Do you need me to do anything? I could make some soup! I’ll get the thermometer! I could–”

“I’m not ill, don’t worry!” Alix said. As discontent as she was, she couldn’t help but smile – usually Fluff was the anxious, neurotic one, the one who needed cheering up and taking care of. It was sweet to know that the little kwami would happily do the same for Alix in return when she needed it.

“Well whatever you need, just let me know and I’ll happily do it!”

“Thanks. But there’s not really anything that can be done.”

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

Alix sighed. “It’s… nothing much. Just, um, a bunch of little things.”

“Like what?”

Like things that Alix didn’t say out loud to people, not knowing how, and being sure that no one could really understand! But Fluff looked so concerned, and if Alix was going to have a magic sidekick living in her pocket for the next several years at least, there were some things that wouldn’t be able to stay hidden forever. Not without a lot of stress involved, anyway.

“For starters,” Alix said, deciding to begin with something that was perfectly acceptable to complain about, “it’s that time of month.”

“Oh…” Fluff nodded, her twitchy eyes widening. “I remember my last holder complaining about that too…”

“It sucks and it hurts and there’s no point! And I’d go to the doctor and get that pill thing to stop it, but my dad won’t let me, and… and speaking of my dad, you heard what he was saying earlier…”

Fluff nodded again. Sitting in Alix’s pocket all day, there was no way she couldn’t have heard it – the usual Why can’t you be more ladylike? You’re not a little child anymore, you need to stop being so immature! Can’t you be more like your friends?

“I’m sorry,” Fluff said, giving her a gentle pat. “There is nothing wrong with being a tomboy, even into adulthood.”

Alix winced. “Yeah, but… I’m… it’s not exactly… that…”

It had been nice when she was a kid, knowing she could just act however she wanted, be whoever she wanted, and it would all get thrown under the word “tomboy” and she never needed to worry. But growing older, even that open word had started to feel too suffocating, like she was supposed to fit some mould of “tomboy”, and at this point just hearing the word itself was like a sharp knife stabbing into her.

We want you to be ladylike. And if you’re not, you have to be a tomboy. It’s not ideal, but it’s obligatory.

What happened when even the word “tomboy” just didn’t feel right?

Fluff was watching her, more solemn than usual. “Alix? Is there something you need to talk about?”

Yes, oh dear god yes, but she wasn’t used to saying these things out loud. Not even Nathaniel knew everything about how she truly felt – heck, not even Jalil knew, and he’d been there from the start. Why should she tell some kwami who she’d only known for a month or so at most?

At that moment there was a message on her phone. She had a quick look, only to roll her eyes and toss it off the edge of the bed and out of her line of sight. Fluff jumped in surprise.

“What happened? What did the message say? Was it something bad?”

Alix shook her head at first, planning to play it off as something unimportant. But this day had just been too much – she noticed with alarm that the beginnings of tears were stinging her eyes. Oh boy. She was not going to cry in front of this kwami, thanks.

“It was Marinette,” she said, blinking the tears away and trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. “She wanted to know if I wanted to join the girl squad to go watch a movie today.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Nah. Too tired.”

Fluff was frowning, watching her, seemingly able to see right through that flimsy excuse. Did this kwami really know her so well already? Or was it a side-effect of being an ancient god? In any case, a pang of guilt hit Alix. Fluff was trying so hard to help, to be there for her and make her feel better, and she wasn’t exactly making it easy when she couldn’t even directly say what the problem was.

But it was just so hard…

She took a deep breath, reminding herself how the future-Alix had been so close with Fluff, so at ease, and that must mean that everything would turn out okay in the end. Her kwami would not abandon her for anything.

“Some days I just… don’t feel like hanging out with them,” she started, trying to find the right words. “They’re wonderful and I’m so glad they’re my friends. But… I can’t… I just don’t fit in sometimes. Because…”

Fluff’s expression hadn’t changed. For the first time it really, truly hit Alix – this wasn’t a tiny human she was talking to. This was some complete unknown creature that couldn’t be compared to any other on earth.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Fluff would be able to understand better, in fact, why some things about humanity seemed so very arbitrary, so weirdly stifling and alien and no other humans she knew could figure out why it felt so wrong.

She watched Fluff very carefully as she asked, “Fluff, are you a girl?”

Fluff stayed in silent thought for a few seconds before answering.

“Kwamis do not have a gender or a physical sex. We are simply beings of pure energy that cannot be defined by human forms. However, throughout much of history, many of our human holders have given us categories that they feel best suit us, as their way of fitting creatures like us into their understanding of the world. We accept these gender labels as a way to participate in human culture. I have most often been given the “female” category, as per human customs, but it doesn’t have any bearing on me, personally.”

Just hearing those words, it was enough to set Alix’s mind slightly at ease. Kwamis didn’t necessarily fit into the rigid human gender concept.

And… and maybe some humans didn’t quite fit it either.

“The truth is,” Alix said, “I asked because… um… can I tell you something? Something I don’t really talk to anyone about?”

“Of course, of course! Anything at all!”

“Well you see, I know people call me a tomboy, and I know the girl squad invite me out with them a lot because they consider me a part of the squad too, and I do sometimes feel like it, but…”

The tears were coming back, and she hastily wiped them away.

“…I just feel sometimes like I’m not really… meant to be a girl. Like I just look like this and something went kinda wrong along the way and I’m meant to be… I don’t even know, just something else! And some days I don’t mind it so much but other days I just can’t, and I feel like such an imposter! I can’t even hang out with my friends those days because they think I’m one of them and I’m just – I’m just not!”

She knew she was usually a confident sort of person, but this was so nerve-wracking she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. And yet in a way she needed to get this all out – now that she’d started, she had to take this opportunity to say everything on her mind before she clammed up again forever.

“I don’t really know how to explain it to people, I guess, because they’d think if I’m not a girl then I have to be a boy and I don’t want that either! Nothing feels right, and I just cope with it most of the time but I wish I didn’t have to, some days it just all gets too much, like today… I mean, some days it’s not that bad, but I still don’t think I ever really truly fit in as a girl, because…”

Because I’m not a girl.

The thought was so comforting, yet at the same time so terrifying. Impossible to say aloud.

She wasn’t a girl. Even from a young age she’d picked up that something was wrong, something didn’t quite click in the way it was supposed to. But she just dealt with it and went about her life because that was what she was supposed to do.

And yet as she got older, as the boxes of acceptability got narrower and narrower, she found herself further and further outside them. She couldn’t just go on being forced into a space where she simply wouldn’t fit.

Having seen Bunnix, her own future self, she had very quickly noticed that haircut. Evillustrator-style, right? Just how she would want it, and simply didn’t have the means to get now. The perfect kind of hairstyle where no matter how she was feeling that day, it would fit whatever label she wanted the world to see her as.

If she wanted to hang out with the girl squad that day? It could be a bob. If she wanted to simply chill out with Nath at the museum? She could ruffle it up and look exactly as androgynous, masculine, feminine, whatever as she wanted to be.

It had given her hope. So much hope. That in the future, she could simply be, and not need to feel like an imposter, wearing a costume and pretending to be a girl, or a tomboy, or anything else people expected of her.

“I find it hard to know what exactly I am,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes again and hoping the waterworks wouldn’t start. “It fluctuates sometimes. But I never truly feel like I make sense as a girl or a boy. And uh… while I’m confessing things, I may as well mention…”

She fiddled with the newly bought rings on her fingers – a white one on the middle left, and a black one on the middle right.

“I’m not really like… into boys either, or girls, and it makes it hard to like… anchor myself to a gender or whatever, because everyone else seems to at least be able to figure it out by knowing how they’d see themselves in a relationship, like how Marc did. But I just find all that stuff kind of a bit gross, so like… that doesn’t help me, and no one seems to understand that either…”

Fluff had been very quiet up until this point, paying close attention without interruption. But Alix had run out of things to say, and in any case her voice was beginning to tremble and she couldn’t have that, so she gave the little bunny a shaky smile.

“So yeah… I’m n-not a girl or a boy really. I’m… uh, I’ve seen the word ‘nonbinary’ around, and I kinda l-like it, so…”

A tear ran down her cheek – yep, time to shut up for real now. She sniffed and wiped it away. Who knew coming out could take such a toll? An overwhelming mix of terror and relief, she was glad she’d done it but wow, this was all a bit much.

For a few seconds Fluff waited. But once it was clear Alix was not going to say anything else, she hopped up into the air, whizzed over at top speed and launched herself at Alix in what was apparently the kwami equivalent of a hug.

“Oh Alix, that all makes perfect sense!” she gushed. “I understand completely – there’s so much ambiguity and nuance in the universe, of course there are always going to be people like you! I never knew the word ‘nonbinary’ until today; I learned something new. Thank you for confiding in me!”

Alix gave Fluff’s head a pat. “Thank you for l-listening…”

“It’s okay to cry, I know you have strong emotions, and from what I’ve seen humans tend to take gender too seriously, so no wonder it’s hurting you and you didn’t tell anyone, but you deserve to be happy being who you are and I’ll always be there for you and… and I’m rambling again now I’m sorry! I’m just very proud of you!”

Oh, thank goodness. Bless this kwami. She understood, and she knew now, so there was nothing to keep hidden. For the first time, Alix truly did feel like she could be herself – her complete self, with not a single thing hidden whatsoever. She could see now, how in the future, her older self and Fluff had such a strong bond. It was the trust and support that this little kwami gave her.

Nonbinary… yeah. A word that finally did fit.

For a while Alix didn’t say anything more, just listening to Fluff continuing to gush and letting the tears subside somewhat. She vaguely remembered Bunnix’s outfit: the blue, the white, her own pink hair. She had always wondered if she counted as “trans enough” to even call herself such, or to ever dress in the colours of such a pretty flag, but finally she was beginning not to doubt it. Perhaps Bunnix was out in the future, already having told everyone that she was nonbinary, or perhaps she didn’t say anything, but every closet trans kid in Paris would look at her suit and wonder: Is she dressed in those colours for a reason?

One thing was for sure, though. It was getting far too stifling to keep this under wraps for much longer.

Having stopped crying by now, she put a determined smile back on her face. “Hey Fluff?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow I’m gonna tell Nath.”

Fluff’s face lit up. “Ooh, that’s wonderful! I’m sure he’ll be fully supportive!”

Well of course he would be, he was dating a genderfluid demiboy, wasn’t he? But that wasn’t all. Alix clenched a fist. “And then I’m gonna tell the girl squad.”

“Yes, yes, go for it! If they know, then you won’t feel so out of place when spending time with them, right?”

“Right! And I bet they won’t mind, they were all fine with Marc…”

Plenty of kids at their school weren’t straight, it was common knowledge. Ladybug and Chat Noir had done so much supportive work during pride month that luckily these kids all felt safe coming out to their friends. But usually it was gay, bi, ace… As far as she knew, Marc was the first person anyone knew who wasn’t cis.

In that case, Alix could be the second.

She pulled a little carrot out of the bag in her pocket and held it up at Fluff. “Hey, I really can’t thank you enough for being so nice about everything, so uh, have a carrot I guess.”

Fluff gladly took the carrot and began munching away, speaking with a mouth full. “Anytime! You truly are one of the most unique miraculous holders I’ve ever had! I hope you’re feeling better now?”

Alix nodded. “Much better.”

“Good! I’m so glad!”

“In fact…”

She recollected how her father was getting stricter as she got older, and how every time she needed to vent about anything, she’d go barge into Jalil’s room and tell him, and he never minded one bit.

“…first things first, I’m gonna go see Jalil. He gets to know first. That way I can complain to him whenever dad’s being annoying about the tomboy thing again.”

“Sibling solidarity – wonderful idea!”

“Cool. Wish me luck.”

She held her fist out for a fist bump, and misunderstanding it as always, Fluff gently bopped her head against it. Bless her, honestly, she was the sweetest, and the absolute best. With her support, nothing seemed so bad anymore. If Alix had managed to come out once, she could do it again, right?

She cracked her knuckles and headed for the door. Time to go tell Jalil that his little sister was more of a general little sibling, and that she definitely needed help with her homework from him, and that afterwards she could go watch that movie with the girl squad after all.

Huh… maybe flower squad was a better name for it, remembering how Marinette and Alya had nicknamed them all during that stupid plan with the flower petals. Or perhaps a “no boys allowed” squad.

Because she wasn’t quite a girl, and wasn’t quite a boy. Nah – the most powerful superhero in Paris, the last resort when everyone else had failed, was nonbinary. If neither time nor space were obstacles to her, then neither was gender. And that was exactly how she liked it.

[tightropenuzlocke]

Chapter Five: Light Your Candle To My Raging Fire    

Aisling was back the next day with almost as much punch and panache as the day they met—almost because she didn’t have quite the same spring in her step, because she stopped to admire the mosaics that gave the the Jardin de Tuiles its name, because she looked wistfully after the wild Vivillon that held nothing for her the day before. But judging by the way Serena’s eyebrows loomed low on her forehead, didn’t notice these subtleties. Instead she was confounded and bemused by Aisling’s liveliness, and Xoana could practically see the remorse of last night evaporate like dew in the warm morning sun. Then any remaining sympathy vanished in a flash of red as Aisling sent out a queen Combee—apparently caught yesterday in the same gardens they were currently passing through.

The new catch wasn’t quite as rare as a shiny, but still warranted the explanation Serena demanded. Aisling offered only the predictable “I got lucky” with what might have been the slightest undertone of irony. Serena steamed but not her tongue. “So Finley,” Aisling called to her latest acquisition, “got any friends here you want to join your hive?” The Combee swiveled to attention, and her wings stopped beating for a second in shock as Bree repeated the question. Aisling laughed. “You’ll be evolving soon now that you’re with us. We can find you a mating partner if you’d rather lay your own, but I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind if you wanted a sorority hive. We won’t be back this way for a long time.” Finley was visibly flustered considering all of this, but eventually she just shook her head. “It might be a bit much for her to think about right now,” said Serena. She couldn’t well resist all this bug-type talk no matter how jealous she might be. “Queen Combee never form the bond with their parent hive. She might not understand until she evolves.” “Well, You’ve got some time to think about it,” Aisling told her pokemon. “Just keep it in mind, yeah?” Finley nodded and went back to visiting flowers as they drew ever closer to their destination. The heights were already looming above them and the distant hum of traffic carried on the breeze. Aisling underwent yet another transformation as they all passed through the shadow and stone of Illumis’s south gate. By the time Xoana’s eyes had adjusted, light had broken over her again, and a grin parted her lips, threatening to split her face wide open. There was glee and hunger in her eyes. She’d never been to the city before. “Welcome to Illumis!” Xoana hopped into Aisling’s view to frame the vista with fluttering hands. A chuckle! “Wowee!” Somehow it wasn’t even that corny coming from her. Maybe it was just the genuine radiance of her expression that made it so charming. This light played wonderfully on her freckled skin and the cloud of natural she had wrestled into a gold hair tie. It was even better than the Gym photo somehow—so much so that it took Xoana a moment to notice Aisling was staring right back at her. “Wait until you see the center!” said Tierney. “I’m gonna see it all!” Aisling declared, releasing Xoana from her hold. But they had to report to the lab first and withdrew their pokemon to take up less space in the city streets. Serena was impatient and always a little ahead as they threaded their way west, but stopped short of hurrying them since there was plenty of time. Aisling, meanwhile, lingered at the back, pausing now and again to take it all in, but never asked them to stop for anything. Her nose lifted as they passed a cafe and she saluted a passing Gogoat shuttle, who blinked at her in return. She almost bumped into Tracie when they stopped she was so distracted, but recovered smoothly. “This is a lab?” The disbelief was justifiable. Sycamore Labs was situated in one of the only remaining distinguished hôtel particulier that once lined Boulevard Méridionale. The Professor had inherited it from his aunt through an unbroken line of nobles older than the house itself—because money couldn’t buy a building like this, not anymore. “One of the original interiors is in the Musée des Arts Décoratifs.” “Now that I believe,” said Aisling. “What a façade! That cartouche above the door is positively emblematic of Kalosienne Renaissance classicism.” Xoana’s stomach did a little flip and she swallowed dryly. Was Aisling a secret architecture nerd, or had she looked that up because Xoana had mentioned being somewhat versed in the subject exactly once? Then Aisling winked at her—winked—and Xoana’s brain short circuited. She shouldn’t be allowed to do that! It was simply unconscionable! Before Xoana could properly address the legality of the situation, Aisling had bounded up to the door. The entrance hall had been carefully maintained and restored and still boasted the incredible style of its heyday complete with parquet flooring, a coffered ceiling, mixed sculptural and painted decoration, and caryatids on either side of a far more recent but nonetheless antique elevator on the far end. Xoana knew that one of the doors must lead to the only original parlor—the grander sister of the one she had seen herself—which had been kept as a venue for the lab’s small fundraisers. She sorely wished she had time to look for it. Xoana felt there must be at least two perfectly serviceable stairwells in a building this august, but they were waved into the elevator by the woman who had met them at the door. Strictly speaking there wasn’t space enough for five, but that didn’t stop the woman from sliding in after them and pressing Xoana right up against Aisling’s chest so that she had enough elbow room to work the lever. Xoana smiled apologetically up at Aisling’s exceedingly proximate face and glimpsed what may have been the beginnings of a blush coming to her cheeks before the elevator halted and they piled back out. Prof. Sycamore’s office was on the top floor in what was once a grand bedroom, and it still retained an oddly intimate vibe post-conversion. Tall windows overlooked the lawn and gardens below and warm, late-morning light flooded the room, starkly highlighting the man sitting behind a grand sycamore desk—the distinctive ray fleck was unmistakable. Xoana stifled a giggle. The professor rose languidly from his plush office chair. “You must be the new interns for the trainer magnet program. At last we meet!” He went down the line shaking each of their hands in turn. “Such a pleasure! Are you all getting along with your starters?” He nodded at their chorus of assent. “Wonderful! My report says you all earned your first badge already, is that correct?” “Yes, Professeur!” “Please, call me Sycamore.” He waited for at least one of them to amend themselves before continuing. “That’s excellent, just fantastic! This evaluation should be nothing for you then. What say we get on with it?” Aisling’s enthusiasm buoyed up the more nervous murmurs of agreement and Sycamore led them down a flight of stairs and out into the garden, chattering all the way. The lawn beyond the flowerbeds was bordered by roses and topiary. Ancient sycamores stood at each corner and there was a sizable fountain at the middle back where some young Froakie and Squirtle played. There were a good number of pokemon sprawled out in the sun, including a hulking metallic species Xoana didn’t know the name of. The burnished silver and gold was too bright for Xoana to focus on, but Aisling stared with wide eyes. “A shiny Metagross,” Tracie murmured. “Bessemer!” Sycamore called to it. “Would you clear a little space for us?” It couldn’t be his pokemon. Xoana would have heard about it. The Metagross rose, gave them a nod, and then floated under one of the trees. Xoana gasped as a Garchomp stepped out from the shade to make room. Serena had talked about it enough for Xoana to know who she was. She was Sycamore’s starter and a pioneer of mega evolution. Xoana had watched some of her exhibition matches as a child. She surveyed them all with cold yellow eyes, then growled so low it shook the ground. Several Bulbasaur, Squirtle and Charmander came running, gathering by Sycamore to await the call to battle. The Bulbasaurs were pale with dense markings and bright bulbs, the Squitles had pointed shells and strong jaws, and the Charmanders glowed with intense color and sported a row of dots down each side. Even Xoana could tell they were no run-of-the-mill variants. “Send out your teams,” Sycamore commanded. Froabble, Bree, and Félicité greeted Sycamore’s Garchomp and she nodded to them while the others looked up at her in awe. Xoana found both her legs embraced by furry bodies. One by Tessa, who was standing in front to protect her despite being terrified. The other was Emer, who could almost reach around now and peeked out curiously. “Each of you will battle a balanced trio and can use up to three pokemon of your own. I may be a little rusty, but don’t let your guard down.” Sycamore winked, but it was far less affecting than the one Aisling had given her earlier. “Who wants to go first?” Aisling was quicker on the draw. Serena pretended to be gracious. One of the Bulbasaurs trundled forward and wiggled in readiness. To the surprise of all, Aisling sent in the Combee she’d had on her team less than twenty-four hours. Finley kept her distance and dodged the Bulbasaur’s reaching vines as best she could until her Gusts wore him down. Next was a Charmander, lean and sharp-eyed. Aisling switched for Emer—the only sensible counter at her disposal. The Charmander surveyed Aisling and her team and gave a derisive snort that blew steam from her nostrils. Her claws flashed the moment the attack order was given and Emer squeaked in surprise at her ferocity. The Marill was forced to bounce, roll, and bide her time until the Charmander became frustrated enough to use Ember. A well-timed Water Gun doused it and left the Charmander spluttering long enough to get in a double Tail Whip across her face. The Charmander knocked her away with a lunge, but another sustained Water Gun blast brought her down. A blithe Squirtle stepped up to replace her and Bree cracked her knuckles. The turtle’s Withdraw and ridged shell gave the Chespin some trouble, but she shrugged off the Tackles with her woody plates, and once she got a firm grip, it was over. The Squirtle held out for a while, but the combination of nausea from being slung around and repeated violent meetings with the ground were eventually too much for him. Bree flexed like Aisling had shown her and evolved on the spot. The burst of light and wind jolted Xoana back to herself and even drew the attention of the Metagross from across the lawn. Sycamore smiled to himself while Serena tried not to look pissed. Xoana and the others offered their congratulations to cover for her. Meanwhile, the Quilladin marveled over her her new bulk, armor, and needles. “Nice battling, Bree! You look awesome!” Her ears perked at Aisling’s words of praise and she chittered back at a lower register. They performed their now signature fist bump and Aisling made a big show of how much the Quilladin’s hardened knuckles hurt. Bree gasped but it turned into a giggle as she realized the joke. Serena went next of course and Félicité dispatched her Bulbasaur in a single fiery blaze. Justine had disguised herself as a Marill right out of her ball to intimidate the Charmander. The trick let her get close enough to land two good hits without getting singed, and Sycamore was thoroughly surprised and appreciative when the jig was up. Serena was pleased, but Justine looked to Félicité for approval and received no reaction at all. She tried her best against the Squirtle, getting up once more than she should have so that Félicité wouldn’t have to face her weakness all to no avail. The Fennekin brushed past her fallen teammate and wore the Squirtle the rest of the way down with her superior agility. Xoana didn’t mean to go last, but Tierney was jittery with nerves by the time Serena was through. Valériane, Laoch, and Aiden made fairly short work of it, but by then Spark was getting very bored and Tracie had her battle before the Pikachu fell asleep. Bulbasaur was a rough start typing-wise but Tracie and Spark had long since solved that puzzle: paralyze, weaken, spam Quick Attack. Charmander went down faster and Squirtle only took one sustained shock before keeling over. “Ready, Mme Bellamy?” Xoana jolted back to herself and sent in Tessa. Once again she needed some prompting, but the Bulbasaur they were up against was quite obliging in that department and did a quick warm-up with his vines while Tessa sized him up. He was focused and confident when they got to it though, keeping Tessa at bay with his vines until she grabbed on and reeled him in. Even then he held his own, claws shredding turf down to the last inch. But Tessa hit hard and tenaciously once committed and he surrendered when she somehow hoisted him by the bulb after a thorough pummeling. Tessa eagerly tapped out when Froabble croaked his willingness to take over. “Thanks, Froabble,” Xoana whispered to him as he hopped forward. “Use Bubble!” “Ember!” For an instant, Xoana thought it would be over right then—after all, that was how Emer had beaten her Charmander—but while Bubble had superior concussive force when it landed, there wasn’t enough actual water to power through the flames. Instead the move burst into a thick cloud of steam that the Charmander came barreling through, claws raised and ready to Scratch. “B-Bubble!” Xoana stammered. “But get behind first!” Despite her stumbling, Froabble was quick on the uptake and dodged the scratch, zig-zagging until the Charmander unbalanced himself and stumbled long enough for Froabble to get behind. The bursting bubbles sent the Charmander spiraling and he shook his head in momentary disorientation. Froabble sucked in another breath and shot out an even denser cloud of bubbles as the Charmander scrambled back to his feet. He swiped furiously, popping a few on his claws, but he couldn’t stop others from bursting on his face, and he toppled once more. Froabble returned to position, ready to face the final pokemon, but Xoana didn’t like his chances against Squirtle’s high defences and sent Tessa back in. The Teddiursa was ready this time, but her claws bounced off the Squirtle’s carapace. Tackle did almost as little since he seemed happy enough to bounce around in his shell. Grappling it proved to difficult and when Tessa paused for breath, the Squirtle slapped her across the jaw with Tail Whip. He wet the ground beneath her and tackled her with his shell. She slipped and went down in a great groaning huff. Tessa was too tired from her first battle. Xoana had no choice but to overturn her doubts with the surety Froabble displayed as he leapt back in. Speed was everything now. It was all they had since the Squirtle could take a hit that would lay Froabble out and deal almost as good. She focused on every movement, trying to stay with him as he hopped, flipped and sprinted. The Squirtle’s shell was more hazard than target, so Xoana gambled for the legs. They were short, low, and difficult to hit, but Froabble enjoyed the challenge. Despite his frankly incredible agility, the proximity necessitated by this strategy earned him two consecutive Tail Whips. The telltale shimmer of his magic defense being ripped away set Xoana’s heart hammering in her chest, and it near skipped a beat when the Squirtle dove at him, but he slid smoothly underneath across the slick grass and landed a solid kick to his intended target. For a moment, Xoana thought they might win—the Squirtle was becoming unsteady on his feet—but it was not to be. A full body Tackle with that brutal shell knocked Froabble flat on his back. She heard the wind forcibly eject from his lungs with each consecutive impact as he skidded to a stop in front of her. But she also saw what the relieved Squirtle did not: Froabble dig a hand into the grass. And she couldn’t give up on him, not after the promise she’d never even voiced. “Froabble, use Lick!” His tongue shot out and wrapped the Squirtle’s head. The pokemon was too distressed by the lavender flames to rally and Froabble used his prone but anchored position to yank the Squirtle forward. “Pound!” Froabble released his hold, flipped, and kicked the stumbling Squirtle with both legs. The force sent the Squirtle right over Sycamore’s head. Everyone’s gaze followed the arc and came to rest on his spinning shell—all but Froabble, who regathered his legs into his customary squat. “You alright, Froabble?” He nodded. “Thanks for the boost. That was a good kick.” “That was an awesome kick!” She almost laughed and gathered him up in her lap to check his chest. “You all did very well!” Sycamore congratulated them. “I’m pleased and excited to keep working with all of you. Mme Quinn, you expressed an interest in the Mega Evolution program and that battle showed me exactly what I want to see in a prospective candidate. Therefore, I’m going to move you over right away, which means you can choose one of the pokemon specially bred for the program!” “Thank you, Sycamore!” said Aisling, voice a mix of excitement and triumph. “Not at all! It is I who am grateful!” The professor waved airily, but his lips twitched, and he continued with less ease. “Now, I was rather hoping you might consider taking the Charmander you battled. She’s a prodigy but may take… confidence to handle.” “She’s just the one I wanted.” “Excellent!” Sycamore’s relief was palpable and that was concerning, but Aisling grinned from ear to ear as she shook his hand. Xoana glanced at Serena, but she was too eaten up by jealousy to notice anything amiss. He jaw was taught and Xoana could almost hear her teeth grind. As for the Charmander, she looked between the professor and her new trainer in disbelief before appealing to Sycamore’s Garchomp. The huge pokemon’s lip peeled back, revealing her saw-like teeth and she growled low. The Charmander snorted steam and sulked over to Aisling’s side, ignoring Bree’s offered paw. She certainly seemed like a handful. “And Mme Pascal, you wanted to be in the mega evolution program as well, correct?” “Yes, Professeur.” “And so you shall be!” Thank the gods. “Choose any that you want.” Xoana wasn’t surprised when she picked a Squirtle. He reached up to shake his trainer’s hand and waved at his new teammates. “Mme Bellamy.” She looked up at the professor. “You did not express interest in the mega evolution program on your application, but I would love for you to participate.” Xoana gaped at him. “I think you’d make an excellent fit.” “I—b-but we barely won that battle!” “But you did win, when by all rights you should have lost.” Now that was a backhanded compliment if she ever heard— “Your Froakie was finished, but you gave him the energy needed to continue and execute one of the best critical hits I’ve seen in a long time. That demonstrates a remarkably strong connection for a trainer so green and impressive inner power.” Viola had something similar but— “He’s right,” Froabble croaked. She looked down into his eyes. “That’s why I thanked you.” “You… really think I can?” “Of course!” Sycamore answered her warmly, though she hadn’t meant to ask him. Froabble gave her a quick nod. “Alright then—I mean, thank you! It’s such an honour! I’m very excited to—I accept—” “Very good!” Sycamore interrupted before she could spew any more nonsense. “Select your new companion.” Xoana considered carefully, but it wasn’t a difficult choice. Bulbasaur were the cutest and the one she had battled seemed mellow enough to get along with. He shuffled over when she pointed and used a vine to greet her and his new teammates. “Mme Chastain, I notice you have no additional pokemon yet, which is understandable given the nature of your research, but I believe I have a solution for you. And Mme Fitzroy, I can’t tell you how delighted I was by your idea for a project! Very thoughtful and creative! One of my graduate students may have some interesting information to impart with regards to your chosen topic.” “What did I tell you?” Aisling asked softly while Sycamore’s attention was elsewhere. She tried to smirk but it fell apart when Xoana beamed back at her. “Congratulations, Marquise.” She offered her hand and pulled Xoana in for a shoulder bump. Something like a giggle escaped Xoana and she clasped Aisling’s arm for a moment to steady herself after. Serena was right there waiting and Xoana turned expecting a handshake and was swept up in a hug instead. “That was awesome, Xo. I’m so glad,” Serena said in her ear. Moments like this had become rare—Serena had never been the touchy-feely sort and they no longer had quite the same casual intimacy as a year ago. Xoana hadn’t even realized how empty she’d been until the embrace filled her to the brim. And Serena wasn’t tense in her hold, instead squeezing with genuine fondness. She held on tightly. Maybe she couldn’t have everything, but she could have this. ... Maybe there was something there. Xoana seemed the type to hug with her entire being, but the quiet gasp and clinging fingers said more. The tension between them might be more than that of longtime friends drifting apart. Perhaps something felt but not yet spoken. “Ah, there you are!” Aisling turned to see who Sycamore was greeting and found a young man in a nice linen suit walking out of the lab towards them. His hair was silver at the root fading into light blue and tied in a neat bun at the back, leaving a few loose curls to frame his face. “Bonjour!” He greeted them with a wave and brilliant smile. “Bes told me you had some new mega evo candidates.” Aisling couldn’t place his accent other than that it was foreign. “Yes indeed! This is one of the senior program members, Steven Stone. He researches the mega stones and keystones themselves and what properties allow them to unlock a pokemon’s true potential! He and his partner Bessemer recently achieved mega evolution!” So this was the guy with the shiny Metagross. Aisling offered her hand. Steven greeted each of them with warm interest and impeccable manners. Wherever he was from, his family had money. Aisling wondered about his age. To be working here, he must have his license at the very least, but four or five years older seemed too many. “Steven’s father owns a fossil revival facility, so he may be able to connect you with the proper resources, Mme Chastain.” “I’d be delighted,” he declared. “Always happy to help out a fellow fossil enthusiast!” Tracie could only nod and Spark bounded into her arms to press up against her chest. Steven patted his Metagross’s leg to give her space and they gave him an appreciative rumble in return before they all headed back inside for the tour. Science wasn’t Aisling’s aim and she let herself fall to the back by Steven while Tracie pressed forward to listen to Sycamore’s explanations as they entered each lab room in turn. “So where are you from?” Aisling asked. “Rustboro City, Hoenn.” That explained the accent. “Forgive me for saying anything rude or strange. I’m still learning the language.” “Oh, but you speak so well!” That made him laugh. “I know I butcher my vowels! But you are very kind, thank you.” “Don’t listen to the central Kalos folk! They tell us provincials we don’t speak the language right either.” They entered a new room and she let their conversation lull for a moment while Sycamore turned to them. This place was quite an interesting mix of old and new, art and science. The humming machinery was sleek and chrome with holographic touch screens while the walls were covered in ornate wallpaper and bordered by fanciful moldings. “How did you meet your partner?” Aisling asked when she was at liberty to. “My father acquired Bessemer for me when I was a child,” Steven answered quietly. “I have always been—” he paused, grasping for the right word, “a gigantic nerd of rocks and metal-type pokemon.” He held up his hand to show the titanium cuff and assorted rings that adorned it. He also had a single earring set with a rainbow stone. Aisling could hang with this guy. Their banter carried them through the rest of the tour. The current earring was ammolite, but he also had bismuth and opal ones he wore regularly. His hair had gone silver as a teen, and he had finally scraped together the confidence to stop dyeing it blue, resulting in the dual tone while he waited for it to grow out. He was twenty-two and had all ten badges in his home region. He was raised by his father like she had been raised by her mother. He returned her interest and took her playful jabs with good humor, further cementing her decision to befriend him. “I like to look good,” he said of his tailoring. “And that’s not a very suitable comment from someone sporting a jacket as interesting as yours. Why Lord Jirachi?” “Diádh is my patron,” she answered honestly, momentarily disarmed by the pun and teasing. Xoana looked back at the mention of the luck god. She had never asked about the design, but perhaps she was curious. Aisling left her with that one tidbit of information and steered the conversation away. When they arrived back in Sycamore’s office, a pair of scientists were waiting for them. The man was tall with a mop of golden curls, while the woman was quite short but looked as though she could and would snap the man clean in half over her knee. She slid off the desk and tossed her dark cascade of hair like she was reenacting a shampoo commercial. “This is Sina. She’s researching the energy released by mega evolution.” She lacked the definition and sculpting of a bodybuilder, and her exceptionally firm handshake suggested strength training as the source of her physique. “Dexio is looking into the enhanced bond between trainer and pokemon while the mega form is active.” Everyone here was a regulation hottie. Dexio was by far the least attractive of all the lab employees she’d seen, but he was still a twink adonis if one was into that sort of thing. And other than Steven and Sycamore himself, he was the only man. Aisling was beginning to suspect some bias in the hiring process. A knock came at the door and Steven opened it to let another man in. Forget Dexio, this asshole was towering. He would have had to duck through a standard door frame. His outfit was too fashionable not to be custom and must have therefore cost a fortune. Though to be fair, there couldn’t be many places that stocked his size. He also sported an elaborate and immaculate mane of red hair, as if he needed to strike a more imposing figure. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Arsène,” he said, though he obviously was. “Not at all Thierry!” Sycamore said warmly, weaving through them all to be closer. “But you’ll be pleased to hear the Mega Evolution program has three new trainers.” The giant looked them over and Aisling evaluated him right back. He stank of privilege—or maybe that was perfume. “May I introduce Thierry Lysandre, esteemed entrepreneur and philanthropist.” The looks on her friends faces showed that they knew who he was and were awed simply to be in his presence. The name seemed vaguely familiar to Aisling, but stirred none of the same emotions. But he was clearly very wealthy, close to Sycamore, and perhaps directly involved in the program, so she decided to behave. Sycamore introduced them all, and once the pleasantries were dispensed with, Lysandre launched into a speech so tiresome it almost made Aisling break her good behavior right them. They were “the future” and “had the power to change the world”. It was like being at her lycée graduation all over again. So of course she didn’t listen to much of what he said, just kept her mouth shut and nodded when it seemed appropriate. Steven shifted to obscure himself from Lysandre and looked very much as though he was tuning it out as well. Xoana’s smile had turned hollow. Sina and Dexio were either good at faking it or at least somewhat invested. Tracie and Tierney were getting bored. Serena, on the other hand, hung on every word and Sycamore displayed a frankly embarrassing level of adoration. He knew they weren’t alone, right? At last Dexio offered to take Lysandre to see whatever he was actually there for and they left, allowing the rest to talk about their projects and fill out the forms that needed doing. Aisling tried to talk to Steven while Serena all but interrogated Sycamore, but he was already engaged with Tracie and she let them be. Sina saw to the rest of them, switching back and forth from Tierney to Aisling and Xoana. Besides the timeline, there wasn’t a ton to absorb, so Aisling continued to watch the others out of the corner of her eye. Evidently Steven had divined that Tracie didn’t like eye contact and repositioned himself shoulder to shoulder facing her screen to take the pressure off. Luckily Sycamore was charmed by Serena’s intensity and gladly answered all her questions. Aisling had to admit she could be engaging, even if she was a stuck-up asshole. She noted Xoana ogling Sina’s impressive bod with amusement and Tierney coloring every time the scientist focused on her with mild surprise and satisfaction. She kept finding ways to obscure her face and could barely string a sentence together. It occurred to Aisling that Tierney might be sensitive about her appearance. She was quite heavyset and vitiligo was rare and stark against skin as dark as hers. Something to keep in mind going forward. “If that’s all taken care of, perhaps it’s time to—” “Arrange for your accommodations while you are in the city,” Sina finished for him. Sycamore gave an embarrassed half-chuckle. “Exactly so.” “Well,” Xoana began. “We were hoping to stay at the Hotel—” “That won’t be necessary.” Everyone looked at Tracie, which made her look down. “Everyone can stay at my house.” “Tracie, are you sure?” Tierney asked in a careful tone. “My parents are out of town, but they extended an invitation to you all and there is plenty of space.” A beat of silence followed. “Excellent! Well, if that’s settled you are free to go.” They delivered their various farewells and meandered out into the hall. Steven gave Tracie his number, which Aisling was tempted to ask for as well, and Sina gave hers to a blushing Tierney. After that, she took off while Steven remained in Sycamore’s office. “Aisling,” Serena said tentatively. Aisling ignored her. “My Queen?” she tried, though it pained her. “Yes?” “I was hoping you might agree to accompany me to the Café Soleil for some coffee and pastries? On me?” If Aisling didn’t know better it rather sounded as though Serena was asking her out. Too bad she didn’t care. “Naw, I’ve got an appointment. Y’all go on without me. I’ll catch up later. Just text me your address okay, Baronne?” Serena’s barely concealed rage was almost worth Xoana’s disappointment. She grabbed Serena’s arm and pulled her away before she could blow. Aisling waved. She leaned back against the wall by the door and pulled out her holocaster to look at a map. “A somewhat rude and invasive personal question, if I may?” Steven’s voice floated out of the crack in the door. “Of course!” Sycamore said warmly. “You know they’re my favorite.” “Have you slept with all of your friends?” So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Maybe she would ask Tracie for Steven’s number. Sycamore laughed. “Hoenn must be so uptight! Loosen up, mon ami. You are in Illumis, City of Love!” “I’m fairly certain Illumis is the City of Light,” Steven muttered. “Nonsense. Only tourists say that.” ... “Where the hell is she?” Serena asked for the third time that evening. “I thought you said it was a hair appointment. It’s been hours! What could possibly be taking so long?” “A lot of things!” Xoana didn’t mean to sound so huffy, but she wasn’t in the mood to address Serena’s ignorance politely. She didn’t have time to explain hair texture to her. She was too busy worrying if Aisling would notice, how they would all handle the subject if it came up, how Aisling would react. Tracie hadn’t said anything—Tierney was doing a good job of distracting her with video games—but Xoana had to think she was just a little nervous under there. Then again, they had the house to themselves, so maybe she was getting all worked up for nothing. The bell rang downstairs and they all poured out of Tracie’s room. Joffrey, the Chastain family’s Gothitelle had already answered the door and Aisling stood in the grand vestibule, hair transformed from barely contained cloud to a cascade of ropey strands pinned neatly back. Locks looked good on her—right even. But where the hell had she gone that they finished in just one sitting? Their eyes met across the double staircase and Aisling’s face took a moment to go from gaping but understandable awe to that too-big grin of hers. “I really cocked up the nicknames, Baronne. You’re clearly the Queen of this group.” Tracie shifted her hands behind her back so Aisling wouldn’t see her wring them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were filthy rich? Like damn! Look at this fucking house!” She was laughing now. Tierney chuckled too. “You should see the estate!” Xoana and Serena gave her reproachful looks, but she ignored them. “Of course you have an estate. No one could have this kind of house in the middle of the capital without having a country estate. It’s only natural!” Aisling laughed again. “This is awesome!” she declared, throwing up her arms, not the least bit caring that Joffrey was still standing there. “Ya gotta show me around your pad!” That shattered the tension and Tracie started down the stairs. Then the doors opened. There was no bell this time and Joffrey jumped to assist Tracie’s parents as they entered. They piled their coats into his arms which he ran to the closet before hefting their suitcases with psychokinesis and floating upstairs. Everyone remained frozen where they were as he passed. “Théo darling!” her mother called and all four of them winced. How was it the woman never noticed? “What on earth are you wearing? Did you girls dress him up again?” “We went shopping!” Xoana said with all the excitement she could muster, nearly jumping down the steps between them to be by Tracie’s side. “We haven’t been in the city in so long!” Tierney nodded vigorously to back her up. She already had a hand on Tracie’s shoulder. “Well, that’s what you get for having only female friends,” said Tracie’s father. “So sweet of you to always indulge them,” her mother added. “Oh, but you haven’t even introduced us to your new friend!” She turned to Aisling. “You’re in Prof. Sycamore’s program too, correct?” “Yes!” Aisling stepped up and offered her hand. “Aisling Quinn. Wonderful to meet you.” They both seemed pleased by her politeness and firm handshake. “I thought you were supposed to be in Flusselles until the end of the month?” Tracie ventured. “Yes, well, Antoine called because there’s some big issue with the supplier so your father had to come back to town to sort it out. We’ll just have to take the trip next week or whenever this blows over.” Silence again. “We had a long journey and I need to recover for a bit. You all have fun. We’ll see you at dinner!” They all stayed where they were while Tracie’s parents climbed the other side of the staircase to their wing of the house. Tracie turned back and Aisling waited at the foot of the stairs until Xoana beckoned her to come with. Aisling spoke to Tracie as they went down the hall. “Can I ask you something?” Fuck. Tracie nodded. “Do your parents know you’re a girl?” Oh… That was good. Tracie shook her head. “Do you want me to correct them?” Tracie shook her head again. “Okay.” There was a palpable sigh of relief from the group. “Can I still call you Baronne around them?” Tracie smiled just a little. “Yes.” Aisling let out a rather loud expletive as they entered Tracie’s room. She kicked off her boots and dove onto the king-sized four-poster, rolling back and forth before settling on her side with one knee crooked and her head propped up by her elbow. “Is this where we’re sleeping?” Then she had the gall to wiggle her eyebrows. “You’ll have Timothée’s room,” Tracie answered, going to her night table for the remote. Aisling’s exaggerated disappointment was cut short when the enormous screen descended from the ceiling so that Tracie and Tierney could continue their game. “Awesome! What are we playing?” “Super Pokken Ultimate.” “Nice! I’ve only ever played Royale.” Aisling sent out her team to hang with the rest of the pokemon while they got set up to play. Xoana and Serena sat up on the bed, and the other three sunk into bean bag chairs. Spark retrieved her extra small controller and arranged her own mini bean bag beside Tracie’s. Aisling was crap at Pokken. “I can’t believe I’m getting beaten by a Pikachu!” She cried after yet another sound defeat. Spark leaned around Tracie and chattered. “Is she shit-talking me?” Tracie didn’t answer but her face must have given it away. Aisling laughed. “You’re going down, rodent!” Spark then proceeded to utterly thrash her for the next few rounds. Aisling yelled and laughed and fought her hardest all to no avail. When she got KOed early for the fourth time in a row, she put down her controller and rocked out of her seat. “Fuck this noise. I’m gonna play some real Pokken!” Spark’s cheeks sparked. “Come here, Bree!” The Quilladin came over and Aisling tackled her. Bree was confused at first but caught on quick and giggled and snorted as she and Aisling rolled around on the floor trying to pin each other. The ruckus was too much to play over and they all turned to spectate. Aisling threw her jacket to Xoana as sweat began to bead across her brow and Xoana clutched it tightly despite herself. Aisling held out surprisingly well as the two alternated between competitive and silly. Spark cheered shamelessly for Bree and even Serena had to stifle a laugh. It was almost enough to forget about the dinner looming ahead. ... They reconvened in Tracie’s room after they were all clean and changed into their pajamas. Tracie’s parents had taken the nickname thing in stride. Her mother even found it cute. Sharing a meal with them was so much easier when Xoana and her friends could counter every instance of “Théo” with something she’d chosen, assure her that she was a girl even if her parents didn’t realize it. Xoana wished she’d thought of it a long time ago. The pokemon had been served their evening meal separately but were now allowed out to nap or play at their own choosing. Xoana had filled up the tub in Tracie’s bathroom and Froabble was in there now along with Serena’s new Squirtle. Sprout was getting along like he’d always been there. The only one who didn’t seem the least bit interested in socializing was Aisling’s Charmander. Once it was made clear to her there were no battles allowed in the house, she installed herself in the windowsill and sharpened her claws with her teeth. “Hey, Tracie, do you have DDR?” Aisling asked. “Yes.” “Tierney!” She jumped. “I challenge you to a dance off!” It took her a few moments, but she smiled. “You’re on!” They cleared the floor and rolled the bean bags to the other side of the room. Aisling might have expected mercy when Tierney selected a lower difficulty, but Xoana and the others knew that meant she was about to show off. At the higher difficulties there wasn’t any room for flourish. At a low rank one could dance and that was exactly what Tierney did. She was good in recitals but always best when she was freestyling her own thing—at least in Xoana’s opinion. All that mildness melted away as she hopped and spun and swung her hips. Aisling cheered and lycan-whistled even as she tried desperately to keep up. Xoana was surprised when she managed a halfway respectable score. “Best two out of three!” she yelled like she had a better chance than a Durant against a Heatmor. Usually Xoana was happy to watch, but something moved her and she hopped off the bed into the game. Aisling grinned and Valériane shuffled over as well now that it was no longer a one-on-one. They moved down so the Hawlucha could be next to her trainer and played on medium. Valériane got a few laughs flapping her wings, wagging her tail, and flaring her crest in her own version of dance moves. It goaded all of them to let loose a little more, which meant Xoana and Aisling sacrificed their scores to bop while Tierney continued to mercilessly flex on them. It wasn’t long before Aisling demanded hard mode and Xoana bowed out to make room for Serena. She was no dancer, but precision, tenacity and practice made her pretty good at DDR. Good enough to beat Aisling’s score anyway, which was all that mattered. That victory was enough to dispel the last of her irritation and ease that last bit of tension between them all. Tracie jumped into a round, as did Loach and Bree after Valériane explained it to them. The Riolu did well enough all things considered, but even the easiest setting was too much for Bree. She laughed along anyway and Aisling helped her through. Emer, Aiden, and Justine couldn’t play but bounced around in solidarity. The rounds flew by one after another and their limbs grew heavy while their minds became more and more awake. When the rest of them were finished, Tierney and Valériane did one last duel on expert. What the Hawlucha lacked in grace, she more than made up for in speed and rhythm and she came out on top to cheers and applause. By then it was late, but they were all far from sleep, so Tracie put on one of her favorite movies and they all sat on the bed to watch. Xoana barely noticed when Aisling lay her head in her lap—that is until she reached out to braid the hair and found it wasn’t Serena’s. Suddenly the contact sent a violent tingle up her spine. But was it really all that different? Despite all Xoana’s fretting and the little power struggles, Aisling had slid near seamlessly into their midst. It was like she’d been there since the beginning. It was like it had always been but maybe just a little bit better because she brought something to the group that they lacked—filled a hole they didn’t even know was there. Aisling rolled to look up at Xoana and threw a cheeky grin at the blush that was no doubt suffusing her face. But this time it wasn’t overwhelming. It just felt good. Really, really good. “So, I know the plan was to stay here for a while, but should we really still be doing that?” It took Xoana a moment to realize Aisling was addressing the room and not just her. “Don’t get me wrong, this is great but…” Things had changed. “None of the other gyms are close,” said Tracie. “And none of us are going to be ready for our second badge soon,” Aisling gently insisted. “I don’t wanna make you stay with your parents that long.” The warm fluttering in Xoana's gut returned in force. “It doesn’t matter what order we go in,” Tierney assured, lifting her head from the pillow snuggled under her. “Let’s just pick a direction.” “How about west?” Aisling suggested, stretching luxuriantly. She settled even further into Xoana’s lap and rested her legs across Tierney’s back. “We could hit the beach before summer’s over.” Now that was an idea. “We could do Relifac-le-Haut Gym next. That’s right on the water,” said Serena. Xoana would have to call Clément—he was expecting them—but she couldn’t say she was sorry to push that particular Gym battle down further down the line. In fact, she began to feel something heavy lift off her shoulders, that last bit of weight she hadn’t remembered she was carrying after everything else. “It’s settled then! We’ll leave in the morning!”