#and give an entire backstory on it to (i assume?) try to turn public opinion in favour of the strike

[localbabygirl]

reading The Americans post about that writers strike as a european is like ...... oh wow they really ARE that far behind on the whole workers rights front huh

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

What're your thoughts on everyone's MC names? Or maybe your ratings out of 10?

This is going to be a roasting session because I do not have high opinions of any of them.

Buster Bros - B.B., M. B., and L. B. These all get one bullet point because they are pretty much the same thing. Therefore their score will be cut into thirds for each Bro. Unfortunately, that score is not going to be high because the creativity level on this set of names is just about negative. A lot of the MC names are based on kanji readings or other things in Japanese that I’m sure I would find incredibly clever if I didn’t understand English. Unfortunately, I do, so characters named “First Son”, “Second Son”, and “Third Son” going by “Big Brother”, “Middle Brother”, and “Little Brother” utterly fail to impress me. Rating: 1 out of 10 (1/3 out of 10 for each)

Samatoki - Mr. Hardcore Oh, he’s trying. Samatoki feels like one of those people who tries so hard to prove how badass and tough he is while I’m loudly yelling from the sideline, “You’re doing great, sweetie! Tell your little friends we have Capri Suns and fruit snacks when you’re done with your playdate!” A perfect man child. Rating: Nemu’s secondhand embarrassment out of 10

Juuto - 45 Rabbit This one feels really impersonal. The 45 is from one of the Yokohama telephone area codes (afaik) and the rabbit is from the kanji for rabbit in his name. It doesn’t tell me anything about Juuto’s personality, though. I feel like MTC probably all had animal names once upon a time before they realized that “bush warbler” (Riou) and “horse” (Samatoki) aren’t exactly the most intimidating of titles. I mean... it’s okay. Could be worse. Rating: 4 out of 10

Riou - Crazy M This one confuses the hell out of me. Why, out of the entire cast, did they give the title “crazy” to the character who most strongly resembles a grandma? I also find it bizarre that they chose to honor the “M” from his middle name, but I think the writers at Hypmic are so titillated by the concept of middle names that they don’t know how to handle them responsibly. Rating: ??? out of 10

Ramuda - Easy R I really dislike this one for no good reason, but it does imply the existence of a “Hard R” which is very useful for making infantile jokes. Rating: 69 out of 10

Gentarou - Phantom This one isn’t bad. I think it’s a bit of an odd choice in English, but I completely understand where it comes from in Japanese. I’m assuming they wanted the word 幻影 which means an illusion or a vision. It fits with his whole theme and Fling Posse’s theme as a whole, so I’ll give it to them. Rating: 8 out of 10

Dice - Dead or Alive Outside of an 80′s British pop band, I have no idea what this name is supposed to make me think of. Perhaps it’s foreshadowing for the dark turn the FP storyline takes later on...? This is another odd one. I’d like to imagine that Dice and Riou came up with their MC names together while absolutely hammered, and when their teammates went, “Really?” they were at that point too hungover to think of anything better. Rating: ??? out of 10

Jakurai - illDoc When I was first doing the job interview for my current job a few years back, I had to listen as my now-boss, a white, old, upper-middle class, absolutely disillusioned about everything old codger, called himself “the OG” to my face. “It means Old Guy,” he told me. I smiled and nodded, because I wanted money, and in the meantime I wondered who the fuck called him an “original gangster” and then never properly explained what it meant. This is the exact same way I feel about this name, but Jakurai doesn’t pay me, so I can say whatever the hell I want about his tenuous grasp of slang. Rating: God no out of 10

Hifumi - GIGOLO Appropriately for Hifumi, I am of two minds about this. On the one hand, I hate it. On the other hand, Hifumi’s name is written as “1 2 3″ in kanji, and “jigoro” is pronounced as “4 5 6″, so that is very clever. Rating: 7 out of 8

Doppo - DOPPO I hate this one so much. I seriously wonder if this is a leftover relic from very early planning sessions where Gentarou was a part of Matenrou or something. (I say this because “Doppo” would be fine for an author character, as many classical authors are referred to by their given names. But it makes no sense for an office worker.) I have no idea what the point of this is. He didn’t even try. I headcanon that Hifumi wrote it down on their DRB entry forms as “Doppo-chin”, Doppo saw it last minute, and barely had the time to change it or come up with anything better. Rating: 0 out of 10

Sasara - Tragic Comedy This is a nice little reference to Sasara’s backstory and his inner monologue. It’s cute, if a little ham-fisted. Rating: 7 out of 10

Roshou - Wisdom Ugggggh. This is the most math teacher thing I have ever heard. I can imagine no less than three of my coworkers trying to choose some variation of this name if we were tasked to give ourselves MC names. He lives on teacher Facebook. I just know it. Rating: C- out of 10

Rei - Mastermind I think this is too on-the-nose to be clever, but I do really like the in-universe implications of him very casually calling himself that in public. Just throwing out to the world that he can make Chuuouku do whatever he wants. That’s a power move, and I respect that. Rating: 9 out of 10

Kuukou - Evil Monk Like Gentarou’s, I can tell what they were going for, but they kind of missed the mark in English. Kuukou is sometimes called a “bad monk”, but I think that’s more because he’s bad at being a monk in some respects (like not swearing every five minutes). It’s appropriately stupid for him, though, and I love it. Rating: 10 out of 10

Juushi - 14th Moon Someone really likes the number 14, huh. Rating: 14 out of 100

Hitoya - Heaven & Hell This is literally his name. He stuck an “and” between his surname and his given name and called it a day. Are you kidding me? I know lawyers are too busy to waste a lot of time on shit, but come on. You did not even try. This is so lazy it doesn’t even deserve a rating.

[astarlightmonbebe]

the devil judge ep. 4: thoughts

i know i already wrote like five paragraphs of thoughts yesterday. well it turns out i had some more, though this post mostly focuses on what we learned in episode four, as well as other questions, and some analysis.

yohan and the fire.

the number one question we’re (the viewers) left with at the end of the episode is how much of the story yohan tells gaon is true. considering what we know, i would say most of it is, but likely there are some crucial parts are different. now, this isn’t only based on yohan’s cryptic, ‘i knew it, people like stories like this.’ 

here’s what we know about the fire, and about yohan:

1) in episode one, at the ending when yohan looks at gaon, he sees a fire, and remembers seeing his brother looking at him. he also remembers touching his brother’s face, with what looks like a teddy bear in his hand - which i’m pretty sure we see elijah holding in the episode four fire. since this is introduced first, in episode one, and is obviously a true flashback, i am assuming that this actually happened. however, in yohan’s events, we don’t actually see this scene. of course, it might just have been omitted between yohan crying and then him leaving the church, but it’s certainly interesting, especially because parts we see in flashback usually make an appearance when the full memory is revealed. also note that the scene of his brother looking at him happened after the fire was actually put out, in the blue lighting, when he should have already been dead - of course, it could have just been what yohan saw when he looked at gaon, or it could have actually happened. 

2) the firefighter. in episode two, i think, we see yohan looking at homeless people and checking their wrists. his motive is confirmed in episode four, when he finally finds the firefighter who stole isaac’s watch. however, the firefighter is terrified enough of yohan that he has a panic attack of sorts when he sees him and then flees, eventually accumulating in his suicide. now, this reaction seems out of proportion compared to what we saw in yohan’s flashback. yes, the firefighter is guilty of stealing from a dead person, but there’s really no reason for him to be that scared of yohan. he could have just given the watch back and run away, but he fled as if terrified for his life instead. this insinuates that the firefighter had a negative experience with yohan during the church fire. also i’m 99% sure that the watch yohan takes back is the same one he gave to gaon which is interesting for many reasons.

3) elijah herself seems to hate yohan. now, this could be because she hates him for leaving her parents there and rescuing her instead of trying to save them, but apparently she wants him dead, which is a little concerning, especially since they are uncle and niece and live together. her reaction is strange towards someone who supposedly saved her life, and it doesn’t just seem to be because she wishes she hadn’t survived, etc. 

4) yohan’s line at the end itself. this line clearly indicates that he told his story for the purpose of manipulating gaon. if the story itself is more sinister, it makes sense for him to share a version that would make gaon clearly empathize with him.

my conclusion based on all of this is that the events likely happened in the order, but that yohan’s position in all of this might have differed a bit, and not been as heroic as initially described. yohan genuinely hates the people in power, believes in the cruelty of the world, and has a reason to. however, he also benefits immensely from making the events more sympathetic towards him, which makes it hard for us, as viewers, to completely trust him. all i can say is that i hope he’s not lying entirely, because if he lied with the purpose of manipulating gaon and steering him away from the actual truth, by telling a story he knew would make gaon feel strongly about due to his own trauma and backstory, then that’s just a disaster in the making.   

gaon as isaac’s lookalike.

this episode clearly established the story of kang isaac, who gaon shares a remarkable similarity to. there’s a possibility that he is isaac’s son, but that feels like it wouldn’t fit. gaon looks like he’s in his mid to late twenties. yohan is probably somewhere in his thirties, but it’s hard to tell with men that look like that lol. there’s at least a ten year age gap between them in my opinion. elijah is probably in her mid teens, given it has been ten years since the fire and she was a young child then. still, the ages don’t exactly match up, and there’s no scenario for how that could have occured, so why does he look exactly like isaac? 

there’s also the fact that no one else has noted his resemblance to isaac. i can understand why the other rich people didn’t, but jung sunah spoke directly to gaon about isaac, but didn’t seem to note any similarity. now, it has been ten years since his death, and i think if people aren’t looking for similarity they won’t see it, especially since glasses change a person’s face, but the jarring similarity should have at least turned some heads.

yohan is seen to give gaon isaac’s watch. this is symbolic for many reasons. one of them, like yohan said, is because he’s syncing gaon to yohan’s time, another way of demonstrating how yohan is introducing gaon into his world, bringing an outsider in. but the fact that he gave gaon a watch that belonged to his dead brother who looks exactly like gaon says something else. almost as if gaon is transforming into isaac, or something weird like that. it was just weird, period, and yohan obviously made it a deliberate choice. 

gaon and yohan in general.

i already talked about them quite a bit, and a lot of other people have as well, but this episode really served. first there was the white vs. black, especially when introducing gaon to the corrupt world of the rich. the white coat initially protects gaon in a way, but he takes it off when meeting with the actual rich people, as if his kind morality is not allowed there, further demonstrated by yohan bodily throwing him out of his chair when he tried to speak up. although jinjoo also went with yohan to a social event, gaon is invited to the intimate gathering of the top tier organizations, given a seat at the table, with yohan basically wanting him to see things as they are at the moment, making him aware of what yohan himself knows.

there was also the scene in the car, when yohan jerks the wheel. i think this scene was super interesting because it clearly demonstrates how yohan is just. not really that sane. which isn’t exactly what i mean, but i don’t know how else to describe it, because yohan isn’t exactly mentally unstable, though he certainly seems to be. instead, the yohan of today is just a mirror of the yohan who the priest described as the devil. he thrives off chaos. yes, his actions as a child were inventive and clever, but it also demonstrates how yohan can and will exploit other people for no other reason than enjoyment. the live court gives him the opportunity to do this to the whole world. he has a flair for dramatics, he’s the gamemaster, carefully orchestrating everything and enjoying the results for his benefit. not only is he making himself popular, but he’s turning himself into a godlike idol, which is honestly blasphemous considering the fact that he’s a judge, but it makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that he’s been called the devil, the judge robes look like a priest’s robes instead, he has the symbol of the cross on his back (scar), etc...it all adds up, and the religious imagery is frankly insane. one wonders if he’ll end up a martyr, or cast into fiery pits. 

in cast interviews, or the clips that i’ve seen, gaon’s character has been referred to as an angel of sorts, a ray of hope. this is obviously in stark contrast to yohan, who is darkness, who is gray morality. gaon believes in the idea of justice taught in school, which i think makes sense when you consider the fact that his childhood was likely extremely unfair: living in poverty, parents killing themselves because of debt. he believes in lawful justice almost as if he has to, to have a chance to change things. he doesn’t understand what yohan is trying to make him understand: that lawful justice will never apply to the rich, that fairness doesn’t matter to million and billionaires, because they can change the law however they please the suit their benefits. it’s funny because that is what yohan is proving with the public, that the rich can be brought to justice. i’m really interested to see how their views will change when they get to know each other better and/or team up. there’s a lot of potential there (yes i’ve said this like five times. it’s all i think about right now.).

jung sunah.

i actually don’t have much more to say on that character, but as she’s revealed to be the actual head of the social responsibility foundation, we’re left wondering if mr. seo is just a figurehead, or if she just gained power by controlling him. idk if this makes sense - is she in charge charge of everything, or just in charge of mr. seo? i think next episode will more clearly demonstrate this.

the public, the ethics of live court shows, etc.

this episode was by far the most concerning one when it came to the live court show. whereas their first case was something that was clearly evil and neatly tied up, youngmin’s case was a brutal display of the power of the public and what it means when someone has the power to manipulate the public. youngmin definitely deserved to be punished. i think it’s actually super funny how his argument was that they didn’t have the right to judge him, when he did exactly that to everyone who suffered from his abuse. however, public flagellation seemed absurd. despite most people saying he deserved it, there was also the vibe that most people didn’t believe it would actually be shown. however, when it was, you could see that most of the public was deeply unsettled by this. yohan’s cult was also demonstrated in this scene, from the people cheering. 

was youngmin’s punishment justice? maybe, in a way. i don’t think there really was a punishment that would be right for him. flogging would scare him, but it also ignites his anger. in prison he might live a better life than most, but he would also be kept away from people he could hurt, which is kind of the purpose of prisons.

the flogging felt very dystopian, but i think it also showed the danger of the live court show perfectly. not only did it incite people and their bloodthirst at being offered a sort of justice, but it also showed how people feel when confronted with a decision they chose. over 95% of people chose for that punishment to be carried out, but few appeared to actually enjoy seeing it carried out. it’s a lot easier to click a button and feel as if you don’t matter in the large scheme of things than it is to see what happened as a result of you and many other people choosing to do something. it showed the power of the public, or more exactly, how yohan was able to manipulate the public into torturing cha kyunghee and ripping her family apart slowly. 

at the end of the day, i doubt few (of the viewers, at least, though i don’t really know) were actually satisfied or happy by youngmin’s punishment. it might have been satisfying to see his court breakdown, but when it comes down to it, it’s just more human suffering. 

it also begs the question of if yohan will ever be put on trial. could that even happen? it seems an almost inevitable conclusion to his trajectory right now - when you fight corruption with corruption, the only thing left when the corruption is gone is your corrupted self - but i think right now he’s also building the public as a way to protect himself, which has proved right so far. it’s interesting to wonder if the public will ever turn on him, and what will happen if public opinion shifts.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Alex ze Pirate “Mini Review” 1: About Male Abuse

Alex ze Pirate is in my opinion the WORST “comic” series Dobson has ever written up until this point (date for archives: June 2020). Sure, I agree with people that his “hot take” comics on Star Wars Fans, political issues and virtue signaling for the sake of making brownie points are worse overall cause they are uneducated propaganda that give insight in how much of a loathsome human being driven by spite he genuinely is, but Alex “offends” me as someone who enjoys fiction. It may not be the worst thing ever written, but it just does so many things wrong in terms of storywriting, storytelling, presentation and creating fictional characters, I can’t help but wonder what went wrong that Dobson even remotely thought this thing would be a “successful” comic series to establish him as a creator. Cause I can tell you, having read the likes of Don Rosa’s work on Disney, Hilda, Cleopatra in Space, Spirou, Asterix, One Piece (of which I will talk a lot in my next few posts) and many more, I can confirm by comparison that Dobson’s pirates as a published comic would have only one use on the public shelves: alternative for toilet paper during the COVID-19 epidemic

 Believe me, I would love to write an in depth analysis of everything wrong with Alex ze Pirate, from the lazy artwork up to even the publication history of this trainwrack. But doing so would take a lot of time and there is one individual part of this I think deserve at least extra attention. Something that in my opinion embodies quite well a lot of things I consider wrong with this comic. So before I am going over Alex in its entirety (and believe me, the day will come) let me just talk within the next few posts about one certain aspect and story of the comic, that genuinely got me to loath this comic to the core: Sam the Cabin Boy and “his” own individual story Dobson drew in three parts around 2010.  

For starters, lets talk who Sam is: Sam is one of the main characters in the comic and actually the first person who joined Alex and Peggy in the initial pages of Legends, the “original” form of Alex ze Pirate.

See, back in 2004, Dobson released Alex ze Pirate in form of a single comic volume called “Legends” which features Alex trying to recruit a crew. The thing is around 78 pages thick and based on what I saw pretty terribly paced. For comparison: When Luffy in One Piece got his crew together, he spend multiple volumes and at least three minor story arcs to get Zoro, Nami, Sanji and Usopp to join him. All while also giving us good insight into the kind of people his new crewmates were (especially Sanji’s and Nami’s backstory got to me), defeating the likes of Buggy and Captain Black, meeting Dracula Mihawk and defeating one of the biggest bastards Eichiro Oda ever created in form of Arlong. What is the story how Sam joins the crew? An orphanage organizes an auction and sells kids off. Which I assume was even illegal in pirate times, so kudos for already showing us how despicable the world of Alex ze Pirate is to begin with and how much it deserves to be nuked in some sort of alien invasion.

 Sam also doesn’t really get anything to do when he is introduced, just helping Alex escape on a small boat. Which is weird because he does not know her at all, she is just some stranger who bought him off and has no means to keep him in check, so why even bother following her and not let the mob get rid of Alex? 

Anyway, I wish I could tell more about Sam’s involvement in Legends, but I don’t have really more than some scans of it in the beginning and near the end. So I don’t know his involvement in the rest of the volume. I also can’t say how he plays out in volume two, because that does not exist at all. Cause for reasons I will never understand, Dobson just abandoned the idea of telling a “coherent” and ongoing story with Alex ze Pirate and instead went to his colored one page comics/strips with it, turning it into what some people called “Garfield with Pirates” (which I consider a genuine insult towards any newspaper comic out there, even something as Boondocks). And the first thing we see of Sam in “classic” Alex ze Pirate?

 The perverted dwarf of the crew showing of his shota underwear so that Alex and Sam stop bickering who is the cutest, leaving him embarrassed and humiliated.

 Which kinda sums up his role in the comic to a t. Cause this is what Sam is: He is the buttmonkey of the crew. And honestly, I would not have a total problem with Sam being a buttmonkey, if a) he wasn’t it all the time, b) he would actually do something to deserve any form of humiliation and c) if the other characters in this comic itself would not be some of the biggest assholes I have ever seen, who get away with abusing the poor lad.

 See, here is the problem: In a crew featuring a choleric homophobic soulless ginger

 A black rat person who wants to fuck the ginger even without her consent

 A furry abomination that has the same brain wavelengths as Chris Chan 

And a perverted dwarf who tries to impersonate Happosai from Ranma 1/2

 Sam is the only decent person in the entire crew. He works hard, he even questions the morality of his friends at times, he is honest, he is not perverted, almost good to the point of childish innocence and he has a very humble “goal” which is he wants to own his own piece of gold. Not even a big pile of treasure, just one single coin would be enough for him.

 So he is likeable and relatable. In fact, if anything goes by, he may have been one of the most popular ones in the comic. And yet he is the one who gets constantly abused by “fate” and his friends, because as Dobson would say it, he is supposed to be the buttmonkey. There is just one problem: People do not necessarily like buttmonkeys.

I can primarily speak only for myself here, but I hope what I have to say resonates with others too. See, I get it: A character who is the butt of a joke can be fun. Like Daffy in Duck Amuck. But there is a fine line where a character being humiliated for the sake of a joke is fun (and perhaps even deserved because of his own shortcomings or deeds/actions that make the humiliation sort of kharmic, like lets say Johnny Bravo) and a character being humiliated to the point it feels disproportional, unfunny and mean spirited if not outright sadistic, can be crossed. Take Meg Griffin from Family Guy for example whose only “purpose” for existing within the last 12+ years is to get shat on by her family and the writers. People have no idea for a plot with her, so what do they do? Have her father physically and emotionally abuse her, fart in her face for what is supposed to count as a joke and then add additional insult to it by acknowledging that they are only doing this, because they have no other idea for her and think abuse is fun. Let me just tell you from experience, it is not.

And that is essentially what Sam is: He is the Meg Griffin of Alex ze Pirate, used by his creator as the butt of very unfunny jokes, even if he does not deserve any of the things said or done to him. Want to see some examples?

 How about the description Dobson gives Sam within the introduction of one of his volumes, showing how little Dobson as the creator even cares for him.

Why is he called an unworthy “slob” if he is the only one who actually works? Shouldn’t a slob be someone like Dobson, who can’t even take care of himself anymore? Also the confirmation that he was kidnapped at the age of 16. And as we have no clarification how much time passed between Legends Vol. 1 and anything afterwards, that means that in a way Alex is a child abuser.

And now, here some examples by the rest of the cast. Like Uncle Peggy framing him for all sorts of his perverted actions and even trying to kill him for no apparent reason?

Alex trying to kill him with chicken pox…

…Destroying all his worldly posessions which is hilarious because he is a poor orphan…

…Essentially describing him as worthless because he was born with an Y-chromosome…

… doing the kind of thing Dobson claims women would never do to man, using their sex appeal to hurt them…

…forcing him to do some unnecessary and rather petty work for her in a physics defying manner (seriously, the way he holds the axe does not compute with how he swings it. Try it out yourself)

… stealing his food and just being a cruel sadistic cunt to him just because it is fun.

Which is “funny” in so far as that there are a few comics indicating she would jump his dick and ride it like a little pony if she could.

 By the way, Talus and Atea are not better. None of them calls Alex out on her bullshit on average, Atea uses Sam to trigger traps in one story arc…

And Talus, the closest to a “friend” he is supposed to have, once for no apparent reason made him dig through his litterbox

And don’t get me even started when the characters decide to gang up on Sam, to the point he gets sexually harassedor is called to be less worth as a human being than the dirt you find in your belly button

Fuck’s sake, even in fanart everyone gangs up on him, even the freaking big bad of the story everyone is supposed to hate or be afraid of

 Bottom line, Sam is an abuse victim played for laughs in this comics. And just to clarify, I do not think this was Dobson’s intention. But if the character is undeservingly the butt of jokes for the majority of over 120 strips, it turns nasty. The way Sam is treated, I just find disgusting and indictive of just how unlikable any other character in this comic is to the point I do not want to see this being turned into a proper “franchise”. And I assume others were disgusted by it too, cause Dobson eventually decided to make a story more or less addressing the treatment Sam receives, while also attempting to prove that deep down the assholes with starring roles in this trainwrack care for him. How did this play out? Well, I am going to talk about it, so likely not well. If you want to see the details, grab yourself some popcorn and take a toilet break before we tackle part 2 of this thing.

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

eight

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: a night out on the town

disclaimer: cursing, bars

Forever is composed of nows

Avery watched Harry decline the incoming call without a second thought. “We should get going.” He said, already making his way to the door. She quickly grabbed her keys and her coat before following him out of the flat. There was something impatient and troublesome about his presence as he waited for her to lock her front door.

“How are we getting there?”

“We drive.” He must be a damn good photographer if he could afford a car. As if he could read her mind, he soon spoke, “The car’s not mine, It's my uncles.”

The vehicle was small but cute. It seemed to fit him well. During the drive to the club, Harry was rather quiet and closed off. Later saying that his friends were already there, quickly assuming she still remembered them from his birthday

“So, you're a photographer, right? What do you photograph?”

“I like black and white photographs,” He said. He stopped to think about what he was going to say next before he continued. “When I got into photography I used to just take pictures of my friends without them noticing. Then I moved on to public transport, parties, concerts. All those places where you can catch a glimpse of people's souls. I quickly threw out all of my colored films and switched to black and white. There's something so much more vulnerable and secretive about it…”

“I like that.” She imagines Harry with a camera in his hand, spending his days in London looking for the mystery in every person who passed him.

He gave her a small smile, which did not reach all the way up to his eyes. “Me too. However, I can't make my money with that. It's not good enough to stand on its own, so I work for a modeling agency as a photographer. It's not bad, they pay good enough but it also shows me just how much I hate staged photographs. What about you then? What's your passion?”

She shrugged, moving her gaze to the front. “Writing, I guess.” The truth was, she had no idea. In her opinion, it was too hard for her to organize all of her thoughts inside of her head, let alone sit down to put them to paper. She wanted to be a writer. She did. It was one of the only things she really wanted, but she knew she didn't have the talent or skill set for it.

“So you want to be a journalist? Or a writer?” Harry asked. She struggled with finding an answer since nobody had ever shown that much real, genuine interest in her.

“Just a writer, I think… but journalism sounds nice too.” In reality, she'd like to tell him that she didn't know what to do. Tell him that she was lost. Completely and utterly lost. In her childhood, she was never given the chance to find her talents or develop specific abilities. She had never shown her work to anyone, only submitting a handful of short stories to magazines just to receive no reply in return.

“Can you tell me more about your photographs?’’

He grinned and told Avery more. He spoke with so much emotion that Avery found herself wondering if she had sounded the same when she talked about writing. Most likely not. I felt like he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to capture an image and turn it into the most wonderful masterpiece.

Soon after, the club came in sight. Harry parked the car at the side of the road, and as they were getting out, a sudden wave of exhaustion overcame her. Just thinking about meeting his friends, for real this time, made her mind so tired, “You ready?”

“Sure.”

Avery had never been much of a club person, always liking the warmer feeling a pub provided. She didn't like the loud music, the overwhelming smell of pure sweat, and just the overall pace of it all. She felt like everything went so much faster. Harry helped her take off her coat as they got inside. Despite her objections, he paid for both entries, emitting a small chuckle when she tried to argue with him.

The entire place was filled with people and the music was being managed by a DJ in the back of the room. Different colored lights flashed and moved through the crowd. Harry soon took her hand into his own, leading her through the crowd, and down a small flight of stairs to a much quieter area.

The brunette girl was the first person Avery spotted. “Emily, How are you? Why are you down here?” Harry greeted her with a hug, letting go of Avery's hand in the process. “Not bad, the DJ is kinda wack.”

“Well, look who's talking. The girl who said we HAD to come here.” A guy standing close by said, mimicking Emily.

“Shut up, George.” Harry greeted the others. Some of them she recognized from the party and some she didn't.

“This is Avery.” He introduced her and all of his friends' eyes stopped on her for a moment, looking her up and down, making her feel like a rat on a doctor’s table.

“Nice to see you again,” Emily said, the others nodded in her direction, but a second later all of their attention was back on Emily. She let out a dramatic sigh, “So, what are we going to do? Stay here, or go somewhere else?”

“I vote that we stay here.” A rather tall man, Harry had introduced as James, said. The brunette rolled her eyes, all of them making their way to the dance floor nonetheless, George making it his responsibility to get drinks for everybody.

It was hard for Avery to enjoy herself. She felt incredibly awkward while dancing, or trying to anyway. All the others had some type of rhythm in their blood, while she was desperately trying her best. Once “Low” by Flo Rida started to pour out of the speakers, she made a mad dash to the bathroom, staying there until the song was finished. Harry didn't drink, as he had to drive them both back afterward, so Avery did the same. Wanting to avoid all possible realms of embarrassment.

He gave her a small backstory of his mates. James has very rich parents, his dad paying his way through law school just so he can tell his colleagues that his son is a successful lawyer. James has a twin brother named Jasper, he ended up leaving home the first chance he got. George is a failed musician who has the entire second verse of Piano Man tattooed on his ass. Emily is into fashion, but she lost per passion for it after she got rejected from a school in Amsterdam. They all seemed to be on some kind of path. Every one of them working their way to the future, attempting to reach some sort of goal.

And Harry had taken photos of all of it. Documenting their entire lives as these individuals. He had taken photos of James passed out on the floor with numerous textbooks open around him, all just to live up to his father's standards. There were pictures of George playing the piano in many different pubs, several pints sitting atop the instrument while his friends listened to him play a tune. A few were taken of Emily hard at work, sat by her sewing machine, or window shopping at nearby second-hand dress shops. And when Jasper was around, there were a couple of him trying to learn how to juggle, the instructions given to him by a homeless man.

Their lives had been documented in a way so utterly beautiful. Photographs were taken in moments that seemed worth freezing. Moments that a curly-headed boy thought deserved to be remembered forever. Knowing all of this made Avery feel so unexplainably lonely, especially while being in their company.

“Did you have fun?” They had made it back to the car at 2 am. Harry took a quick look back, seeing all of his friends laughing, and stumbling while making their way back home.

“Yes, thank you for inviting me.”

“My pleasure. What are you going to do when you get home?” He backed out and drove onto the main road.

“Probably make a couple of cups of coffee.” She still hadn't made it out to the grocery to pick up more tea.

“You don't sleep often, huh?”

“What makes you think that?” The answer was obvious.

“You look tired a lot. Why don't you sleep?” Avery ignores his assumption. She wasn't offended, it was easy to assume without being incorrect.

“I don't like it,” She shrugged, feeling like a child. “I prefer to stay awake.” Avery could tell that he wanted to ask more questions. She would have been fine with this, but at this point, she was beyond exhausted and couldn't handle giving any more answers. “Can I ask you a question?’’

“Shoot.”

She waited a moment before continuing. Not for dramatic effect, just to figure out how she wanted to go about it. “What do you dream of?”

Harry's eyebrows pulled together, and he looked her way. “Uhm… I guess making a living off my-”

“No,” She quickly stopped him. “I mean… When you fall asleep at night. What do you dream of?”

“Oh… I don't know. I forget most of the time when I wake up, but last week I dreamed I had adopted a puppy and he ran away the second day I had him. I oddly enough didn't mind that he had run away. He ended up coming back on the third day. Quite random, but that was that… Why are you asking me this?”

Avery smiled at the description of his dream. So innocent and childlike. He didn't have to worry about what would appear before him when he fell asleep, and she was glad that he didn't have to. “No reason.”

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[thefloralpeach]

Bird Set Free- a Reddie Superpower AU

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier | Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers | Angst | Shitty childhoods | Sonia Kaspbrak’s A+ Parenting | Enemies to Friends to Lovers | Secret Identity | background benverly | background hanbrough | background stanpat

Words:7454 | Chapters:1/?Hits:0

Summary:

Richie Tozier grew up to be a hero. Eddie Kaspbrak grew up without anyone there to save him. What do you get when you cross an angry vigilante with a hero who’s just trying his best?

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335246/chapters/55900111

It started out as a conspiracy, and quickly turned into national controversy.

Nobody’s sure exactly who was the first case- abilities manifesting at a young age, anywhere between seven and seventeen. Videos surfaced of young kids doing extraordinary things, some of which people assumed was photoshop, but some of which occurred on live social media videos. The videos increased in frequency, the reports of strange happenings poured in every day, and eventually the government had to come out with a public statement.

Apparently, superpowers exist now.

It was the only thing anyone could talk about for a solid year. As a middle schooler, all you could do was wait to see if you were next.

The Losers often found themselves in conversation about what powers they hoped to have.

“I hope I get shapeshifting. I’d turn into the hottest motherfucker this world has ever seen and take over the world,” Richie would say.

Eddie never talked about it much, but he thought it might be nice to be immune to sickness. That way, maybe his mother would let him leave the house more… Or, maybe walking through walls would serve that purpose. He just wanted to be able to do what he wanted, and not be forced under her wing.

It was eighth grade when Eddie began to despise this hero stuff.

Instead of continuing his education with his friends, his mom decided to pull him out of school due to the fear that someone with powers would hurt him. She said that his ‘no good friends’ would end up accidentally hurting him, or some ignorant kid would get their power suddenly and Eddie would be a victim of it. Even when he reminded her that ability prevalence rates were pretty low, of course nothing could sway her.

So he said goodbye to seeing his friends in school, and hello to meeting up with them at every other possible moment; until his mother decided that was also too dangerous. So, he remained in his house like a prisoner.

His friends visited though, of course they did. Eddie had a window, and the Losers were pretty good at climbing. Besides, Eddie didn’t think anything could keep Richie from finding him and bothering him.

It’s a gross, rainy night when Richie makes a promise.

It starts with pebbles thrown at his window- Richie’s signature greeting. Eddie tries not to think about how cheesy and romantic it is, but the thought crosses his mind anyway.

He opens the window, and is promptly met with Richie shaking out his wet hair like a dog. Eddie makes a disgusted noise, which only draws laughter from the taller boy.

“You sure your ability isn’t being gross and annoying?” Eddie asks as Richie finishes climbing in, almost stumbling over his own feet. He clutches his hands to his chest, feigning hurt.

“I can not believe you would insinuate something so hurtful, Eddie my love!”

Of all the nicknames in Richie’s arsenal, that one is definitely the worst. Eddie can be annoyed by Eds or the ever-popular Spaghetti, but when he pulls out something so cliche that it could be in a romcom, Eddie’s heart always skips a beat. He hates it. And he also loves it.

Richie’s pulling stuff out from his backpack before he’s even sat on Eddie’s bed. It became a sort of tradition for Richie to bring Eddie some stuff that his mom wouldn’t let him have whenever he visited.

“What’s in the magic bag tonight?” Eddie asks, eyeing the bag of all-pink starbursts Richie already pulled out.

“Candy, of course,” Richie narrates, pulling out a bag of gummy worms and a jumbo snickers bar. “I also got you this cool magazine that talks about abilities and heroes, and this week’s newspaper.”

Richie would often bring Eddie stuff to read, stuff that clued him into what’s going on outside. Eddie’s mom allowed him a computer, but no internet, so Eddie relied on his friends for information about the world. It was a simple act that he cherished so much.

“Oh- I also made you this!” Richie announces, pulling out a CD from his bag. The cover is decorated with some crude doodles, and labelled ‘songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’. He tosses it to Eddie, who immediately bursts into laughter.

“A CD? Isn’t that a bit old school?”

Richie puts his arms up in defense. “Well, you don’t have internet or a damn phone, so what was I supposed to do? Send you a Youtube playlist?”

Eddie shrugs. “Alright, fair enough.” He ignores the way his heart quickens at the thought of Richie compiling a playlist for him. “So, what’s on it?”

“Ah, you need to play it to find out, my deah!” He responds, slipping into a hilariously poorly-accented Voice. Eddie shakes his head, covering his mouth in a weak attempt to muffle his laughter. “I have something else for you, too.”

Eddie calms himself then, and quirks an eyebrow up. “Do I wanna know?” He asks cautiously. Richie was known for following words like that with a wet willy or a pinch to his cheeks. But, the jokester only smiles in response.

“Yes, you do! How would you like to sneak out of here with me some night?” Richie offers, and Eddie’s eyes light up. “We can head over to the clubhouse-”

“God, you guys still have that?”

“Yes! We can go hang out there, and all the others will be there too! And we can get a pizza since we know you’ve been force fed, what, gluten-dairy-nut-free bullshit?”

Eddie laughs, so giddy and over the moon with excitement that he ignores his health concerns. Richie doesn’t think his allergies are real anyway, and Eddie isn’t so sure he disagrees. Regardless, how could he even think to be concerned about such trivial things when he has the chance to escape, to spend some time outside for the first time in months?

Of course, Eddie agrees to go. They make plans for the weekend, when Sonia would be at bingo night. Richie and the others would sneak around and help him out the window, and Eddie could sit on the back of one of their bikes on the way- since his own bike had been given away once he was put on house arrest. Eddie gives Richie a list of his favorite bands so Richie can make a playlist for the night, and together they plan a list of snacks to have. They pick out some choice movies as well, since Ben had said he could rent a projector from the library for the night.

Eddie’s never been so excited for something in his entire life.

Friday comes after what seems like forever, and his mom leaves for bingo, and Eddie waits excitedly in his room. He reads a comic book to pass the time until 5 o’clock comes.

And then 6 o’clock comes.

Then 7 o’clock.

Something probably happened… maybe they couldn’t get away from their parents in time, so they just had to push things back.

8 o’clock.

9 o’clock.

And then Eddie’s mother pulls into the driveway, and he’s pissed. He’s angry, he’s furious, he’s…

Crushed.

Saturday comes and goes, but nobody visits him.

Sunday is the same.

Eddie’s mother asks why he’s spending so much time in his room, and asks if he’s sick- he struggles to invent a lie that she’ll believe. So he tells her the truth- that he’s sad, that he misses his friends. Not that she does anything to help (“Oh honey, you’re so much safer without them anyway”), but she does leave him alone to brood.

This is the first week in months that he didn’t get a word from any of his friends. He’d never gone more than two days without Richie visiting him, but in the coming years, this would become the new normal.

For the next few years, the only company Eddie has is his mother. His overbearing, absolutely psychotic mother, who put helicopter moms to shame.

It’s a month after Eddie’s abandoned that he’s able to catch a newscast while his mom naps in the middle of the day. It’s the 4 o’clock news, the headline reading ‘Superhero Madness: New Ability Registration Mandate to Pass, Increasing Regulation on Enhanced Abilities.’

He’s reading comic books, stories about real superheroes. The media outlets he’d seen were all over calling this new phenomenon the “Age of Heroes” and shit that Eddie finds absolutely ridiculous. So a kid can learn things really quickly or make magnets stick to them- Spiderman is still cooler. Spiderman just wants to save people, he wants to save anyone who needs it, even those overlooked by other heroes. Spiderman doesn’t care about being big and flashy. He’s a real hero- not like these wannabes.

Regardless of his opinions, he tunes his attention to the news for a moment. It’s not often he actually gets to see what’s going on outside of his prison cell of a home.

“… Required not only to register their abilities, but to train at government-approved facilities. Officials say this mandate will assure that these enhanced individuals learn to manage their abilities, thus ensuring their safety and the safety of others. Opposition has arisen as well…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Government-approved facilities? Please. This is the least cool backstory he’s ever heard. Then he remembers, this isn’t a backstory. Because this isn’t some cool hero story. This is real life, and in real life, his friends left him, and no hero is coming to save him.

It’s two years later when he manifests a power of his own.

The newscasts he’d been able to watch intermittently had reported that abilities seem to appear between the ages of ten and sixteen, as if a part of puberty. It made enough sense, Eddie figured at the time. He assumed after his thirteenth and fourteenth years passed that he’d never manifest anything- but he’d been wrong.

It’s nothing special, of course. He’s watching something on TV, not even the news or anything special, just some reality show, when he notices a weird light. He looks around, thinking at first that a lamp was suddenly turned on, but he quickly realizes it’s emitting from the palms of his hands.

“Huh…” he mutters. Light hands. Some freaking power, huh?

They don’t appear to do anything besides glow every so often. He debates whether or not to tell his mother, but ultimately he decides to hide it. What good would telling her do, anyway? What did he expect, praise? Comfort? No, he knew he would get nothing less than an hour of rambling about how much she now had to worry about, how much it would drain his energy, how much they had to fear from a soft little glow.

So, he hides it.

As much as he hates his stupid glowy hands at first, it starts to become a rather welcome feature.

He no longer has to hide a flashlight in his room for when he wants to read in bed- his own hands suffice now! Well, when he can get them to turn on, which isn’t all the time. He starts to understand all the hype he’d been seeing on the news about controlling abilities- if this were something dangerous, Eddie would surely be in some deep shit.

Every now and then, Eddie gets the gaul to ask his mom about things that he knew he wasn’t supposed to- if he could go out with her when she grabbed something, if he could return to school now that abilities are more regulated, if he could just go for a bike ride like he used to. The answer is always no, of course.

The only time he’s allowed out of the house is for visits to the doctor, which have also become less often for some reason. Eddie wonders why his medications remain the same even though he’s being seen less.

Sometimes, his mom gets tired of his curiosity.

“Eddie, you know why you have to stay in here, you know it! I can’t risk losing you, Eddie-bear. Do you know how many people are being attacked every day by these new monsters?!”

“But mom-”

“I don’t let you watch the news because it’s so terrible, every day there’s more attacks and more people sick and dead , I just can’t bear it!”

Eddie wants to tell her that he sees the news when she doesn’t think he’s watching, that things are starting to stabilize, that crime rates haven’t actually gone up that much and that people aren’t actually being attacked- but of course she doesn’t let him get a word it. It’s part of her defense against Eddie trying to fight back.

“Mom, listen to me, please -”

“Do you want to do that to me? Eddie-bear, you know how hard it’s been after I-” she sniffles for effect, “After I lost your poor father. I can’t risk losing you too, honey, you know that-”

“Mom will you just listen to me?!” He raises his voice, earning a gasp from his mother. The look on her face is almost scandalized. He doesn’t realize why until he gestures in frustration with his hands, and he notices a familiar glow. “I just want-”

“EDDIE!”

She interrupts him, running over and fawning over him until his glow dims and eventually fades. He’s bombarded with questions about how this could have happened, how could she ever let him out now, how they had to make extra sure to be careful, blah blah blah. He promptly loses all hope of ever getting out of there.

She corrals him to the stairs and up to his room, her shrill voice running nonstop the entire time. Eddie tries to tune it out, but it’s hard- she’s persistent, and his hopes are crushed. He hears the lock on his door click as she leaves.

Eddie barely notices the glow of his hands as he punches his pillow. He spends ten, maybe twenty minutes just punching, screaming, doing what he can to get his frustration out. Once he slows down, giving his poor bedsheets a break, he realizes that the glow has spread to just above his elbows.

“Stupid fucking glowy hands…” he mutters, glaring at them as if that would get it to stop. Of course, it doesn’t.

With a sigh, Eddie drags himself over to his bookshelf, grabbing something that sounds mildly interesting so he could distract himself from his stupid emotions and his stupid situations and his stupid hands. As he glances over the other options, his eyes land on something he hadn’t looked at in years- Richie’s mix CD. ‘Songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’. The glow in his hands fades as Eddie traces over the shitty doodles on the cover, and a ghost of a smile settles on his face.

He’s still pissed off that everyone abandoned him. He’s confused, he’s frustrated, he’s angry and he’s hurt- but most of all, he’s nostalgic. More than anything, he misses his friends, and he just wants it all back. He likes to think that there’s a good reason that they left him, and that they’ll be reunited one day and everything will be happily ever after- but he also knows that’s just a lot of wishful thinking.

Eddie breaks his thoughts by popping the CD into the player on his radio, pressing ‘play’, and flopping on his bed.

He closes his eyes, smiling to himself as the first notes of the song drift into the room. The CD plays on repeat until Eddie falls asleep for the night.

-

-

The next day, Eddie is horrified when his mother hires someone to install bars on his bedroom window. It’s for your safety, Eddie, she insists. The government is getting involved now, I can’t let them take you away.

But he knows they wouldn’t take him away. He knows he isn’t that lucky.

And he has the sneaking suspicion that his mother would have installed the bars whether or not the government was a concern.

Eddie’s hands don’t glow as bright anymore after that, though he isn’t sure why. Maybe he hated that stupid power so much that it’s in the process of disappearing- he hopes that’s the case. If he can prove he’s normal, then maybe one day he can leave.

In the next year, Eddie catches many newscasts about ability regulation. He managed to convince his mom to let him watch the news a little bit, because current events was something he had to be versed on in order for his home school requirements. She wasn’t happy about it, but ultimately he gets to watch the news more regularly now.

It’s something Eddie never quite cared about, news. When he was twelve and thirteen, the news was the most boring thing he could ever think of watching. But now, it’s a connection to the world he no longer gets to be a part of.

The last he’d heard, a few months back, was how the government had started allowing those with trained abilities to register as heroes. Their official title was something boring, of course- The National Force of Enhanced Individuals or something dumb like that. But everyone calls them heroes. Crime rates had been steadily decreasing since they passed the bill creating the force, and maybe, just maybe Eddie gets his hopes up when he hears that.

He hasn’t asked his mom about going outside in a while, but during this newscast, he thinks maybe he has a chance…

“So, that’s great, huh?” Eddie ventures from his spot on the couch, looking expectantly at his mother.

She’s sitting in her recliner, as she does most of the time, her attention on some magazine rather than the television. In response, she hums in question, not even bothering to look up.

“The- the Force of Enhanced Individuals…” he gestures to the screen. “Seems they’re lowering the crime rate. That’s great, right?” He cautiously explains, wary of the fact that this conversation could go to hell at any second.

She raises an eyebrow, glancing at Eddie for only a mere second.

“I suppose so, yes. It’s about time these streets got safer. You never know what could happen out there.”

Eddie pauses for a moment.

“So… it seems like things are more regulated now. More than they were a few years ago, I mean…”

She puts her magazine down then, switching her focus over to Eddie. “Eddie-Bear, I know you’re not trying to ask me to leave again, right? Because you know we’ve talked about this. You know why you have to stay here.”

And, there goes his plan.

His eyes are pleading, and he tries his best to sound reasonable, to make a point.

“I don’t- I don’t want to go far, just… I want to be outside more than just doctors visits, Mom! It’s not healthy for me to stay in here-”

“Don’t use your health on me! I know everything about your health, Eddie, and I know that you’re much better off in here, safe. ”

“I just want to go- go to the store with you maybe, or the library, or hang out in the backyard- I mean look, Mom, crime rates are down more than they’ve ever been! Heroes are protecting people!”

“Stop asking, Eddie.”

Her voice is so calm, so sure that Eddie feels like he wants to explode. He clenches his fists, and again, that familiar glow is back.

“No! I shouldn’t even have to ask, Ma!”

“Don’t you start this with me-”

“Most kids my age are outside all the time! They go to school, they go out with their friends, they do things! I don’t even know where my friends are!” He yells back, ignoring her retorts.

“Your friends don’t come here anymore, and it’s better for you that way! They were terrible influences, you don’t need them, Eddie-”

“I’d like to know where they went, why they left! I’d like to have the chance to look for them at least! Christ, Mom, this is a prison!” He gesticulates wildly in front of himself, pleading with his hands without noticing that they’re exactly why he won’t win this fight.

“Eddie, do not raise your voice with me. You’re scaring me, honey!” Eddie knew this tone well. “Why don’t you go upstairs and calm-”

“I DON’T WANT TO CALM DOWN, MA!”

As he yells, he swiftly throws his hands down to his sides, and something happens.

He can’t put words to it, but he feels a sort of tingling heat in his hands, and the next second he hears a crash- no, two crashes, one on each side of him.

Everything is silent for a moment, even his mother. Her mouth hangs open, though no words come out, and she’s looking at Eddie with something between shock and horror on her face. She turns her attention to Eddie’s left, and instinctively, he does the same.

There’s a visible dent in the wall there, as if somebody strong had punched it. Almost cautiously, Eddie turns his head to the other side, and notices an equal dent in the cabinet. Each dent is equal height, and Eddie knows what happened.

He’s still processing it, and he doesn’t want to be right, but he knows.

“Eddie…”

Her voice is so low, Eddie barely processes it. His eyes glance between the dents, then to the floor.

“Yeah… I’ll go to my room.”

-

-

After that, his visits to the doctor decrease exponentially so, only once every few months. But he’s given more medication than he’s ever had before. Given his little ‘condition’, he’s not surprised. It’s probably messing with his system somehow, and the medicine is helping with symptoms he hasn’t even noticed yet.

He feels tired all the damn time, even though he goes to bed early and wakes up a little on the later side. When he’s not doing his work or watching something completely idiotic that his mom insists he must join her for, he’s either napping or staring into space. It’s annoying- maybe that’s one of the things that the medicine is helping. Or maybe he’s just fucking depressed, who knows.

He’s also confined to his room most of the time, and his mom locks the door when she goes out. After his outburst, he assumes she doesn’t trust him, and he can’t be too mad this time, he knows. She’s just trying to keep him safe, of course.

He doesn’t have much schooling left. He still gets to watch the news for current events, but only when supervised by his mom. And, it’s better than nothing. He does okay on the work he’s given, although he knows it’s all minimum-effort curricula.

He has video games to keep him occupied, and a fair amount of books. His mom gets him things sometimes while she’s out, which is nice of her.

He’s also been trying to control his abilities.

Maybe it’s stupid. All he has are glowy hands… but he knows they’re capable of something else if they were able to mess up the walls that day. And if he knows anything about superpowers from the comics he reads, he knows that it’s much better for everyone if he controls this thing before he accidentally learns more about it.

It takes a lot of work to learn how to make them glow on command. It takes a lot of focus, and a solid month before he actually does it for the first time when he wants to, instead of it just appearing.

Awesome- now he can use his own personal flashlight whenever he needs it. Whenever his mom says “lights out” at 10pm and he still isn’t tired, or when he drops something and doesn’t have a phone flashlight to help him find it.

And it’s cool, it’s a great feeling actually, to be able to have a little bit of control over this shit. But it’s not enough.

Eddie’s mom is out grocery shopping, so naturally he’s locked in his room. He dreams one day of being able to blast the door open somehow, but he’s far from that. He dented the walls a little bit exactly one time, so he’s not exactly the pinnacle of power here.

But… maybe someday he could be.

A stool sits by Eddie’s window as a perch. He sits down as he opens his window, thankful that the weather is warming up, and for a moment he forgets his goal here. The open window is the closest he gets to being outside anymore, and every time he smells the natural air, he finds himself longing for the days he used to spend out in it. He misses biking around town, he misses the barrens, he misses the clubhouse in the forest. But a window is better than nothing.

He physically shakes his head to refocus himself.

Outside his window are several trees- his targets. It’s almost surreal, realizing exactly what he’s about to do, but he knows it’s important.

“Focus…” He whispers to himself, nestling his arm between two of the metal bars that lined his window now. He rests it lightly on the windowsill, spreading his palms as if trying to use the force.

Except, this isn’t the force. He’s not drawing anything to him, he’s trying to push it away .

His hands glow, which is no longer anything special to him. He figures they’ll glow brighter as he focuses more, as he prepares for… well, whatever he’s capable of, but at the moment, he doesn’t notice anything.

Thoughts keep crawling into his mind- how much he wishes to go back outside, to see his friends again, to have friends again.

As his mind wanders, the glow spreads up his arms, gradually becoming lighter. But, he’s not focusing. He’s reminiscing, he’s yearning for what he once had, and what he could have if he wasn’t in this stupid fucking house.

Wait, no.

Eddie shuts his eyes tight, willing the thoughts from his mind.

“I said focus, dammit.”

When he opens his eyes, he stares at the tree in front of his window, aiming his hand at it. He takes a deep breath, thinks of nothing but the tree, and-

And nothing happens.

Clenching his fist for a moment, he takes another breath and decides to try again. Hand through the window, eyes on the tree, focus on power. Mind clear, hand glowing, energy flowing, and…

Still nothing.

Eddie tries this for a solid half an hour before he gives up, slumping over his stool and resting his head against the bars. Maybe that weird blast thing was just a fluke, and there was no way to control it. Or, maybe it’s based on like, what he eats, or what he does during the day. Maybe he has a lot more investigating to do before he can actually make his powers do anything besides give him glowy hands.

The world outside the window catches his attention again, and he spends some time just watching it. It’s a nice day out; he can hear kids playing down the street, birds chirping, he can see squirrels and chipmunks scampering around, and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. Four years ago, he’d have been all over a day like this- riding his bike, relaxing in the barrens or by the quarry with his friends…

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that his front door is locked from the outside, that his own bedroom door is locked to keep him in, and that he’s a prisoner in his own home. It’s not fair that the only thing he wants to do is get out, to run, but he can’t. He’d trigger his asthma anyway.

It’s not fucking fair that he can’t even escape out of a window because there are fucking bars on it, it’s not fucking fair that everyone he knew, everyone who was ever kind to him had just up and left him why would they do that? Why did they do that?

(Eddie’s hands glow brighter, but he doesn’t notice.)

Was he really so forgettable that his friends could move on so easily? Or was that his mom’s plan all along? Had she told them to fuck off one day, and they all just listened? The school district still has to check on him regularly to make sure his mother is following the law- had they really noticed nothing? Or had he just never been worth the second thought?

(His hands are shaking, still resting on the windowsill.)

Richie made him a damn mixtape, for christ’s sake! A mixtape! You don’t do that for people you don’t care about, you don’t do that and then abandon them, forget about them, leave them to their warden of a mother and a lifetime of no real fucking human interaction.

(There’s a faint vibration in Eddie’s palms.)

Eddie clenches his jaw, runs his hands through his hair before placing them back between the bars, and shuts his eyes.

Fuck heroes. Fuck superpowers. Fuck this whole organization, the one that spiked fear into everyone and feeds off of it. Eddie’s mom is scared, now Eddie has to suffer for it, and there’s nobody coming to save him. These people have the balls to call themselves heroes, but who the hell are they saving?

“Fuck…”

(His palms brighten.)

“FUCK!”

Eddie slams his hands down against the windowsill and feels it before he sees it. Energy. Pure energy. And it came right from his hands, he knows it did.

The glow of his hands dimmed to a dull shimmer, and there’s an obvious dent in the tree that had been perfect just a minute before.

Like last time, everything is still for a moment, oddly quiet. Eddie can only stare ahead of him at the injured trunk. He flicks his gaze to his hands, still tingling, still glowing.

So. That’s how his power is going to work, then.

-

-

After a few months of “good behavior”, Eddie’s mom stops locking him in his room when she goes out. It’s a start, he figures.

He “graduates” that spring, but there’s no ceremony, no speeches, no cap and gown. He gets a cupcake though, which is nice.

The news is still filled with stories about heroes, about thrilling stories of rescue, about new agencies funding research and training and about crime rates plummeting. It’s all good news in theory, but Eddie can’t help the pings of jealousy he feels for all the happy people he sees rescued.

Rescued.

Nobody’s come to rescue him. Nobody even looks for a situation like his- it’s not a flashy villain he needs to be rescued from. He’s in no mortal danger, not even any physical danger in all honesty. But does that make him any less miserable?

No.

And how many other kids are in similar situations? How many other people need saving, but are ignored for all this flashy hero and villain fantasy shit? Eddie thinks about these things a lot. But it’s not like he can do anything about it.

Something good, he guesses, is that he’s gotten better at damaging that poor tree outside his window. The trunk and some of the wider branches have visible scars, though they still aren’t much. Maybe he’s confined to small blasts or something, but it’s still kind of cool.

So his powers are tied to emotions? Good. He’s got a lot of those. And he thinks about them when he wants to channel his energy- that must be what his power is, technically. Energy.

It makes sense that he’s exhausted after he practices, in that case. He tries not to show it, though- he doesn’t want his mom to have any more reason to worry about him or keep him confined.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon in July when she runs to the store, and Eddie gets a few hours to himself for what he’s been calling target practice in his head. He doesn’t know what he plans to do with his tiny blasts of energy, but he figures it’s better to be able to have some sort of handle on them than to just have the ability to do it and no idea how.

Like always, he’s tired after he fires off a few blasts- both physically and emotionally. He thinks about those news stories, the smug faces of all those self-proclaimed heroes. He thinks about his situation, how he longs to leave, how he may as well be in an actual prison. It’s good stuff to keep in his mind when he wants to practice, but it’s hard to come down from, and it always just reminds him of how fucked his life is.

Sighing, Eddie pushes himself off his stool, taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head. A snack and a nap sound absolutely perfect right about now, so he decides to do just that.

He pads out of his room and downstairs, a little tempted to turn on the TV, but he was sure his mom would have some way of figuring out that he’d done it- she probably had cameras or something installed, or motion sensors, or a battery monitor on the remote. Something weird and over controlling, of course. It’s expected by now.

While Eddie rummages through the pantry, he understands why his mother had to go out. They were low on snacks of pretty much every kind, and he was gonna have to make something if he actually wanted food. Maybe pasta, that was an easy choice.

Spaghetti.

The voice of an old friend echoes in Eddie’s head, and he finds himself smiling softly before he closes the pantry door.

If he’s gonna make something, he may as well check to make sure they have cooking spray, and maybe some spices. Not that Eddie’s the best cook ever, since he’s not often allowed in the kitchen, but if he has to make something he’d rather it be edible and not something bland that sticks to the pot.

Okay, so he has no idea how to use spices besides like, salt and garlic, but he can still experiment.

Step one- learn where the spices are.

Eddie isn’t allowed to cook, really. Anything he’d done, he’d done while his mom was out. And it’s not like she’s the lord of good cooking, so Eddie’s also pretty amateur.

Finally, he opens a cabinet and finds some usable stuff next to the nonperishables. Garlic powder, some extra salt and pepper, oregano, basil, some extra baking soda and baking powder… and some old pill bottles? He takes the containers to inspect them, curious.

One of the bottles is labelled Phenobarbital, and the others Lorazepam.

That’s Nembutal and Ativan.

Sedatives.

His first thought is, obviously, that they’re just more medications lying around the house. It wouldn’t be surprising, since his mother seemed to always be going to another doctor, and she used to take him nearly once a week.

His second thought is that they had a set medicine cabinet, one that was organized by need. Why would she move them to a food cabinet instead?

And his third thought is one that scares him to death. Suddenly, he’s wondering if it’s not his powers that are making him feel drained.

Because, what had his mother ever needed sedatives for? Sure, one doubles as an anxiety medication, but there’s no way in hell Eddie is lucky enough for his mom to actually seek help for her paranoia.

Tentatively, Eddie opens one of the bottles, and he recognizes the pills as ones he’s given… often.

His breaths quicken, and he wants his inhaler but it’s upstairs- and is it even an inhaler? Or is there something else in there that his mom didn’t tell him about?

Suddenly the bottle is shaking in his hand, his fist clenched around it as the pills rattle around inside. And suddenly, it’s much brighter in the room than it was before. He feels a familiar vibration in the palm of his hands.

“Eddie-bear!”

He hadn’t even heard the door open. But he heard that voice. Her voice. That grating, shrill, helicopter voice. It only gets worse once she finds him in the kitchen, her footsteps quickening as she rushes over to him.

“Eddie-bear, what are you doing? What’s going on honey, put that down, you need to take your pills and go to your room-”

Eddie’s eyes are glued to the bottle.

Sedatives. Fucking sedatives .

He knew she didn’t trust him, but he didn’t think it would have come to this. He never thought she’d flat out lie to him like this.

His jaw is clenched, and he swallows down a lump in his throat as his mother keeps babbling.

“What the fuck is this, ma?”

She gasps as if scandalized. As if she has the right to be shocked, or to be upset at anything Eddie does after pulling this shit.

“Eddie- honey, you know that’s just your medicine. You’re sick -”

“These are sedatives, don’t lie to me.” He snaps his head up, glaring into his mother’s eyes. She takes a step back, looking at him like he’s some dangerous monster. And, hell, maybe he is.

“Eddie you- you needed them-” her tone is pleading, and it just pisses Eddie off more. “You- you needed something to help you, oh God-”

The fear is evident on her face, and the only thing Eddie feels is rage.

“Help me? You think that was helping me?” He drops the pill bottle then, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You-”

“Eddie, your eyes-”

“You drugged me!”

“God, have mercy-”

“YOU FUCKING DRUGGED ME!”

Eddie gestures in front of him, and watches with not-so-much horror as his mom stumbles backwards with an audible shriek.

There’s a moment where he wants to panic. But the anger takes over again, and he doesn’t care what happens to her. He doesn’t care what he did. He doesn’t care.

He needs to get away, he needs to go be alone. He takes off towards his room, but pauses as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in one of his kitchen’s glass cabinets.

His eyes… his eyes are glowing, just like his hands.

No pupils, no hazel iris, no whites. Just a glow, like a flashlight.

Before he has to listen to more shrieking, Eddie all but runs upstairs, slamming his door with more force than he thought he had in him. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he felt the house shake with the action.

He rushes to the window then, his body shaking with how fucking angry he is, and throws it open. Reaching both hands out in front of him, he aims, and it doesn’t take a second thought to fire a blast.

It’s easy when he thinks about everything, and when he feels like there’s so much… so much energy pent up inside him that he could burst.

The dent he makes in the tree is much more noticeable this time.

He grits his teeth, and fires another.

Fuck her. Fuck everybody.

A branch falls.

He fires another blast.

Fuck “heroes”. Fuck this society. Fuck this whole fucking world.

He hears his mom getting up from downstairs. And he’s not fucking sorry. Not one bit.

Eddie doesn’t speak to his mom after that.

He avoids going downstairs, and eventually she starts bringing meals up to him, pills in a neat little pile on the side.

They taunt him, the little white tablets. At first, he’s not sure which ones are the sedatives, and which ones he actually needs. But he’s not sure how much he cares anymore.

He stops taking all of them.

And, surprise surprise, nothing happens.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He takes the medication and hides it in a small box under his bed, covered by comics so his mom doesn’t find it if she ever decides to snoop around. And, after all this shit, he wouldn’t put it past her.

He’s 18 now. Most kids his age are going to college, going to work, moving out, doing something .

And Eddie? He’s making a plan.

He notices his mom trying to slip him more medication. And he’s wary of anything that she might be able to sneak a powder into.

He must be successful in avoiding her attempts to drug him, because he feels more alive, more energetic than he had at any time in the past two years.

The stool near his window becomes Eddie’s new best friend. Now that his energy is back, he’s better than ever at controlling his blasts.

He knows his emotions help it along, and he learns that the brighter the glow of his hands, the stronger the blast he can emit; and he learns that his blasts can be strong. It’s during a particularly intense storm that Eddie tests the waters a little more, and ends up knocking over one of the trees outside his window.

If he can knock over a tree, then surely he can knock out a wall, right?

He bides his time, but it takes everything in him to pretend like things are normal. He waits for winter to pass, paying moderate attention to the news when his mom goes out and storing up some essentials. Nothing too conspicuous- a jar of peanut butter here, a box of crackers there, and a few twenties from the stash in her room.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s gonna do or where he’ll end up, so he does his best to prepare for anything.

He keeps a bag under his bed, right next to the box of discarded pills. His mom hasn’t been too nosy about his room- why would she have any reason to be, since he rarely leaves it anyway. By February, the bag consists of a few comics, the supplies he’d stolen from the kitchen, and the money. By March, he adds more money, two changes of clothes, a bottle of water, and a blanket. He wants to be prepared in case he has to leave early.

By May, the weather has evened out, the days sunny and long.

Eddie barely interacts with his mom, and something tells him she doesn’t much mind. She’ll insist on an “I love you” every now and then, but Eddie obliges in order to keep her at bay. He’s learned to play the part of the perfect, quiet, sedated little boy.

It’s a Saturday late in the month when Eddie decides it’s time.

His mother is downstairs, watching some mind-numbingly stupid reality show. He does one last check on his bag, making sure he had everything. He’d been able to steal about $250 without his mother noticing, which he figured was enough to get him, well, somewhere . Everything else is in place- even his inhaler, for good measure.

He slips on his best sneakers, which didn’t have much wear in them, since he’d been outside maybe ten times in the past two or three years. His clothes are comfortable, with a hoodie tied around his waist and a watch around his wrist for good measure.

He takes a step back, standing in the middle of his room with his bag slung over his shoulder. Soon… soon he’d be out. Taking a deep breath, Eddie raises his hands to the same height as the window, and he focuses his energy-

Until something catches his eye.

Something he spent a lot of nights listening to. Something he wants so badly to hate, but he can’t. It gives him too much nostalgic joy.

‘Songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’

Eddie swallows a lump in his throat as he stands perfectly still, eyes glued to the little CD, sitting besides his portable player.

Part of him wants to leave it, to forget everything about this part of his life and start over, brand new. But, as much as he wants to forget everyone, to forget the Losers club, to forget Richie , he can’t. He can’t bring himself to do that.

With a huff, he grabs the CD, placing it safely in Richie’s stupid little case. He shoves them in his bag, then returns to the middle of the room, facing his window.

He can almost hear his mom’s voice in his ear, urging him to stop, telling him he’s too weak, that he won’t survive out there, that he should just stay safe here with her.

“Fuck you,” he responds to no one.

Again, Eddie raises his hands, angling them towards the window.

“This one’s for you, Ma.”

Boom.

[kali-tmblr]

Snowbirds of a Feather: Parallels in the Lives of Qrow and Winter

I didn't pay much attention to Qrow and Winter as a potential couple in their introductory scenes in "Brawl in the Family" because I was so blown away by the improvement in the writing that those scenes represented. Such economical exposition! Yes, the couple's relationship could be called "cute", but there wasn't any real "meat" to it at the time. It wasn't until a volume and a half later in "A Much Needed Talk" that it became clear that the two of them had lived parallel lives on opposite sides of the track.

Let's revisit those scenes from the start of Chapter 3. Not a lot has really happened yet. So far there's been students fighting in the Tournament, vaguely underhanded maneuvering from Cinder's crew, and a flashy, drunken stranger watching the fights unimpressed from a barroom TV. Then an equally flashy ship flies overhead, and Weiss runs off showing more joy than she's shown in the entire series to this date. The drunkard also notices the ship, and declares it a warning of a far bigger fight than anything going on at the Tournament.

Weiss introduces the audience (although not Ruby who is standing right beside her) to her flashy older sister, Atlas Special Agent Winter Schnee. It's a painfully awkward meeting. My first reaction to Winter was, "What a tin-plated asshole." A second later it became, "This is the most socially awkward character in an entire show full of socially awkward characters, and probably the shyest as well, hidden underneath a thick armor plating of formality."

In their meeting the Schnee sisters are each "code-switching" with each other between two different behavior models without seeming to find anything odd about it, and giving poor Ruby (and the audience) a case of whiplash, as well as a sense that things are seriously messed up in the Schnee family. Weiss vacillates between excited little girl and cold formality, with a side order of abusive to Ruby when Ruby is informal. Winter vacillates between cold, sneering, condescending, and abusive; and mere cold formality. In the case of both sisters it quickly becomes clear that cold, sneering, condescending, and abusive within a hierarchical structure is what they grew up with. Winter can sneer at and abuse Weiss, but Weiss can't do the same back at Winter. Instead, she abuses the lower-ranked (to the Schnee family) Ruby. More to the point, Weiss and Winter obviously expect nothing else from each other. It becomes clear that they do care about each other, but they don't know any other way to show it.

But while sneering condescension and abuse is clearly the default mode in Winter's mind for meeting with her little sister, it's not the mode she stays in. She overtly makes an effort, not once, not twice, but three separate times in one conversation to code-switch from abusive condescension into the merely cold, militaristic formality that she must have picked up at the Atlas Academy. It obviously doesn't come naturally to her in speaking with her sister, it's the abusive condescension that comes naturally, but darn it, she keeps trying!

It's heartbreaking.

This scene is just so elegant. It not only introduces Winter and shows us a ton of details about the Schnee family dynamics, but it also provides callbacks to Season 1. The audience is reminded of what Weiss was like when she arrived at Beacon and how much progress she has made in socializing. We're also given a hint as to maybe why Weiss chose Beacon over Atlas Academy if that's all the social skills her sister learned there. And we're also given the contrast between the cold formality of the Schnee sisters and the loving warmth of Ruby and Yang. At the end of the scene Winter and Weiss are headed for the dorm, where I am eagerly looking forward to Yang teaching Winter a lesson on the proper care and maintenance of baby sisters, especially baby sisters who also happen to be Yang's teammates, which may or may not involve fisticuffs.

I'm still waiting for that scene, because that's when the story takes a turn.

The drunkard lurches forward, easily decapitating two of the latest models of Atlesian Knights in spite of being unable to walk in a straight line, and begins hurling insults on the Atlas military directed at it's highest ranking member present, Winter. He calls her ship "gaudy", which while it is objectively true, is also ironic coming from the only man we've met who wears a cape. She calls him "Qrow", the name of Ruby and Yang's heretofore unseen uncle, and he calls her "Ice Queen", to the confusion of Weiss.

In this scene what Winter doesn't do is even more interesting than what she does do. She's being insulted by a falling down drunk, and she DOESN'T respond with the same sneering condescension she just used on her own dear sister, even though many people routinely use that tone with drunks. She maintains a now angry formality. He's handing her opportunities to sneer on a silver platter, and she's not taking them. This tells us that sneering condescension is a holdover from her childhood, not something she normally uses in her adult life.

More importantly she allows her own little sister to prance right up to this drunkard and confront him. She doesn't react at all when the drunkard puts his hands all over her sister's head and uses it for balance before gently pushing her sister to the side. This scene tells us one of two things. Either Winter doesn't care about her little sister's welfare, or she is convinced that even though obviously incapacitated by alcohol, with his motor functions, vision, and reason clearly impaired, the drunken man is in spite of this no threat to the young woman. That level of conviction speaks not only of lots of prior experience, but a high degree of trust in spite of their current animosity.

The insults continue with Qrow upset about Ironwood's humiliation of Ozpin before the Vale council at the end of Volume 2 , reminding the audience of that development. However much the two leaders have been downplaying their disagreement in their personal meetings, it obviously has their loyal bannermen up in arms.

(Some people have assumed that Qrow and Winter were former lovers, but I don't see anything here that really supports that premise. They're simply arguing over policy. Lovers would have a more thorough knowledge of each other's buttons.)

Winter holds her ground until Qrow starts threatening to blab state secrets in the public square, then she changes tactics. Unfortunately for her she attacks him instead of grabbing him by the arm and dragging him somewhere out of earshot. But it's fortunate for us, as we get the best 1v1 duel so far.

As good as it is, it's also clear Qrow is holding back. Judging from the Ursa we will see Winter summon in the next episode, so is she.

Qrow keeps one eye on the Beacon Tower, and when he sees Ironwood coming up behind Winter, he goads her into attacking an unarmed man in front of her superior. In this way he publicly humiliates Winter as Ironwood's proxy in a similar manner to how Ironwood has publicly humiliated Ozpin with the council. The action is childish and petty, but not personal, a drunken, juvenile payback.

Winter's opinion on the prank isn't known, but she is clearly furious.

Then the action switches to inside Beacon Tower, where it becomes clear that both combatants are intensely loyal to and highly valued by their respective Headmasters, although Qrow outranks Winter and has her thrown out. Then we move on to info dumps and plot developments galore.

The way these scenes fold so much information inside them is vastly improved over the first two Volumes. But as lovely as our snowbirds look together, there's no real reason to ship them - yet. That would wait until we began to get Qrow's backstory in Volume 4. Once Qrow begins to talk about his childhood, it gradually becomes clear how much his life story has echoed Winter's life story. Shall we count the ways?

1) Horrible childhood: Qrow grew up an unloved, unwanted child in a chaotic, abusive bandit camp, and quickly becomes the camp scapegoat. From what we have seen Winter grew up in a home that was cold and abusive, where order and affection came from the servants, not her parents.

2) Grew up in the shadow of a narcissist: Winter grew up in the shadow of her narcissistic father Jaques. Qrow appears to have grown up in the shadow of his narcissistic sister Raven. Both narcissists have shown that they only regard other people as tools or enemies, including family. This tends to leave a child with major insecurity issues.

3) Escape to Academy: Both Qrow and Raven made it to Huntsmen Academies, where they encountered genuine order and a semblance of fairness for the first time. The Academy was the first decent thing that happened to them, and in that environment both of them blossomed.

4) Remade themselves into the Headmaster's pets: Both characters appear to have used their time at their respective Academies to reinvent themselves. Both of them took the ethos of their schools and their Headmasters to heart. Each one strove successfully to become their Headmaster's trusted eyes and ears in the field.

5) Flashy exterior, insecure interior: In each case a flashy exterior conceals deep insecurities.

6) Guilt over children: This one's a bit of a stretch, but not much. Winter constantly telling Weiss she has to be strong sounds like guilt over the fact that Winter had to leave Weiss behind in an abusive situation in order to go to Atlas Academy. As for Qrow, after growing up unwanted I think he would have panicked over Yang and Ruby growing up motherless, tried to be there to help Tai as much as he could, and felt guilty about having to leave on missions for Ozpin, which wouldn't help his drinking any.

7) Socially Awkward: They're both socially awkward. Winter conceals her social awkwardness behind a formal exterior. Qrow hides his social awkwardness behind drinking and physical seperation.

8) Arrested Development: Both of them successfully escaped traumatic childhoods and reinvented themselves as Teacher's Pets, completely loyal to their respective saviours. And there both of them seem to have stopped maturing. Growing any more would have meant questioning their idol, and neither one was willing to do that. We saw how Qrow was shaken to his core when the man he reveres turned out to have feet of clay. Should Ironwood fall from grace, it will be no less traumatic for Winter than Ozpin's fall from grace was for Qrow. But perhaps on the other side of that they will both finally find themselves standing as their own people.

[nymphl]

Bloodbound - Vampire!Hux x Reader - Ch 3. Undisclosed Desires or... the bloody Memories

A/N - Hello there! Here I come with chapter 3 of Bloodbound. It’s honestly one of my fav chapters ever. I quite enjoy being able to work and explore Hux more political side. Now, I don’t think he’d be actually willing to make a deal with the New Republic, but it’s not past him lying about it. Anyways, I hope you like it. xDDD

Story summary:  Bound by blood… After you left the First Order and joined the Resistance, moved with a deep hatred for General Armitage Hux, you never expected to meet said man in a Gala in Canto Bight, nor that your past was intimately interlaced with his. When the past is written in blood, can you start anew, a new chapter of your own, or are you forever bound to him? When all is said and done, can you still keep on hating a man who has all eternity to hate himself?

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 tags:  from lovers to enemies; from enemies to lovers; partners to lovers; eventual romance; vampire!hux; vampires in space; vampires, blood, blood binds; First Order; Resistance; power play; politics; Hux backstory; political alliances; political betrayals; vampire sex; shameless smut; memory loss; mesmerizing; vampire powers; vampire politics; Starkiller Base; military prowess; empire; emperor; Emperor!Hux; dhampirs

Wordcount: 9018.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Emperor’s Study

Mid-morning

THE EMPEROR EYED YOU INTENSELY.

…and you swallowed. Part of you hoped he didn’t notice the otherwise meaningless action, but you knew better. His impossible blue eyes left you and set back on the holocams calmly; the tiny devices captured every micro expression and every word he said.

As expected — as the Resistance previously informed you —, he’d an interview scheduled for today with Corporate Sector Newsfeed. If not for Poe’s tip, you wouldn’t know what was to happen, as the Supreme Leader seemed to only remember to warn you of his schedule this very morning — and you couldn’t help feeling like it happened before… in another life, perhaps. Having had no contact with anyone from The Canto Bight Gazette you weren’t warned of this… impending appointment.

The NewsNet Corporate Sector Newsfeed advocated strongly for neutrality. You were once invited to work for them. But while their political views interested you greatly, they were very strict with their journalists, which didn’t benefit you, nor the Resistance.   Ever since the rumors concerning the possibility of Cantonica — and the whole Corporate Sector — pledging loyalty to the First Order, the NewsNet made their opinion very clear, informing the general public of the dangers of standing between an upcoming war between the New Republic and the First Order.

If only they knew…

The New Republic posed no threat for anyone. Honestly, they didn’t even recognize the First Order’s very existence. They completed ignored General Organa’s — former Senator Organa — warnings. And that was a grave mistake. When the First Order attacked, it’d be swift and merciless.

You folded your arms, watching as he answered each question with the ease of a seasoned statesman. Even if you despised him and everything his organization stood for, you couldn’t deny how well prepared he was for their questions. And the NewsNet couldn’t possibly have tipped him before; you doubted he’d accept any interview in which his image could be so badly damaged. Unless…

He’s trying to prove a point.

But guess what? He responded with poise and firmness akin to your expectations. He made even the trickiest questions seem easy. And there were plenty of them. You’d expected the Corporate Sector Newsfeed and their representative — a female Rodian named Rosey Cadevon, a newbie; you could only wonder how nervous she must be feeling right now — would inquiry him about the recent agreement between Cantonica and the First Order; the sudden decision to change the Capital. Instead, just a few of their questions — their first questions — broached such topics. Now, the journalist made it her point to make him stumble on his answers concerning the Starkiller Base.

You shivered.

Part of you feared for her life. You weren’t new to this and you’ve seen so many of your colleagues who dared to oppose that hateful First Order simply… disappear that you wondered if the same would happen to her.

“…what are your thoughts on this?”

You shook your head. You were so lost in your thoughts that you missed a great deal of their conversation. Besides, you were very tired; having slept less than two straight hours, you were exhausted. No wonder you were spacing out a bit. But that wouldn’t do. You knew he wouldn’t give the answers you sought that easily. If you wanted to get something meaningful out of him, you’d have to pay attention to him in every possible moment. Blinking, you focused your attention on the Emperor. There was a slight tilt of lips as he replied,

“I see no military confrontation taking place anytime soon between the First Order and the New Republic, unless…” There was a slight pause as he brought the glass of water to his lips. You almost snorted. His lips and throat were no drier than Cantonica’s superficial ocean. “The New Republic attacks the First Order. However, Lanever Villecham has in its best interests to seek a peaceful alliance with the First Order.”

His answer had you narrowing your eyes.

Bastard.

Kriffing bastard.  

You honestly didn’t know which was worse. If the Emperor and his political ability to turn any enemy into a potential ally… or the current Chancellor — a corrupt man capable of abandoning the democratic ways to join a tyrannical organization.

Biting your bottom lip, you risked a glance at him only to find his eyes set on you, watching your every reaction carefully.

“Supreme Leader, if both the New Republic and the First Order are on talking terms now and planning an alliance, we can assume the use of a superweapon will no longer be necessary.” It was the journalist’s turn to make a brief pause. She adjusted herself in her seat and drank a bit of water. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if it was poisoned. “The public is entitled to know when it will be deactivated.”  

He returned his attention to the holocam fluttering above him.

“It won’t.” His response had you holding your breath. He didn’t pause this time, quickly amending his sentence, “The Galactic Republic insisted on not establishing a military branch, which costed them greatly during the Clone Wars, not to mention, it left the Chancellor with no choice but to trust the Jedi. The New Republic followed their steps with the Military Disarmament Act. The First Order won’t commit the same mistake. As Supreme Leader, I can assure you and the public our aim is defense and not attack.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

He nodded, “By all means.”

There was another brief pause, as if the journalist, with her with big and starry blue eyes, needed time to think about her next question. You shook your head, quickly catching on what just happened. Although the Corporate Sector Newsfeed professed their inclinations towards an independent planet and system, it was clear they’d already changed sides. That’s why they sent the novice. If she was to simply disappear, they could blame it on the growing violence. If an hour ago you thought she was doing great, now you knew she was simply… reckless. And reckless in your profession oftentimes walked together with disposable.  

The Emperor didn’t let her ask her next question. He continued, as if he was giving a highly important speech, and couldn’t be bothered with interruptions. Rather, he wouldn’t tolerate any interruptions.

“The Galaxy’s been shown no mercy since the fall of the Galactic Empire. As the representative of the First Order, I acknowledge the many flaws and corruption growing inside the Empire and the reasons why it fell, but I also do recognize the very same signs within the New Republic.”

“And the First Order doesn’t have any flaws?” she asked bluntly. You held your breath. She had the courage to say things you weren’t sure you’d dare. But then again, she didn’t have two children who depended on her. Any wrong question and maybe your children would grow up without a mother — needless to remind anyone of the fact they didn’t have a father. No matter how much you fought for justice, you were usually… subtler in your approach. “Are you saying that an organization that advocates for strict control could possibly make it work for the entire Galaxy?"

He wetted his lips. You didn’t know if the glint in his clear irises reflected amusement or annoyance. On what you’ve recalled of him — and you honestly didn’t know where it came from; you didn’t know him at all —, he wasn’t a man known for controlling his rage very well.  

“What about freedom of speech?”

There was silence for a moment, as if Armitage Hux was gathering his thoughts.

“Freedom of speech for whom?” He devolved in the same blunt tone, but with the schooled facial expression of a man who was used to talk to the masses… or that had been through many interrogatories — as the inquirer, you couldn’t picture him as the one interrogated — and knew very well how to school his features in order not to give away any information to his enemy. “The New Republic advocates that through the sheer existence of a Senate everyone can have their opinions heard, which cannot be farther from the truth. While Populists and Centrists fight over petty politics, the forgotten corners of the Galaxy suffer with poverty and unending violence. The First Order seeks to bring equality to all and promote peace through absolute order. However, to achieve this goal, we must destroy all forms of tyranny that disguise themselves in the form of this rotten and decadent democracy.”

He was a great orator, you’d to give him that. For a moment, he almost had you believing he cared. Then you recalled that the First Order had invaded planets — destroyed them and made their people slaves — just to build their military prowess. And it was only the surface — only what you knew. Their secret archives probably had so much more to say than the meaningless data you gathered so far about their Starkiller superweapon.

Before long, the interview was over and Rosey was gathering her belongings. The Supreme Leader had left his study and you found yourself alone with her. She didn’t talk to you, but her starry eyes were trained on your face with something akin to resentment. Anger, perhaps.

She was about to leave when she turned to you and finally spoke what was on her mind, “You used to be my role model. I became a journalist because of you.” Her voice was full of disgust. You swallowed. If you didn’t have ulterior motives to join the Emperor, her words would’ve had a great impact on you. “But I guess congratulations are in order, Miss Minara. You’re an outstanding Press Secretary. Far better than you’re an investigative journalist.”

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Emperor’s Study

Dawn

You bit your bottom lip as you smoothly slid inside the Emperor’s study. It was almost morning and as far as you knew, the Supreme Leader was already tucked into his bed. If you wanted to dig something on him, it had to be now.

And it had to be in his study.

Because… where else would you find any important information concerning him and his… associations and future plans if not in his office? Perhaps his datapad, but he didn’t get away from it and unless you dared to get the Emperor out of his clothes… You shook your head. Better not head there.

After a sleepless night with dreams of all sort — each concerning the Emperor — you sure as hell didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about him. You rolled in your bed, trying to get at least some rest, but whenever you closed your eyes, you saw him. Whenever you fell into a slumber, he was there. It felt as if those weren’t dreams, but some sort of memories. But it couldn’t be. You’d just met him a couple of nights ago. Three… four nights at most. Swapping day for night wasn’t doing your poor brain much good.

You concentrated on the task at hand; there was no time to lose.  

As it is, it was difficult enough to get into his study without being noticed. There were sentry droids all over the Imperial Palace — not to mention a clever astromech BB-unit that was never that far from the Emperor. You wouldn’t be surprised if he preferred droids over people. The Palace — the Emperor himself; what a joke! He could take all eight guards in a matter of minutes, if he wanted — was also guarded by the Praetorian Guards.

It took you some effort — and recalling your previous interactions with BB-8 — to get rid of the black BB-unit. Whenever the Emperor retired for the safety of his chambers, the small rolling droid would patrol the corridor in which his study was located. And you knew that it wouldn’t take long for it to come back and find you where you shouldn’t be.

Hacking into their system wasn’t that difficult. For an organization that lurked in the shadows for so long and that posed such a threat to the whole galaxy, their security system was rather fragile. That… or your digging was expected.

You bit your bottom lip, unsure whether to proceed or not. You shook your head. There was no way you’d back down now. If you wanted to get rid of Armitage Hux, you’d better do it soon. There was no time to build any lasting friendship or any sort of trusting relationship — the very idea filled you with nausea — just to stab him in the back latter.

The interface of the First Order’s main system was… something you felt rather familiar with. You felt as if you were acquainted with it as much as you were with the Resistance’s… which couldn’t be true. When you worked for the First Order, you were… a lowly officer in training. You’d never have that kind of special access you were having now.  

As if it was something you accessed daily.

No.

You were getting paranoid. There was nothing familiar about the system — nor the Emperor himself.

Blinking, you flexed your fingers and started your search. Your goal was to find anything conclusive regarding the structure of the Starkiller Base. You were this close to finding it — Poe and Kazuda Xiono had done one hell of a job together. For someone as young and as crude as the Hosnian pilot, the boy proved to be trustworthy time and time again; he deserved better for his job done aboard the Colossus station. You’re glad Poe disobeyed General Organa’s order for the umpteenth time and helped him — and as soon as you found some kind of map or anything the Resistance’s engineers could work on, you’d be done and perhaps you’d be able to leave the Emperor’s nasty presence and rejoin your children.

And yet… Each minute you spent in his company had you eager to find more about him… In order to destroy him, of course. At this point, you knew that destroying the First Order would’ve to go beyond destroying their superweapon. But hey, a girl can dream!

“Minara?” Poe’s sudden voice startled you. Breathing deeply through your noise, you readied yourself to reply, when he continued, “Do you copy?”

You let yourself relax in the chair as his bluish image flickered through the old-comm. Your eyes, however, remained on the search engine.

“Dameron, took you long enough.”

He snorted.

“As if I could contact you at any time, Minara.”

There was another reason why you’d to be in the Emperor’s study. The Resistance was supposed to contact you today — this morning. At first, Poe was puzzled when you said there could only be any exchange between you during the day, preferably before sundown, but he followed your instructions, nonetheless. Besides, that was the safest place to contact someone outside without being caught. It seemed the Emperor was a man who had a few things to hide as well…

However, no matter his retort or his doubts — you were sure General Organa shared of his growing suspicions —, you could feel the warmth in his tone as he reported your children’s greetings. You felt yourself smiling for a brief moment, your attention totally focused on his holoprojection. Steela was dying to show you the few tricks she learned with Poe and Nik… Your sweet boy just wanted you to know that he missed you greatly.

“Any luck with the archives?” he said, changing topics as soon as he noticed you biting your bottom lip.

You nodded, shifting your eyes to the screen in front of you. There wasn’t much in the computer station. So far, not as much weakness as you expected in a construction as majestic as the Starkiller base. Inserting your datacard, you started copying whatever information you could find.  

“There isn’t much,” you admitted with a sigh of defeat.

He folded his arms. “As expected.”

There was a slight nod on your part. You removed the datacard and inserted it in the your old datapad. “Kriffs! And it’s encrypted.”

“That was going too easy, (Y/N)… Way too easy.”

You sighed deeply. “Sorry, Poe, it may take me a while to crack their code.”

He swallowed, working his jaw as he looked into your eyes. If not for your convictions, you’d have felt guilty given his inquisitive stare.

“Or you could send it to us and let the experts deal with it.”

You narrowed your eyes; your reply ready in your tongue. However, there was no time for it, for before you opened your mouth, you heard steps in the corridor and the incessant beeping of the BB unit.

“Come again, Deebee-three?”

You could almost see the Supreme Leader tilting his head towards the little droid. What is he doing here? He was supposed to be having his… vampiric sleep right now. How could be up and about at this time of morning?

The BB unit — now you knew the devilish thing was named DB-3 — let out a series of beeps and boops. To what you could hear the Supreme Leader responding with Interesting.

“Kriffs!” You cast a look over your shoulder, towards the door and then back at the computer station. For a moment, all you could hear was the beating of your heart. “The Emperor… I-I… I’ve to go!”

Before you could end the transmission, he caught you off guard with a warning that had your legs going instantly slack, “Minara, the skinny, ginger guy has an interview with some NewsNet this morning. Be ready to report in two days’ time.”

“What?”

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Greenhouse

Afternoon

As soon as you were done with the journalist, you followed the Emperor out of the study room and entered some kind of greenhouse. At first, you were startled to find him heading directly to the sun, but your fear — if you could call it as such — was quickly dismissed when you realized that instead of the burning sun rays, the little light that entered through the special glass didn’t seem to hurt him.

Special glass. Of course.

You bit your bottom lip, shaking the bad feeling that gripped your heart for a moment. You wouldn’t dare to give it much thought. The fear of losing someone that you didn’t even care — didn’t even know — to begin with was ridiculous at best.

Letting yourself relax — even if just a little; relaxing too much around a creature as dangerous as the Emperor would be a fatal mistake —, you took your time looking around the greenhouse. From the known Cantonican flora to some species you’d never seen in your entire life, there was no denying how breathtaking the place was.

His back faced you as he filled a small glass with Corellian brandy. You approached him carefully. It was startling to notice — with the small and rare sunrays that entered the greenhouse; after a few days in his company, you were starting to think the sun was your enemy as well — how much younger he looked when the sunlight reflected directly into his ginger hair and clear irises.

In spite of the sun shining bright outside, you couldn’t help a shiver. The place was as cold as a refrigerator. It didn’t escape you how every kriffing room in the Palace seemed to sport temperatures below what’s considered suitable for humans.  

He turned to face you, his bluish eyes trained on you as he removed his coat and offered it to you. Even though you thought about refusing it, you knew it’d only draw more attention to yourself and right now you couldn’t afford that.

“I ought to compliment you…” you stopped yourself, as if deciding how to address him. Using his name didn’t seem adequate. You were no friends. “Supreme Leader. Your answers were… rather…”

“Political?” he offered, not unkindly. Armitage eyed you over the rim of his glass as he drowned the amber liquid. “You didn’t seem to enjoy them.”

You bit your bottom lip, unsure on how to reply to his statement. Feeling bold, you stepped closer to him. He offered you the Corellian brandy, to which you shook your head.

“Too early for me,” you replied. As you hugged your frame, you couldn’t help but feel the datacard. You didn’t have time to properly store it in your bedroom earlier. After you heard him approaching, all you could do was leave the study through the windows, praying that you weren’t caught by any patrol droid or any First Order officer that may cross the property at dawn — or fall to the floor; you didn’t dare looking down, so afraid of heights you were. Casting a glance at him, you recalled his earlier statement. Right. He was expecting an answer. “I believe it’s rather a matter of agreeing with your views than enjoying them.”

He nodded, as if amused.

In a matter of seconds, he downed the Corellian brandy he had poured for you and filled another glass for him. If he were any other, you’d have told him to slow down, but you stopped yourself. As far as you knew, vampires couldn’t get drunk.

“In spite of that, I’d like to congratulate whomever offered you media training. Your bearing was exceptional today.”

His eyes darkened for a moment, then a brief smirk tilted his full lips upwards. It was such a mirthless, cold gesture that it had you regretting your entire existence for a moment.

“I’ll send your regards next time I visit my father’s epitaph.”

You bit your bottom lip, overwhelmed with guilty. You felt so strongly about your mistake, you couldn’t help looking down. It was known in the great circles of the Resistance — and you bet that in the First Order too — that Armitage Hux’s father was none other than the former Imperial Officer, Brendol Hux — his son no more than a bastard treated worse than a stray dog, whose mother was taken away from him for the sick amusement of a father incapable of having a proper heir. But as quickly as the feeling came, it was gone and you were left with anger… for yourself.

So, this wretch had had a troubled childhood and some traumas regarding his parents, but what about the traumas he inflicted upon those he enslaved in the name of that nefarious organization of his?

And once again… as quickly as the harsh judgment came, it was gone, and you were left once again overcame with guilty and shame. You couldn’t bear the thought of the same happening to your children… The thought of not feeling sorry for a child that couldn’t defend himself from his father’s wrath made your stomach churn. Not to mention, the man of today — the man in front of you — wasn’t to blame for the suffering of his boyish version. Rather, the suffering in his tender age — a phase in which every child ought to be cherished and not despised — created the monster in front of you.    

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your eyes cast down.

He placed his fingers below your chin, forcing you to stare at him. You almost gasped at the intensity in his blue orbs. His thumb ran absentmindlessly over your bottom lip as he whispered, “There’s nothing to feel sorry for. My father’s misdeeds are his alone.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of the heartbeats echoing loudly in your ears. You bet he could hear it too, with much more clarity. Feeling your mouth dry, you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, just to brush it against this thumb. Both of you shivered.

“Please…”

You didn’t know what you were pledging for. A great deal of the night you’ve seen exactly what was taking place now. He’d invade your personal space and then… You’d see exactly what you were seeing reflected in his bluish eyes now. Anger. Sorrow. Vulnerability.

The thought of a vile creature such as the Emperor having complex feelings like any other sentient being caught you off guard. It’d be way easier if he were just an unfeeling monster — someone whose purpose in life was restricted to wreaking havoc in the Galaxy and killing others just for the pleasure of drinking their blood.    

A gasp left you as his other hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You could’ve told him to stop — you should have. Yet, all you did was to stare blankly at him as he ran his nail over your throat and his breath caressed your cheek.

For a moment, you could feel him probing your mind. However, it quickly ended. You placed both hands on his shoulders — to stop him, to bring him closer. Your mind was fogged, and you couldn’t help but blame it on him and his supernatural abilities.

He entwined his fingers in your hair and tilted your head back, to have full access to your throat — to run his fangs over your jugular. Instead of unaltered fear, you could picture both of you in his bed, both stark naked as he set a punishingly slow rhythm between your legs. You moved in time with him, one hand pulling onto his ginger hair; head thrown back as you moaned in pleasure.

You shuddered.

Armitage moved from your throat to your mouth, but he didn’t kiss you, as if waiting for your permission. With your mind fogged — you weren’t thinking clearly anymore and after spending a great deal of the night thinking of him… dreaming of him… you couldn’t help wanting to act on those images — you brushed your lips against his and closed your eyes. He lost no time to caress your tongue boldly with his own…

…and the scene in the back of your mind changed. He slithered his fingers with yours and with the other hand he pulled your locks, tilting your head to his better pleasure. His lips were attached to your throat; his fangs were buried deep inside of you. The crimson blood painted your chest as he brought you to an earth-shattering orgasm that had you trembling and sobbing in his arms.

His hand moved up your waist, sliding inside your clothes. The contact of his fingers — despite their coldness — with your skin was better than you expected. It felt as if it was the coolness you needed to bring down your temperature from the crescent inferno that the vision in the back of your eyes spread over your body. You tingled all over… With something akin to need. For a moment, all you wanted was for him to give you the same pleasure you’ve pictured in your mind.

The Emperor continued to kiss you, softer this time… As if it could ease the aching sensation in your loins. A small smirk took over his face as he let go of your lips momentarily, just to snatch them again fiercely. He knew what he was doing to you and he was thoroughly enjoying it.

You broke the kiss, panting heavily. You couldn’t understand the sort of power he’d over you. In a moment, you couldn’t stand the sight of him and in the next, all you wanted was to take off your clothes and mimic everything that this… dream? — whatever that was — showed you.

Seemingly sensing your thoughts — or reading it, you were so high on him that you could hardly distinguish it any longer —, he brought your thumb to his mouth and bit into it; his skin warming up almost instantly as he lapped at your blood.    

“What are you doing to me?” You were so afraid of speaking in a normal tone and having your voice betraying yourself — your body betraying yourself — you chose to whisper the question.

Instead of an answer, he brought you flush against his as he took your mouth in another fiery kiss; the coppery taste felt otherworldly. He eased a thigh between your legs, letting you feel his hard-on. He growled — the sound coming from the depths of his chest — as you pressed your hips together. You moaned.

The heavenly kiss was brought to an abrupt stop as his fingers — in their sinful quest for your breasts — brushed a hard surface.  

Kriffs!

In your lustful state, you all but forgot the datacard.

He removed his hand from your skin and you immediately felt him withdrawing from you and not only physically. With a deep breath, you prepared yourself for whatever was to come — he’d found the datacard and only the maker could know what he would do to you now — but he merely shook his head; his hair falling charmingly on his face.  

“You should leave, Miss Minara.”

You bit your bottom lip. Perhaps you should reach for him. Perhaps you should just… leave? Perhaps you should slap him — as the haze left your mind, you couldn’t help regretting what just took place.

“Now.”

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Emperor’s study

Twilight

You should get some sleep.

No.

You needed to get some sleep.

However, as soon as you learned the Emperor left the Palace at sundown, you couldn’t help but return to his study. This time, there was no need to mislead the BB unit, for it followed him… wherever he went. From what you heard, it was an urgent matter of state.

And yet… Part of you doubted it. If that was the case, he’d drag you with him. As his… biographer — and you couldn’t believe you accepted to follow that… man around just to write his biography — you’d to be in his corner at every given moment. How were you supposed to reveal all the depths and intricacies concerning the man who was this closer of ruling the entire galaxy if you didn’t become his shadow?

After the interview this morning you were sure he’d have you around if it was a State matter. It didn’t concern the First Order — and it didn’t concern you. It only made you even more curious to know what he was doing.

And why he wanted to have you close.

If he really wanted someone to write his biography, he’d have chosen someone whose views didn’t clash so thoroughly with his. Someone who’d worship him, something you were incapable of.

You knew you should focus on getting whatever information from his study — the encrypted data would serve no one — but it was difficult. Part of you was still bothered after your previous interaction. You didn’t know which was worse, the fact that he knew you’re up to no good and simply let you be… Or the tingly sensation that haven’t left your body ever since your earlier rendezvous.

Shaking your insecurities aside, you put your fingers to work. But not before getting a closer look at this very chamber. It was an old building — probably one of the oldest in the entire city — which made you wonder if there were any — probably a few — secret passages. You knew for a fact that the all the rooms in the upper floor were somehow connect. Except for the Emperor’s chambers, of course. A cautionary measure, perhaps. All you knew was that you were relieved that he couldn’t reach your own bedroom through his. In his study, it seemed there were two alternative routes — besides the window, of course.

You didn’t want to think about getting that shortcut, however. Last time had left you almost nauseated. Even if you didn’t want to admit it out loud, you were a tad scared of heights. You were not sure when it began — for you had no problems with climbing growing up — but somewhere along your pregnancy the very thought of high places scared the hell out of you. Flying with Poe was absolutely out of question.

Yet… even with your heart on your mouth, you escaped through the windows. When there was no other choice left — when your own life and your secrets were at risk, you’d face your fears. But you didn’t want to willingly endanger yourself again. If you had to leave, it would be through the secret passage behind either the bookshelf or the huge holovid projector close to the wall.    

This time, instead of trying to crack the code, you decided to search for more information concerning the organization in general — their upcoming plans. If only you could get your hands on his datapad…

You should focus on learning everything you could about the Emperor’s plans on his quest to rule the galaxy before he came back — before you left his presence. You didn’t have all your life to write his biography — needless to mention you wouldn’t be allowed to write whatever you wanted. You were sure he’d personally proofread it and then your material would go through some kind of censorship department. You’d have to do your best to gather as much data about him and the First Order as soon as possible. If it resulted in some lack of proper sleep, then so be it.

This time, however, all the search engine gave you was meaningless stuff. You bit your bottom lip, wondering if the Supreme Leader had anything to do with it — if his kriffing droid really told him of your… morning disappearance.

As much as he wanted you to know you were free to go and do as you pleased, you weren’t that naïve to believe you’d go anywhere without being closely watched. It was the Emperor’s territory and he’d be damned if he let you — his enemy — have your way with him.  

Well, you couldn’t blame him, right? You said yourself you wanted him to show the world in his eyes… And he was doing just that. His whole world consisted of the First Order and that was what the First Order stood for. Control. Strict control over their subjects. Freedom… It was no more than a fancy dream in a dictatorial organization. And if you were to be honest, even though you fought for this so called freedom, you couldn’t help but agree with him.

Freedom for whom?

But his world consisted of so much more than the First Order… Parts of him he wasn’t willing to share with you just yet — and why would he in the first place was the million credits question — but that could — and would — help you bring down his loved organization. You knew what you’d to do, if he wouldn’t share whatever secrets of his with you, you’d look for information on him yourself.

Returning your attention to the database, you typed the word vampire in the search engine…

…only to be graced with nothing. Well, nothing meaningful at least. All it came up with was tales of ancient civilizations.

The furrow in your brows was quickly eased. People didn’t know he was a vampire. Right. If they did, the interview wouldn’t take place in the morning — you were still puzzled with his disposition in broad daylight. As far as you knew, vampires got weaker during the day and any attack on them could be fatal.

Yet… Exposing himself could be so much more dangerous. It could jeopardize everything he worked for. Dhampirs would be on the hunt. Every enemy would be on the hunt. And you bet he’d plenty. For the maker, you thought you should get a shot.

You were smarter than that.

Killing him right now would do you no good. The Emperor was the only link you had to the First Order — the only link to help you bring them down. To end their years of tyranny across the galaxy.

No.

He couldn’t die.

Not yet at least.

History has shown time and time again that with the death of a single dictator another rose to power. Dictatorships didn’t end with its dictators, but with the absolute destruction of their vile government machine. And the First Order was one hell of a tyrannical machine.

Blood banks.

This new search didn’t bring you much result either, but you learned that in the last decade the number of blood banks across the Galaxy grew significantly. Especially in areas dominated by the First Order — where the Emperor lived. The available data showed that a new blood bank opened in Canto Bight a few days before the Gala.  

I don’t do blood slaves.

It seemed he didn’t lie.

It seemed he told the truth.

Slaves.

That was the next word you typed in the search engine. It brought even less meaningful results. You wondered if the Emperor had tampered your possible searches, but it didn’t seem the case. It did seem to have a decrease of planets whose economy depended majorly on slaves.

But you were no fool.

The fact that some research brought as a result an apparent reduction of slavery didn’t mean it happened for real. You knew how governments tampered with their data. Needless to say what dictatorships did. Any data coming from the First Order was practically meaningless.

Your time was running thin. You knew nothing of the Emperor’ whereabouts, but you were sure he wouldn’t spend the entire night out — he had to be back before sunrise, after all.

Biting your bottom lip, you searched for your name…

…your heart thundered in your chest as you waited for the results.

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Library

An hour ago

Without the Emperor’s presence, your dinner was uneventful. Quite peaceful and enjoyable, if you might add. Honestly, he kind of set you on edge — being in his company was… not what you’d have expected. Mostly because you thought you’d simply and unabashedly hate him. Certain feelings such as the empathy and guilty you felt that morning caught you off guard.

You’d rather not think about the desire.

He was an attractive man, sure. You knew you may hate him all you wanted, but you couldn’t deny he was… desirable. And the things he did to you earlier… In your very first encounter…

…in another life.

You shook your head.

Part of you was sure he’d messed with your mind. There was no other explanation for how you felt that morning. He could be the handsomest man in the galaxy and still… you’d hate him. You still hated him. Right?

Kriffs!

You were no horny teenager.

Your teen years had gone by ages ago. You were a mother of two. You had your priorities straight. But that morning… He messed with your senses. First the dreams… then the admiration — he was indeed a great politician —, the guilty, the empathy and lastly the burning desire that left you agape. Your hatred for him and his organization was the last thought in your mind in that shared moment in the greenhouse. Obviously, it wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t interfere with your mind.  

And yet…  You had kissed him. He did nothing until you made the first move. He respected your rhythm and if not for the datacard, you weren’t sure if you’d have stopped him.

No.

You’d have.

And if you didn’t, it was solely his fault. For evil shouldn’t be allowed to be this… alluring.  

After you were given clearance by the sentry droids — so much for you are free to go as you please, Miss Minara —, you set your mind to search something on the First Order’s archives. You knew you wouldn’t be able to find much, but what you were looking for could be… found in the form of paper books, perhaps.

Holobooks were easily manipulated. Books were another thing altogether. It was obvious that a man who got his facts straight and knew so much about Galactic History would have paper books at his disposal in a Palace this huge.

The Library was magnificent — everything about the Imperial Palace was, to be honest — and the amount of different works was otherworldly, which would give you a bit of trouble. To go through their archives would be no easy task. But you had to know.    

There was absolutely no mention to you in their database — which was unacceptable. You were one of them before, an aspiring Officer, rising in the First Order ranks. Your past life — your life with them — was honestly a huge blur. You recalled some of their procedures, you recalled the life style — kriffs! You even recalled the intense physical training the troopers went under Captain Cardinal and later on under Captain Phasma; you recalled how brainwashed everyone was in the First Order and all you ever wanted to know was how you got rid of them.

All you could remember was that you left and a few days later you found out you were pregnant. With twins.

The idea of the father of your children being someone inside the Order sickened you to death — but you knew that was not only a possibility…

You bit your bottom lip.

There was no time to think about that. It didn’t matter who their father was — he wasn’t there to begin with. Steela and Nik were your children and your children alone. You had to focus on the fact that someone had tampered with your files. You were one of them once — regretfully — and you knew the First Order didn’t simply let go of their assets. You had seen stormtroopers and even Officer being shot dead for even less before. Or disappear, the most common procedure.

How could you simply leave when you were pregnant without something drastic happening to you? Birth control in the First Order was taken very seriously. Pregnancies only happened if there was some kind of political interest attached to it.

Part of you was glad you had left. You knew what would happen if you stayed… You chewed the inside of your cheeks. They wouldn’t have let you keep your children — if they were even born to begin with.

If you were able to leave, it was because you never existed in their files. It was because someone in there — someone powerful — let you leave. And you were sure it wasn’t General Mitaka — a mere scared lieutenant back then. He helped you — getting settled, finding a home, providing for your children — because someone with sway told him to.  

Not to mention, how could you become a journalist and start writing articles about the First Order — about the General-turned-Supreme-Leader himself — without having something huge happening to you? Press Freedom had nothing to do with it.

Someone in the highest ranks of the First Order wanted you alive. It had crossed your mind that it was the Emperor’s doing. You were sure no Officer would be able to leave the First Order without his express authorization. However…

However…

If he let you leave, what could he possibly want with you now?

You had absolutely no time to concentrate on your book before your comm beeped. Swallowing, you put the book back in its shelf.

The Emperor had returned.

Imperial Palace, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Simulator Room

Now

You were caught off guard when the Supreme Leader announced he’d be waiting for you in the simulator room. Accompanied by another droid that gave you clearance, you found him practicing in the shooting range.

Honestly, you shouldn’t be impressed with his skills. He was a vampire and as such, his vision, coordination, and ability to concentrate vastly surpassed any other sentient being — except for those strong with the Force, you were sure no other species were a match for him. But there was another reason why you had a stupid look in your face.

The Resistance’s simulation rooms couldn’t hold a candle to this very… place — whatever it was, for it was so much more than a simulation room. To put it bluntly, the First Order had not only the best training methods at their disposal, they had the best equipment too. And facilities. Well… With the income getting lower by the second, the Resistance had to make do with what they had — with what you had.

The idea of considering the Resistance something that had no relation to you made you feel mad at yourself.

You told yourself you were just tired. Some sleep would set your priorities straight — finding why there was no record about you shouldn’t be your main concern; you were there to find a way to bring the Emperor down. By any means necessary.

Shaking such thoughts aside, you watched as he hit the targets one by one with an accuracy akin to everything you’d ever seen. Not only that, but he was also fast — faster than your eyes could follow.

Deadly.

“That was impressive,” you said, approaching him as he hit the last of the standing targets.

He didn’t give you an answer as he pressed a small button near him. Quickly, all the targets were rearranged; his blaster handed to you.

“Your turn,” he said, finally turning to face you.

His expression was somber. Cold. Whatever happened — wherever he went — to him, it wasn’t something of his liking.

You took two steps backs, not sure what to do. So far, your cover was practically intact. Except for knowing you were responsible for leaking the news about the Starkiller Superweapon in the Gala, he’d no way of confirming you were with the Resistance — at least you hoped so; all he had was his growing suspicions — but if you took that blaster in your hands…

To put it simply, he’d question where you learned to shoot. Your accuracy rate was far from his, but you stood comfortably at 90%. A little higher for a simple journalist. Kriffs! A little higher than many stormtroopers. A little higher for even an ex Officer of the First Order.

You blinked as another vision — for the maker! What was happening to you? — took over you. This time, you were practicing; blaster in hands. He was behind you… distracting you. His lips skimmed the column of your neck and his hands ran over your nude arms. You threw your head back, exposing more of your skin to his hungry mouth.

As soon as it came, it was gone.

“I’m a journalist,” you reminded him, not daring to get too closer. You certainly didn’t want a reprisal of that morning. As it was, the images in the back of your mind were already too much.

He seemed to have guessed your thoughts — and this time he couldn’t have read them, for you kept a tight control of your emotions and mind —, for his eyes darkened as they swept over your form.

You held your breath as his stare returned to your face. He didn’t remain looking at you for long, though. He stepped away, approaching a tray where a bottle of Bespin Port and one glass sat. Pouring some of the wine in a goblet, he didn’t take his time to properly savor it. Once again, your mind was invaded with scenes… of you and him.

You blinked again, trying to disperse the images in the back of your eyes, but it was just so… clear. Like a memory. Echoes of a distant past that was somehow etched in your mind, but clearly forgotten. You pressed a hand to your forehead, but as you massaged your temples, you couldn’t help the torrential images.

…the two of you were in a room with a rather minimalist decoration. You were holding a glass of wine, savoring it slowly, while he busied himself with a datapad; brows furrowed in concern. You removed the datapad from his hands and took your seat in his lap, placing a small kiss to his forehead. He ran his hands over your nude thighs, sighing in appreciation as you massaged his scalp. I’ve got work to do, he said when you kissed the corner of his mouth. You work too much, you replied. And you work too little, he whispered before snatching your lips in a light kiss.  

“I am here to help you, should you need it.”

His voice dragged you back from your thoughts. Your heart sped at what he said — not so much at the content, but at his tone and the way his lips were lightly tilted upwards.

He knew.

There was no way he didn’t. You were once an Officer and every Officer in that kriffing First Order knew how to shoot. Your superiors were very insistent with accuracy rate. Anything under 70% was simply unacceptable.

You took the blaster from his hand, a bit unsure. Nevertheless, before you could do anything, he raised his hand, in a silent command for you to stay put. And then, without further explanations, he left the shooting range.

You thought about following him, but you stopped yourself as you saw the BB-unit leaving through the private elevator in the backroom. Trying your best to be subtle, you took the blaster in your hand and aimed towards the moving targets. With your back turned to the glassy surface that allowed anyone in the backroom to observe the whoever was in the shooting range, you started firing.  

If the droid noticed you, it didn’t alert the Emperor of your earlier escapade — that, or the Emperor already knew. The droid made a series of beeps and boops you were unable to understand over the sound of your firing. You could only hear his response, a simple, “Send her away, Deebee-three.”

You could feel his eyes on your back, so you had no choice but to keep firing. His steps were heard, but they stopped when the elevator’s doors opened again. You thought the droid was about to leave, but this time a woman stepped out of the elevator.  

Other than a please, help me! she didn’t have time to say anything else, for two stormtroopers entered from another door and took her by the arms. When they dragged her back to the elevator, you saw the biting marks on her pulse and her neck, not to mention the ones related to sharp needles both in her arms and hands.

A gasp left you.  

I don’t do blood slaves.

You pressed your fingers more firmly to the blaster, hitting the targets as quickly as possible. Your nearly perfect accuracy went through the window. Your hands were shaking and a boiling rage took over you. Not only he did do blood slaves — and you didn’t know why you were surprised; it was obvious that a creature such as himself had no qualms about lying — but he also allowed her to be dragged away so violently. And he still dared to talk about the New Republic fighting over petty politics while good people starved in the far corners of the Galaxy.

“You said you didn’t do blood slaves,” you spoke as soon as he stepped back in the shooting range.

This time, his fast answer caught you off guard, “I don’t.”

You bit your bottom lip.

And he still dared to lie. Did he think you were stupid?

“I saw her marks.”

He snorted.

“She’s has four children to rise. And the New Republic you defend so religiously in your articles will do nothing to help people like her.” His words felt like a slap to your face, but he didn’t seem keen on stopping anytime soon. “While Populists and Centrists fight over useless bills that can do nothing to improve people’s lives in the Galaxy, people like her have to make meets end.”

As if he cared!

“So you do admit paying for her blood.”

His clear irises were focused on you as he replied, unashamedly, “It tastes better than synthetic blood or blood bags. She isn’t my personal donator, though. I know better than to leave them marked.”

Your eyes widened.

You shuddered.

The way he spoke about her — with such an icy, disdainful tone; as if he wasn’t talking about a sentient being — made you realize he didn’t give a damn about anyone that wasn’t he himself. His answer, albeit simple, caught your attention for another reason.

The blood banks.

Of course!

They weren’t for him. Their sole purpose was to provide for his donators — for any other vampire that did this donator thing. Thus, he could have the fresh blood he craved and, at the same time, avoid leaving a trail of corpses wherever he went. Clever. Evil, but clever.

“If you really cared, you’d give her money without forcing her to go through... this.”

In two steps he was in front of you, invading your personal space. He tilted your chin backwards, forcing you to stare at him. He traced your bottom lip and you couldn’t help but shiver. It felt too close like that morning to your liking.

“Are you offering yourself, Miss Minara?”  

You hated him so much it was hard to control your urges to spit in his face. As if he didn’t pay attention to how you squirmed in his hold, he ran a nail over your jugular, quite but not piercing it.

“It’s more pleasurable than you think, although not at all devoid of pain.”

A gasp left you wrapped a hand around your throat. He didn’t do anything else, letting go of you and walking around the shooting range. He took his time looking at the targets, analyzing your accuracy. He nodded, in what you assumed was an appreciative gesture.

“You don’t have to worry,” he started, his hands running over the blaster as he took down the few targets you were unable to. “She’s already gone home with enough credits to provide for her family for weeks to come.”

You let out a shaky breath.  

“I’m relieved to know. Raising a child can be—

You stopped yourself before you could say more. But you quickly realized how much you screwed up. If starting that line was a mistake, cutting it short was fatal.    

He set his eyes on you. They were much darker and inquisitive than you recalled — even if compared to your previous moments together.

Mother of moons!

“What do you know of supporting a family, Miss Minara?” his voice sent a chill up your spine. “Do you have any child?”

A/N - That’s it for today, kids! That’s also the last chapter I posted on AO3, I’m still working on chapter 4... but I can’t promise when I’ll update it. I’m also running out of ITGB chapters, so you’ll be left only with LTM updates regularly on Fridays. 

[sassycassie-s-series]

All My Fault 8

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Batman

Rating: PG

Notes: (Masterlist) Little bit of Cloudy’s backstory!

Tag List (Open): @probsjosh @batboys-and-other-messes @nanna-the-batmum @welovegroot

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

^^^^^

It was rare for me to have the Batcave all to myself. But Bruce and Tim had a meeting to attend at Wayne Enterprises so Alfred drove them, and Dick and Jason went to go check on their pal, Roy. Heaven knew where Damian disappeared off to. Probably off walking one of his plethora of pets or something. As far as I knew, Cass was on a mission somewhere and wouldn’t be back for another several weeks under the cover that she was attending school somewhere in Japan—or so I’d gathered from the boys’ chattering. I wasn’t entirely sure they knew where she was either, to be honest.

So I was weirdly alone. In the Batcave.

Singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” at the top of my lungs in a way I hadn’t sung in a long time.

You’d think the fact that everyone is constantly somewhere else on business of some sort meant that I’d be home alone a lot but nah. Someone was always around asking if I’d turn my music down or not sing so loud because it had been a long night last night and they were trying to sleep or working on a case and needed to concentrate. Depending on who was asking, I often got varying levels of politeness. Dick’s was always, “Oh, Cloudy, could you please turn it down just a little? Please?” Whereas an extremely sleep-deprived Tim once snapped, “Who’s playing that racket?! Shut it off I can’t hear myself think!”

I never begrudged him the breach in manners, though, because I was fairly certain he’d been awake for 72 hours at that point. Usually he was nicer.

Surprisingly, Jason and Damian never used to give me much flak for listening to music loudly and/or singing along. Even though Jason’s room was on the other side of my bathroom from mine so he always got to listen to my shower renditions when he was home. Sometimes I’d get a text from one of them saying something like, “Hey can you turn it down for a little while?” but for the most part they left me alone.

This time, no one appeared to be in the Batcave at all so I sang to my heart’s content. The way I used to when my parents were alive and I wasn’t a ward of Bruce Wayne.

I stopped my song. My parents…

I ran over to the Bat-computer and looked up McCloud Software.

There was a news report from the day I arrived in the future as one of the top results. I clicked on it.

“Today marks the eighth anniversary of the disappearance of Nora McCloud, daughter of Jaqueline and Lyle McCloud of McCloud Software—the company that has taken leaps and bounds in the field of software design and innovation. Jaqueline and Lyle McCloud were tragically killed in a car accident when their daughter was sixteen. She was taken in by her parents’ business partner and good friend Bruce Wayne until her disappearance. Nora was slated to take over as CEO of the family company, only to disappear three days before she could take the reins. Since then, McCloud Software has been run by Lyle McCloud’s close friend and long-time business advisor Michelle Eden...”

I clicked out of the news report over to the stocks of my parents’ company, comparing them to the rest of the market through the eight years I missed when Damian brought me to the future and the timeways collapsed. My mom taught me how to read stocks from the time I was three. The company’s stocks mostly followed the trends—except one dramatic dip in 2021 that quickly climbed back up.

McCloud Software stock drop, 2021, I typed into the search bar.

SOFTWARE SCANDAL! McCloud database hacked, thousands of users at risk. I should have expected nothing less than a scandal to drop stocks.

But that wasn’t the top hit. It was the second-to-top—I just noticed it first because of the caps-locked title. The top hit said, McCloud Software database hack leaks emails that confirm Michelle Eden and Lyle McCloud affair.

“What?!” I demanded quietly, jumping to my feet and storming over to the case where my Cloudburst costume hung. Once I pulled the door to the case open, I threw off my shirt and started undoing my belt to get my skinny jeans off.

“McCloud? What happened to the music? I was enjoying your singing,” Damian remarked, descending the stairs.

I froze, half-naked and out in the open of the Batcave with no shirt and halfway out of my trousers. I yanked my skinny jeans back into place and covered my bra with my arms. “Damian!” I shrieked, whirling to look while keeping my back to the stairs as much as possible. “I thought no one was here.”

“No, I was upstairs designing a new evening gown for your appearance at the charity gala,” he replied, politely looking away from me with a sketchbook under one arm and a cup of tea in his other hand. “Were you… intending to go somewhere?”

I scooped up my shirt and pulled it back on aggressively. I pointed at the computer screen. “What do you know about the scandal that Michelle and my dad had an affair?” I asked.

Damian came down the rest of the stairs, looking at me now that I was decent. There was an intense look in his eyes. He set his sketchbook and cup down before gently resting his hands on my shoulders. “We’ve been keeping an eye on your company for you, I swear,” he said, peering down at me.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said. “Did Michelle actually have an affair with my dad?”

Damian hesitated. “We were never certain—”

“Damian,” I warned.

“As far as we could figure, no. It was just slander. Tim pored over both your father and Eden’s writing styles for two days before coming to the conclusion that the emails were planted. They were too different from the usual. However, we must consider the emotional aspect of passion and the fact that people don’t necessarily write the same when they’re exchanging romantic sweet nothings.”

I turned back to my Cloudburst costume, sliding out from under Damian’s hands on my shoulders.

“McCloud, wait,” he protested, grabbing my hand. It sent a charge all the way up my arm. He tugged back on me gently. “Cloudburst cannot go and interrogate the CEO of your company. She may figure out that Cloudburst is invested in this because she is Nora McCloud. You can confront Michelle at the charity ball as yourself if you wish, but not now.”

When I kept looking at my suit, Damian pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. Less like a cage and more like a hug.

“Please,” he added. “I understand that you are upset, but now is not the time.”

I was so surprised that he said “please” that I looked up at him. He was looking down at me intensely, his eyes searching my face with the same soul-piercing look they’d had when he first showed up in my past and seemed to be disbelieving that it really was me.

I sighed. “Alright. But I'm going to ask her about it at the ball, assuming she attends,” I relented.

“It’s likely she will be. For your sake,” Damian said. His hand slid down my arm and he wrapped his hand around mine. His hand was warm and I started wondering if he had some sort of electric powers that he’d never told me about with the charge running up my arm from the contact. “Come upstairs. I’d like to ask your opinion on the designs.”

“Can’t I just go to a store and find an evening gown?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. This is the first event where you will be seen in public in nearly a decade. A custom gown is the only way to go for image’s sake.”

“So you just… what? Casually design evening gowns?”

Damian pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Only for you,” he said, leading me out of the Batcave after taking his cup of tea and sketchbook off the table where he’d set them. “I mean, we have a significant lack of time for a professional designer to come up with one. I seem to recall your tastes in evening gowns. If I have created one you like, it would be quicker to have it made than to hire a professional designer.”

“Right,” I said, unsure of what else to say.

“Tea?” Damian offered as we got out of the Batcave.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“Yes, you don’t like tea, do you?”

“Nope. Tea, coffee, ugh.”

“May I grab you anything else?”

“No thanks.”

“Alright then. Come sit with me.” He led me into the main parlor and indicated I sit on the loveseat while he grabbed his drawing tablet from the sofa. He sat down next to me and placed his sketchbook on his lap. “First: basic designs. I went over the previous evening gowns you have worn to galas and attempted to balance them with your personal tastes and your particular… affinity for grand ballgowns.”

I snickered. “Okay,” I said.

Damian took a sip of his tea, set the cup off to the side, and opened his sketchbook. He leafed through several pages until he found what he was looking for. He wrapped the pages he didn’t need around the back. “This is just the first page,” he said. “Don’t assume these are all of your options.”

“How many pages are there?” I asked, noticing the first page had about six different designs on it.

“Five,” Damian said.

“Five?!” I demanded. “Dami, don’t you think that’s a little… much?”

He blinked at my use of a nickname. “… No?” he said. “Your first event in eight years to the public has to be just right. It’s vitally important that you wear something befitting your status as a high-profile young lady as well as all the attention that will be on you. Every camera will be on you almost all night, so you must look impeccable.”

“… Right,” I said. “Okay. Walk me through.”

“Of course. Now, once you select a few different designs, we’ll work on the coloring, yes?”

“Sure.”

“This one—” He tapped the dress he’d drawn on the top left corner of the page. I leaned a little closer to his side in order to see it better. He wrapped his left arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer so I had a better view with his arm out of the way. “—is intended to have a more form-fitting design, like most evening gowns. Most of what I’ve drawn have short sleeves and high necklines as I seem to recall your distaste for revealing too much skin—especially when you’re injured. This one is supposed to have sequins or jewels across most of it in order to sparkle like the night sky. It ought to be complemented with a sizable diamond necklace due to the wide but high neckline—”

“No thanks,” I interrupted. “I really don’t want to wear grand, expensive jewelry. Makes me so paranoid I'm going to break it.”

“Tt. In that case, perhaps you would prefer this one,” he said, tapping another design on the first page with the eraser end of his pencil. “It maintains the form-fitting, cap-sleeved design, but the neckline is narrower and a tad lower. Nothing too revealing, of course, but it does allow for smaller, less garish jewelry.”

“What are you gonna wear?” I asked.

“A tuxedo. As usual,” he said.

“I figured, but, like, are we doing the high school Prom matchy-matchy thing where my dress and your tie are the same color?”

“Not unless you intend to wear a black evening gown. Which I would not recommend for your first event upon returning. It would seem as though you were mourning something rather than celebrating your return.”

“I was just kinda kidding, Damian,” I said, looking between his eyes and his sketchbook, very aware of his warm, strong arm still around my shoulders.

“Oh. Right,” he muttered. “Regardless, if you like the form-fitting, long style but don’t want the garish jewelry, this is the one I would consider.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, we’re nowhere close to finishing, McCloud,” he replied, almost playfully. “We’ve barely begun.”

Next

[rosiep66]

"THE DARK KNIGHT" (2008) Review

”THE DARK KNIGHT” (2008) Review In 2005, director/writer Christopher Nolan rebooted the Batman franchise with the highly successful movie, ”BATMAN BEGINS” that starred Christian Bale as the Caped Crusader. Both men have reunited three years later for a new story centered around Batman’s conflict with his greatest nemesis, Joker in this sequel called ”THE DARK KNIGHT”. There has been a great deal of attention surrounding this movie. Many have not only praised it, claiming that it is better than the 2005 movie. But most of the word-of-mouth have centered around Heath Ledger’s performance as the Joker, especially after his tragic death some six months ago. When ”THE DARK KNIGHT” was finally released, many critics and fans expressed the belief that the positive word-of-mouth had been justified. Not only have many judged Ledger’s performance as the best in his career, others have claimed that the movie is probably the best Comic Book Hero movie ever made. I do not know if the Joker featured Heath Ledger’s best performance. As for the claim about ”THE DARK KNIGHT” being the best comic book hero movie . . . I do not agree. I am not saying that ”THE DARK KNIGHT” was a terrible or mediocre film. Frankly, I believe that it was one of the best movies I had seen in 2008. Most of the movie featured an excellent story scripted by Christopher and Jonathan Nolan, and David S. Goyer, in which Gotham’s organized criminal element has found itself threatened by the law ever since the end of the Falsone family in ”BATMAN BEGINS”, thanks to Batman (Bale). A former inmate of Arkham Asylum named the Joker (Ledger) approaches the crime bosses, which include Salvatore "Sal" Maroni (Eric Roberts), with an offer to kill Batman for pay. At the same time, Batman and Lieutenant James Gordon (Gary Oldman) consider including the new District Attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) in their plan to eradicate the mob. Both feel that he could be the public hero that Batman cannot be. Harvey Dent happens to be dating Wayne's childhood friend and object of romantic desire, Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal). This conflict between Batman, the Joker and their allies escalates to a tragic and well-directed dénouement that leads to Rachel’s death. And it is here where I believe that the movie truly faltered. ”THE DARK KNIGHT” could have ended with Rachel’s death, followed by the Joker’s manipulation of a grieving Harvey Dent into madness and his eventual capture or death. Instead, the Nolan brothers and Goyer allowed the Joker to escape and continued the story with Dent’s vengeful hunt for those he considered responsible for Rachel’s death; and the Joker resorting to a Green Goblin scenario involving two ferryboats packed with explosives. The Joker informed the passengers on each boat that the only way to save themselves was to trigger the explosives on the other ferry; otherwise, at midnight he will destroy them both by remote control. All of this occurred during the movie’s last half hour and quite frankly, it was a half hour I could have done without. I found the entire ferryboats sequence so unbelievable and contrived. It seemed as if Nolan teased us with the possibility of seeing the uglier side of the average citizen . . . and wimped out in the end, because he would rather stroke the moviegoers' egos with some "nobility of man" bullshit by allowing the passengers to resist blowing each other to kingdom come, instead of telling the truth about human nature. Very disappointing. It would have been more interesting or darker if both ferryboats had been destroyed, or . . . have Batman prevent the passengers from blowing up each other at the last minute. With this last scenario, Batman would have saved the people, but the Joker would have proven a point. A fan had pointed out that Nolan used the ferryboat sequence to leave a sliver of hope to the audience about humanity's capacity to do good. If this was Nolan's aim, it was a message that has been done to death by moviemakers and television writers for eons. The problem is that screenwriters and moviemakers have developed a habit of giving the public this so-called "sliver of hope". They call themselves pointing out humanity's ugliness and then they pervert the message by allowing them to come out of the mouths from villains like the Joker, before the latter is eventually proven wrong. It just seems like a cop out to me. Which was why I found the whole ferryboat sequence something of a joke. Sure, human beings are capable of doing some good. But in that particular situation? I rather doubt it. If there is one trait that humanity possess, it is a talent for self-preservation. It would have been more realistic to me if the boats had detonated or Batman had prevented this before anyone on one or both of those boats and activated the bombs. Granted, Batman/Bruce Wayne would have been disappointed in Gotham’s citizens, but he would have learned a valuable lesson about the very people he called himself protecting. Even better, I would have preferred if Nolan had never added that sequence in the first place. As for Harvey Dent’s hunt for those he deemed responsible for Rachel’s death . . . I would have been more satisfied if Nolan and his co-writers had ended the movie with Dent’s eventual slide into evil in that hospital room and saved his transformation into a twisted vigilante and arch villain in a third Batman film. This would have prevented the movie from being unnecessarily a half hour long. And it would have saved the talented Aaron Eckhart for the third film as “Two-Faced” Harvey. It would have also spared moviegoers from that ludicrous ending in which Batman and Gordon decided to allow the former assume blame of Dent's crimes in order to save the reputation of the D.A. I am still stunned by this little plot development. What were the Nolan brothers thinking? Why was it so necessary to save Dent's reputation in the first place? Did Batman and Gordon harbored such a low opinion of Gotham's citizens that they had to treat the latter like children? The performances in ”THE DARK KNIGHT” were basically superb. Christian Bale beautifully captured the growing dilemma of Bruce Wayne’s desire for a normal life with Rachel Dawes, juxtaposed with his role as Gotham’s costumed vigilante and his growing power over the city’s criminal element, thanks to his alliance with police lieutenant James Gordon and the new District Attorney, Harvey Dent. There is one aspect of Bale’s performance I did not like – namely the growling tone he used, while in the Batman persona. I did not care for it in ”BATMAN BEGINS”. I cared for it even less in this film and the next one released in 2012. I have noticed how many have expressed the view that Maggie Gyllenhaal's portrayal of Rachel Dawes was better than Katie Holmes in the 2005 film. Personally, I did not see much of a difference in the quality of their performances. Both actresses gave good, solid performances. But . . . the screenwriters’ portrayal of Rachel in this film disappointed me. They had turned her characters into an object. She was Bruce Wayne's prize for giving up the Batman persona, as soon as he could get Dent to assume the role of Gotham's "hero". She was Dent’s love interest, Girl Friday and reason to go on a vengeful rampage. And for the Joker, she was a means to get at Batman, once he realized how the latter felt about her. There were times when Rachel's character seemed almost irrelevant and a sad decline from the legal and moral dynamo that Holmes had portrayed in ”BATMAN BEGINS”. Heath Ledger as the Joker. What can I say? The man was brilliant. He made Jack Nicholson’s Joker look like chump change. Honestly. One of the reasons why I have never care for the Joker character in the past was due to his over-the-top persona. Cesar Romero’s Joker has never impressed me, regardless of the numerous insane clown laughs he had utilized. Nicholson’s Joker was too over-the-top for my tastes. As one can see, I do not have a love for overly theatrical characters, unless they are done right. Granted, Ledger portrayed the Joker as over-the-top. But somehow . . . I really do not know how to describe it. Somehow, he managed to infuse some kind of control in the character’s insanity – not only with his behavior, but also with a talent for emotional manipulation and the views he had spouted to Batman and other characters. Do I believe that the Joker was Ledger’s best performance? No. I believe that the character was one of his two best performances, the other being Ennis DelMar from 2005’s ”BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN”. Do I believe that Ledger deserves an Oscar nomination for his performance, despite his death? Hmmmm . . . yes. He was that good. I do have one quibble with Nolan's treatment of the Joker. Where was the character's backstory? The Joker spent most of the movie spouting false stories about his scars and background. I supposed this was Nolan's way of trying to make the character mysterious. I simply found it frustrating. The other truly superb performance came from Aaron Eckhart as Gotham’s new District Attorney, Harvey Dent. One of Eckhart’s virtues was that he managed to form an excellent screen chemistry with Maggie Gyllenhaal. Frankly, I found Dent and Rachel's romance more believable than her relationship with Bruce Wayne. Eckhart projected a great deal of magnetism, charm and intensity into his portrayal of Dent. But I was more impressed by the way he expressed Dent’s descent into vengeful madness, following Rachel’s death. Granted, this turn of his character occurred in the movie’s last half hour. Although I disliked the movie’s last half hour, Eckhart’s performance in it almost made it bearable. Almost. Gary Oldman, Michael Caine (Alfred Pennyworth), Morgan Freeman (Lucius Fox) and Cillian Murphy (Dr. Jonathan Crane/the Scarecrow) all reprised their roles from the first film. All four gave solid performances, but only Oldman’s role as James Gordon seemed bigger. I found Gordon’s fake death somewhat contrived and manipulative. Aside from the creation of the Rachel Dawes character, everything about the two Batman movies directed by Nolan have adhered to the Batman canon. Which is why I found it difficult to believe that Gordon was dead. Alfred’s role seemed to have diminished from the first film. Freeman’s Lucius Fox is now quite aware that Bruce is Batman and seemed to be acting as the latter’s armourer, as well as Wayne Enterprises’ CEO. The only problem I had with the Fox character was his opposition against Wayne/Batman’s development an advanced surveillance system that can listen in and track the movement of any of the thousands of cell phones in the city. I found the whole scenario contrived. As much as I had enjoyed Cillian Murphy’s portrayal of Dr. Crane/the Scarecrow in ”BATMAN BEGINS”, I found his less than ten minutes appearance in ”THE DARK KNIGHT” a waste of the actor’s time . . . and mine. Composers Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard returned to score the sequel. I must admit that I had been impressed by their work in ”BATMAN BEGINS” and had expected another exceptional score by them. Unfortunately, I barely remembered the score. I understand that they had rehashed the original score for this movie and added a new theme or two. But it all came off as unmemorable for me. ”THE DARK KNIGHT” had the potential to be this summer’s best film. But there were some aspects – the portrayal of Rachel Dawes’ character, Zimmer and Newton Howard’s score, the portrayal of some of the minor characters and the contrived writing that dominated the movie’s last half hour – that I believe had ruined the movie’s chances of achieving this potential. Fortunately, the virtues outweighed the flaws and in the end, ”THE DARK KNIGHT” managed to remain first-rate and become – in my view – one of the better films of Summer 2008.

[hogwartselementumrp]

Hyacinth, congratulations, you have been accepted for your OC Rhys Llewellyn. In finding a lone wolf Logan Lerman FC with a “tragic backstory” in one’s inbox, an admin must brace themselves--if you’ll forgive the frankness and not find the joke rude--but we honestly found your writing style so engaging and your passion for the character so ready to shine through with a bio that felt not at all rushed despite knowing you were racing the clock, and shone through with promise of what you would be like to RP with. Admin Beth may have offered to physically fight Admin Lily (we’re tired, stressed people and these things happen), though in the end there was no need for such measures and we agree together to accept you. We can’t wait to see you develop him into a character that shines as an individual and grows a three dimensional life of his own that continues the potential set in the application. Get him on the dash because I am eager to interact with him. 

Side Note: We already have a character named Rhys that has been a part of the RP for over three years. Now, people share names in real life and even in this RP Lily once wrote two vastly different Lawrences, Lawrence Yeaun and Lawrence Frisk. Both are played and played marvelously and seldom is there confusion, but if sharing a name makes you uncomfortable or you are worried about the confusion of players, we want to give you the chance to change the name or to have him go by Llewellyn. You are in no way obligated, but it might help everyone out.

Now, I have written a longer acceptance note than Lily. Welcome to the RP!

NAME/ALIAS: Hyacinth

PREFERRED PRONOUN: She/her

AGE: 19

TIMEZONE: GMT-4

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Around an 8-9 out of 10.

HOW DID YOU FIND THE RP (NEW MEMBERS): through a google search

ORIGINAL CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Desired Character: Rhys River Llewellyn

Face Claim: Logan Lerman

Now, please check our dorm page! To see which house is needing a character and in which year!

School Functions (check Quidditch availability’s): Healer Program

Why do you believe this will be a good character in this specific roleplay?

Just a few months prior to the roleplay, Rhys experienced a very drastic, devastating tragedy in his life. It will be really interesting exploring his headspace after that occurrence, and the relationships he will create because of what happened to him. Rhys is at a very delicate, confusing point in his life. His previous religious faith, which was fairly constant, is now gone. He is now estranged from his father, attending a new school, and discovering his own sexuality. I believe he will be able to discover who he truly is, or at least begin to, and in turn, help others do so as well.

RHYS LLEWELLYN is 18 years old, in his FIRST year HOGWARTS UNIVERSITY and was in the house of RAVENCLAW.

                                          ❝The weight of the world / is love / Under the burden / of solitude, / under the burden / of dissatisfaction / the weight, / the weight we carry / is love

↳ MAGIC

Rhys was gifted with a very sharp mind and wisdom far beyond his years. This didn’t translate very perfectly into magic, as even the mere thought of it had never entered his mind, but he studied extremely hard in his years at Hogwarts. Naturally, he wasn’t particularly gifted, but his hard work and determination put him at the top of his class. His instinctive curiosity and eagerness to learn things also gave him an extra edge over his classmates. As for his elemental magic, he far preferred spells and charms. They were easier to master through studying and practice, easier to control. Even so, Rhys saw his elemental magic as a challenge he had yet conquer, and devoted his time to improving it. Rhys was almost predestined to be a healer. His selflessness and instinctive compassion for others led him to apply for the Healer Program, which he was confident he would excel in.

↳ BACKSTORY

Rhys Llewellyn and his twin sister, Eve, were born on the first day of June in a small town of Wales, with the sun shining brightly overhead and not a single cloud in the blue sky. They’d been born a full month early, after hours and hours of painful labor. And when their mother, Adelaide, held her two pink, squalling babies in her arms, she placed a kiss on the tops of their heads and whispered an apology. For she could not stay, and two days after the two babies had entered this world, Adelaide hurried away into the night, leaving her children with nothing but a broken father and a long-forgotten memory of a gentle kiss that would be the only one they would ever receive from their first home.

It is surprising that Rhys and Eve grew up fairly undamaged. Their father, Jonathan, was a fierce, Evangelical pastor, forever trying to find an explanation for his loss in a higher power. Jonathan had only two loves in his life: His wife, who’d left him, and God. And after she left him, it seemed like he needed to fill up that empty hole with all the love he could ever contain into God, leaving nothing for his two children.

Rhys and Eve grew up relying on only each other for the necessities of life that went further than food and shelter. It is no wonder the two siblings grew very close. But despite the fact that they spent nearly all of their time together, they could not be more different. Eve was loud and outgoing, intent in her beliefs and unafraid to voice them to the world. There was an overly-flamboyant, almost frantic way about her, as if she started up an act of someone she was not long ago and now had to over exaggerate herself or risk being found out. Yet around Rhys, she could be the loud, confident self she was in public but also the more sensitive side that she typically kept hidden for fear of getting herself hurt. The two twins were like day and night. Rhys was mellower, far preferring anonymity and his own company over others. He was very intelligent and introspective and preferred to mull things over before doing anything, unlike Eve, who rarely planned for anything and preferred to live life spontaneously. But when they were with each other, they were better versions of themselves.

With Eve, Rhys felt like he could do anything and not be afraid.

When Rhys was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was anything but delighted. How was he to face a school, a magic school, without his twin sister? But Eve was adamant he should go; she knew Rhys was something special. There were times when certain things happened around Rhys, odd things, and in her opinion the idea that he was a wizard was not something particularly far-fetched. She, like many others, had the overwhelming sense sometimes that Rhys was different. Otherworldly. Perhaps it was his intelligence, or his compassion for others, or the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about the poetry he loved so much. So, to be perfectly honest, Eve was not very surprised at all. She would have been more shocked if it turned out Rhys was just ordinary.

His father, of course, was furious at the mere thought of his son going to learn witchcraft. It was a terrible sin, something one would be condemned to hell for, a type of satanic worship.

But Rhys, who rarely objected anything his father said, went anyway, and when he came back from his first year at Hogwarts, he was met with a stony silence from his father and a tight-lipped smile from Eve, her voice the one she used with other people, not him. And, year after year, Rhys found that he heard her real voice less and less, until it disappeared entirely.

Over his seven years at Hogwarts, Rhys didn’t exactly feel the automatic acceptance he’d assumed he would. In turns out, even at a magical school, he was odd and out of place. Preferring to study and read and write poetry than attend quidditch matches and explore Hogsmeade, he never really made any lasting friendships. But it was no real issue for him, as he often preferred his own company over others.

The summer before he was to attend his first year at Hogwarts University, Rhys’ life fell completely apart. Ten days after their shared birthday, Rhys found his sister dead in her closet. She’d hung herself, leaving no other explanation except for an ‘I’m sorry’ scrawled on a torn piece of notebook paper.

In the aftermath, Rhys could not stay. Guilt and fear and anger and blame and all-consuming grief was everywhere in the house, everywhere in his father, everywhere in his own heart. It was heavy with a blackness he was unused to. He could not stay. So, like his mother, like his sister, he left.

And in leaving the house, he left his father, and in leaving his father, he left everything he had ever known, and in doing so, he freed himself.

↳ PERSONALITY TRAITS

» {+ positives} creative, selfless, insightful

» {- negatives}  shy, anxious/worrisome, distracted

↳ BASICS

» BLOOD STATUS: half-blood

» ELEMENTAL POWER: air

» AFFINITY LEVEL: average affinity | very studious

» DATE OF BIRTH: July 1st

» WAND: willow, dragon heartstring, 10 inches, supple flexibility

» FACECLAIM: Logan Lerman

RHYS LLEWLLYN IS PLAYED BY HYACINTH

It wasn’t like his father preached all the time about how Rhys was an abomination that would be sent straight to hell. But it happened often enough that he decided it would be safest if he just kept silent about the whole being-attracted-to-boys debacle. Keeping it from his father was second nature - it wasn’t like Rhys actually told him anything. But with Eve, it was practically impossible. In fact, he wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t telling her about this part of him. Maybe it was because he barely understood it himself.

Or maybe it was because he wished it weren’t true. Rhys wished he could say that he wasn’t at all ashamed with who he was. It it were Eve, she would be attending pride parades everyday and kissing whomever she wanted in front of their father, one eyebrow raised as if daring him to say anything. If it were Eve, she wouldn’t be ashamed at all because she knew there was nothing to be ashamed about.

Rhys knew, too. But he wasn’t as brave as she was. He was scared. Of his father, of a God he barely believed in, of himself and the truth.

Because there was this boy at Hogwarts, a boy with a sunshine grin and endless jokes, a boy that Rhys kissed, but would have liked it much better if his mind wasn’t screaming sin sin sin sin sin.

He wanted to kiss him again, but shame swallowed him like an ocean for weeks after he did it the first time, and Rhys didn’t particularly enjoy drowning.

He kissed a girl, too, once. Before he’d kissed the boy, back when he was still unsure. In the Hogwarts Library, his back against the hard wood of the bookcase marking the Legal Section. Their lips smashed together, too urgent and unsynchronized. Rhys hated the way their faces fit together, the lack of strong jaw and vague stubble to ground him. There was too much hair to wade through, too much peony filling his nostrils. His mind wasn’t telling him he was sinning, but instead pounded a crescendoing chorus of this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong.

Rhys had home come from his Sixth Year at Hogwarts, having kissed two people that were both sins in his mind. The boy because the Bible said so and the girl because it’d felt inherently wrong when it happened. And his father had looked down at him, his head tilted and eyes narrowed as if he’d sensed something on Rhys that was even dirtier than witchcraft. But nothing had been said, and he breathed a desperate sigh of relief.

He was hiding, and that was bad, and that did not make him happy. He knew all these things. But he was also scared. And he also loved his father, despite everything. In the end, the only thing that counted was love, was it not?

[envirotravel]

Street Art, Sunset and Sugarloaf: The Perfect Last Day in Rio de Janeiro

A week in Rio de Janeiro flew by. I knew it would.

Heather and I had debated what to do with our final day in the city. There were so many options! We’d hit a lot of the major must-sees — we’d woken up before dawn to be (literally) the first two people at Christ Redeemer, we’d gone hang gliding over São Conrado, we’d sampled the southern beaches, and we’d toured a colorful favela. Top attractions? Check. Adrenaline activities? Check. Beach bumming? Check.

So for our final act, we decided to tick the culture box, and signed up for Viator’s Rio de Janiero Street Art Tour. I’d been amazingly inspired by the works I saw from the creative community in São Paulo, and I wondered how the two cities might compare.

We knew from the moment that we were greeted by our cute guide Nina — also the founder of the tour! — that we were going to get along great.

For starters, Nina spoke some of the most fluent English of any Brazilian we’d met along our journey, which felt like an undeserved treat after weeks of butchering Portuguese. And thank goodness, because we would have been devastated to miss a single word!

For the next four hours, we were under Nina’s spell as she led us through tunnels, around school yards, into craft breweries and beyond to discover some of Rio’s most intriguing pieces of public art. It’s a relatively new industry, at least from a legal standpoint — it was only in 2009 that the Brazilian government decriminalized street art.

Unlike every other street art tour I’ve ever been on, this one is not exclusively a walking tour. Rio is sprawling and the best works are spread out around the city, so a comfortable, air-conditioned bus transported us from stop to stop where we’d often then walk for a bit.

Generally, the tour meets at Siqueira Campos Metro station, however, we were getting a slightly abridged tour. We’d hoped to schedule this activity earlier in our stay, but there was only one tour running the week of our trip, and it was a chartered trip from a wealthy group of wives of expatriate bankers from neighboring South American countries — mostly Venezuela and Colombia. Heather and I were disappointed to learn that they’d strictly specified that they refused to enter a favela, which is normally a popular stop along Nina’s route. It was an eye-opening reminder of the terrible stigma that favelas have in Brazil, and of the enormous income inequality that plagues the country.

But we tried to focus on the positive: we had a beautiful day and a great tour guide, and lots of intriguing art to admire. Nina took time not just to point out impressive works, but also to educate us, explaining the difference between a tag, graffiti, and murals — in both the eyes of artists and the law. She pointed out different methods and materials, and most notably seemed able to recite the name and backstory of the artist responsible for every brushstroke in the city.

Nina is, it was slowly revealed, personal friends with many of the artists, which allowed her to share an amazing number of quirky insider anecdotes.

We quickly caught on that if you pay attention, there are actually a relatively small number of artists creating street art around Rio. Which means that once you recognize an artist’s work, you’re likely to see it everywhere. Even more fun? Many of them are frequent collaborators, which made looking at a mural like trying to solve an equation — perhaps a bit of Bruno Big in one corner, a Carlos Bobi portrait in the center, and is that one of Rodrigo Villa’s birds up top?

Many of the pieces also addressed social injustice, or current events in Brazil. The FIFA World Cup and the then-upcoming Olympics were two hot topics. Many artists voiced the outrage some Brazilian citizens felt at the overspending on these events, funds which could have been channeled into education and healthcare, for example. Others were hired to do official projects promoting the events. It was one small example of the complexity layered on these simple concrete walls.

Yup, these two art school nerds were in visual heaven.

Photo by Heather Holt

Photo by Heather Holt

Photo by Heather Holt

A brief stop near Botafogo reminded us that we still had one major attraction to tick off our list: iconic Sugarloaf mountain! We still hadn’t been, but not for lack of trying. On the day we’d arrived in Rio we’d breathlessly thrown our bags down, turned around and rushed into an Uber and flew over to Sugarloaf, perfectly timed to catch sunset… except the star attraction was closed for cable car maintenance. For three days. Oops.

The day it reopened, there was full cloud cover and no sunset. Then we were hungover. Then it rained. Then suddenly, it was our last day in Rio and we were on an art tour. That evening was our last try.

Photo by Heather Holt

Photo by Heather Holt

Back on the bus, we made our way towards the last stop of the tour, a microbrewery and gallery hybrid in chic Leblon. After a quick drink — and free popcorn! — we gave Nina an enormously heartfelt thanks for the day.

Love art? Interested in seeing an alternative side to Rio? Want to support a young female entrepreneur? Take this tour! While we were a bit bummed out that our tour was huge and had so many outside-imposed restrictions that we didn’t agree with, it sounds like it’s a rarity. Plus, it’s good to keep in mind that all tours have a flexible itinerary since street art is always changing. One thing likely to remain the same for a long time to come are the talented artists Nina features — she even emails you a PDF run-down after the tour so you can keep an eye out for their works when wandering on your own.

Which is one reason of many to take this tour as early in your trip as possible. Nina will also give you plenty of tips for what to see and where to eat, and give you a heads up about upcoming events and shows. I wish we could have attended some that she recommended!

Photo by Heather Holt

So how did Rio’s street art compare to that of its rival city? In my subjective opinion, the scene as a whole wasn’t quite as sophisticated as the street art scene in São Paulo, but considering the latter is the center for art and design for the entire country, that’s not too much of a surprise.

Plus, the quality of Nina’s tour was just so high it kind of offset the ranking.

We had a bit of time to kill before sunset at Sugarloaf, and so we ambitiously tried to squeeze in a visit to the famous Jardim Botânico, since we were quite close in Leblon. And it probably would have worked if we hadn’t wasted some time time looking for a snack (could have gotten one at the Botanical Garden), having trouble connecting with an Uber driver, and then literally having one of the two worst Uber drivers we had in all of Rio.

By the time we arrived, we had tragically little time before we had to turn around and leave again.

Photo by Heather Holt

With basically zero minutes, we made a straight shot for the park’s most famous row of historic palm trees, took a few (billion) portraits, and off we went. I hope to return someday — designed in 1808 with over 8,000 plant species, it’s certainly worth more than the very brief glance we had to give it.

However, assuming you are less rushed and have better driver luck than we did, this truly is the perfect post-street art tour activity — it’s a very convenient location, and the natural beauty perfectly complemented the man-made one we’d just soaked up.

But have you ever seen a dreamier place to take a few twirling pictures?

Photos of me by Heather Holt!

And then we were off to our Pão de Açúcar, the famous Sugarloaf Mountain. Remember when I said our driver to the Botanical Garden was our second worst taxi driver in Rio? Yeah, well the driver who eventually brought us to Sugarloaf — he was number one.

We were in agony as our driver got lost, boldly ignored Uber’s driving directions, pulled the car over to consult with locals, and then missed the entrance to one of Rio’s most visited attractions multiple times. The ride took twice as long as it should have and it was the first time I’ve ever asked Uber for a refund (which they granted).

We caught the last of the sunset from the window of the first cable car. We ended up getting some gorgeous photos and having an amazing experience regardless, but it was hard to shake off the chaos and stress of getting there and just enjoy the moment.

However, when the lights of Rio started to blink on in the darkness, that was certainly just what I needed to switch gears on a sour mood.

Photo by Heather Holt

We stayed up at the top of the mountain for ages watching the sky change colors. From our brief anecdotal experience, sunset seemed like a great time to go — we got gorgeous city views, the lines were very short, and we mostly had the place to ourselves.

Photo by Heather Holt

Photo by Heather Holt

It was a surprisingly rocky road to get there, but ending our final day in Rio at one of it’s most iconic viewpoints was a beautiful note to go out on. Chaotic, rushed, stressful, but ultimately stop-you-in-your-tracks gorgeous and inspiring — our last day in Rio was a bit of a metaphor for our entire trip to Brazil.

Next stop, Buzios!

I am a member of the Viator Ambassador initiative and participated in this tour as part of that program.

Street Art, Sunset and Sugarloaf: The Perfect Last Day in Rio de Janeiro posted first on http://ift.tt/2k2mjrD