#despite all of that the heroine who comes from this high class noble family is given 'appraisal' which is the most basic of basic abilities

[isekyaaa]

One story that'd be really fun to write out would be from a person that is isekai'd into the world of a dating sim as the heroine. They're one of those evil heroines that want all the male routes to fall in love with them. They even have that innate charm magic or they use methods like laced cookies to make the men fall in love with them. However, much to their dismay, there's this character that always foils them. He's the secret route that the heroine never took interest in. He passed out wards against charm magic. He finds antidotes to love potions. No matter what the heroine tries, he keeps foiling each and every single one of their plans. The heroine hates him but he finds the heroine and their tactics absolutely fascinating. They keep going at it until one day the heroine realizes with horror that they may have fallen in love with him.

[usergreenpixel]

Frev Prompts, Part 8! That’s right, I’m not done with these yet. 😏

71. Lycée Louis-le-Grand, Paris, France. The protagonist is one of its many students in the 18th century and, due to his family’s social standing and his own success in academics, this boy is considered a popular student.

Most other students want to be friends with the main character but he is too reserved and suspicious of their intentions to get attached to anyone. That is until he defends two younger students from bullies. The boys, whose names are Maximilien de Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins, are naturally grateful that the main character defended them, so the three grow extremely close.

But will they stay close when some unpleasant secrets about the main character suddenly surface and threaten to ruin himself and his family? Will the trio be able to solve mysteries that suddenly pop up in the school? And what will become of them in the end?

72. The protagonist has just inherited an estate from their parents, who are among the few residents of France who still possess their noble title and their wealth, both of which their ancestors had reclaimed after the revolution.

At first the protagonist doesn’t think much of it - they’re used to living a wealthy privileged life. That is until circumstances lead them to inspect a boarded up room in the estate, only to find a capsule with a prominent French revolutionary unconscious and trapped inside it, hooked up to multiple life support machines.

To the protagonist’s confusion and horror, opening the capsule reveals that the revolutionary is very much alive, unaware of what happened to him and more than furious upon finding out the protagonist’s name.

Confused, the protagonist attempts to try to both calm the revolutionary down and figure out the reason behind this rage, only to find out that their ancestors were far from innocent victims of Madame Guillotine like the protagonist believed them to be and that their wealth had not been obtained by lawful and honest means.

Perhaps this eye opening experience is exactly what the protagonist needed in order to realize that there’s more to life than being a privileged spoiled brat.

73. For as long as they remember, the protagonist, their parents and their younger sibling(s) have always had a habit of moving from place to place, almost like nomads from movies, even though they live in a van in the modern era and don’t quite fit the part.

As a result of this situation, the protagonist has issues with developing lasting relationships and suffers from the feelings of isolation from their peers and the resentment that their parents keep moving so often.

But eventually the protagonist finally gets a chance to find out the reason why their family lives this way when they get kidnapped by the government to be used as bait to lure in their father.

The protagonist is thoroughly confused as they hear the kidnappers talk about time travel, the French Revolution, a Thermidor survivor...and all of this in relation to the protagonist’s father (or rather, as they find out, their stepfather).

What’s going on? Will the protagonist be able to escape and reunite with their family?

74. Through what can only be described as a twist of fate, the main characters cross their paths once again.

They are identical triplets who were separated at birth and now belong to three different classes. One was adopted into nobility, another wants to take a vow of celibacy and devote their life to God, while the third one is a commoner.

But now that the protagonists have been reunited, their plans change since they have no intentions of letting life tear them apart again.

Together, they become masked avengers and make it their goal to oppose corruption plaguing the high society of France, all while the revolution begins to truly pick up the pace.

75. When the protagonist was merely eighteen years old, they got locked up in a reformatory facility where they are forced to deal with a rather unpleasant company of the mentally ill, petty thieves, prostitutes and other kinds of unpleasant characters.

Their only source of comfort is a peer named Antoine, locked up for having tried to run away from home and stealing silverware. Traumatized yet defiant, he strikes up a friendship with the protagonist and even shares his new writing, Organt, with them.

Now lovestruck by Antoine to the point of obsession, the protagonist is devastated when they part ways and keeps looking for him.

What’s worse, when they finally find Antoine in 1793, he has seemingly changed and not in a good way since he keeps pretending he doesn’t know the protagonist but they are determined to restore the old friendship at any cost.

76. The protagonist, a teenager, is sent to France by their scientist mother to spend the summer break with their maternal uncle and his family.

At first the youth is sure that this will be yet another summer in France and nothing unusual will happen, only to be proven wrong when their mother goes missing and they begin to get followed by suspicious people.

As if that wasn’t enough, the teenager soon finds out a few shocking things. Not only is their uncle not actually their mother’s half-brother but he is actually a man from the past and used to be one of Napoleon’s marshals. The protagonist’s aunt is also from the past and, as the teen finds out, so was their currently missing father who was actually a prominent participant of the French Revolution.

Hoping to find both their parents and thwart the plan of their stalkers to steal their mother’s time machine and travel to the French Revolution to change its course, the protagonist joins forces with their aunt, uncle and cousins in this dangerous situation.

77. After the end of the French Revolution Charlotte Robespierre, left with no family and fearing for her safety, moves in with a man and his daughter, the heroine of the story, essentially becoming the girl’s stepmother.

As the heroine matures, she and Charlotte develop a close bond and Charlotte develops maternal instincts towards this young girl, seeing her as the daughter she never had and planning to make her her heir.

So, when the heroine falls in love with an extremely suspicious man, Charlotte opposes the union and while everyone sees her as the jealous wicked stepmother, the girl herself realizes that she is doing it for a much more selfless reason and something is genuinely wrong with this guy.

Together, Charlotte and her stepdaughter decide to investigate the suspicious suitor…

78. The protagonist is excited.

After years of living with their adoptive family, they managed to locate their biological parents and are getting along pretty well with them without severing ties with their adoptive parents.

But when the revolution comes knocking, the protagonist is torn between their royalist adoptive parents and Jacobin-supporting birth parents.

The protagonist loves everyone in their family but, unfortunately, they will have to make a hard choice for the first time in their life.

79. When the protagonist, an orphaned street urchin, rescues Jean-Paul Marat from an assasination attempt, they don’t expect anything to come out of the situation and move on with their life.

But when Marat rescues the protagonist from bandits later on and recognizes them, he decides to take the youth under his wing. Thus the protagonist ends up in the care of Marat and his family and even becomes fascinated with science thanks to their guardian.

Marat, his wife and his sister slowly find themselves attached to the protagonist and become determined to raise the kid despite all the revolutionary madness and danger that surround them.

Perhaps, this is the protagonist’s chance to have a real family and a place to belong at long last.

80. 1812. The Patriotic War against Napoleon’s army is in full swing on the territory of the Russian empire. On the side of the French emperor is the protagonist, Brutus, a 19-year old nephew of Louis Antoine de Saint-Just himself.

Severely wounded in a battle, Brutus ends up being rescued from certain death by a surprisingly sympathetic “enemy” who nurses the young man back to health and hides him.

Having recovered from his wounds, Brutus decides it’s high time to return to his family as they probably think he was killed.

Now that the war is over, returning seems like an easy task but the young man’s rescuer warns him that his journey won’t be easy and gives him a small cross as a memento so God can protect Brutus on his journey.

And so, with said cross on his neck, meager possessions and some food, Brutus embarks on a long and challenging journey home. Along the way, he will face plenty of trials and tribulations, make new connections and maybe even find love.

But will he make it back to his family safe and sound?

[ladyloveandjustice]

Belated Spring 2020 Anime Overview: My Next Life as Villainess

For the Spring 2020 anime season, I mostly watched continuations of shows I was already into. The one new show I did pick up was My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! follows Katerina Claes, a spoiled young noble girl deviously scheming to win the heart of a prince- oh wait, never mind, she hit her head and remembered her past life! Turns out she’s an eighteen year old Japanese otaku chick who died and got reincarnated as the villainess in her favorite otome game. 

If you don’t feel like reading the wiki article, an otome game is basically a female- targeted dating sim where you play as a blank slate main character and date a bunch of pretty boys (and sometimes girls, but usually only if you go outside the mainstream ones), unlocking their backstories and collecting all the romantic endings.

Having played this game, Katarina is well aware that the Villainess character- who constantly tries to interfere with the game’s heroine and whichever boy she’s pursuing- is either exiled or killed in all of the games endings. And now she IS that villainess, living in the world of the game and all its characters! Does that mean she’s doomed to a horrible fate? What’s a girl to do?

Well, if you’re Katarina, what you do is be supportive and kind to the people around you and in doing so accidentally get every single character in the game to fall in love with you. And yes, this includes all the boys the heroine is supposed to date, the other female romantic rivals the heroine is faced with and the game’s heroine herself.

That’s right, we finally got us some bisexual romantic comedy hijinx last anime season, my friends! My Next Life as a Villainess was the delightful little show I really escaped into during these anxious pandemic times . All these girls casually falling in love with Katarina without it being treated as ‘weird’ was what particularly drew me to this show and warmed my gay little heart to see. It was honestly the perfect fluffy, low stress watch during these high stress times.

Anime has long been oversaturated with ‘harem’ stories- where a usually unwitting protagonist somehow gets a bevy of beauties in love with them- but it’s still unfortunately really unusual to see bisexual harems, especially ones with a girl at the center, so right away there’s a big draw to this story that helps it stick out from the rest.  (And worry not, the story is largely focused on Katarina having fun with these pals-who-are-not-so-secretly-in-love-with-her, rather than having a ton the dubious shenanigans you see in more sexually charged tales.)

Harem protoganists also famously tend to have the personality of potatoes, being so painfully bland it’s unclear why so many people would fall in love with them in the first place. But that definitely not the case for Katarina. She’s brash, ridiculous, kind and INCREDIBLY dense, and that for a pretty dynamic combination in this setting! She does genuinely come off as a fun person to be around. Unlike a lot of modern isekai shows, she doesn’t stumble into having incredible magic powers or skills, so her compassion is genuinely her greatest strength and what saves the day and wins hearts time and time again.

Katarina’s five brain cells doing their weekly check-in

(The moment she won my heart was when she responded to a tragic Frozen style situation with her friend locking himself away from people because he believed his magic was dangerous by taking an axe to his door. My kinda girl!)

The premise also allows for some plausible built-in reasons for the characters to take such special notice of Katarina- having been raised in a different world, she isn’t beholden to all the social rules, class divisions and noble family drama all the other kids in this very specific midevial-esque fantasy world are so embroiled in. This combined with her naturally earnest, accepting and straightfoward nature means she’s able to cross boundaries and reach out to them in a way they aren’t accustomed to. She was significant in each character’s life because she genuinely was the first to show them acceptance and affection without pretense, if only because she isn’t even aware there was supposed to be a pretense.

Katarina’s focus on trying not to die and her fear she’s going to meet the same fate as the villainess in the game also at least gives some kind of a basis to her comical obliviousness to everyone being in love with her. She assumes that everyone has to be into Maria (the heroine) and terrified of her because that’s how the game GOES okay, that’s CANON! Of course, this logic stretches thin as time goes on and it would be abundantly clear to most people that things have diverged greatly from the game’s storyline, but the show makes it clear that Katarina’s determined, one track mind is as much a gift as a curse. 

Her bullheadedness when it comes to picking up how everyone REALLY feels about her is an intentional gag on the show’s part and even her love interests are well aware of what a colossal dumbass she is and not afraid to point it out!

My Next Life as a Villainess isn’t without its flaws, and the personalities/backstories of some of the ‘love interests’ Katarina gathers may be a stumbling block on some- mostly the male ones.  Geordo, “the black hearted prince” has a bit of the “ possessive shoujo bad boy” archetype about him, and though he’s far from the worst that genre of love interest has to offer (there’s not much bad he can get up to due to Katarina’s obliviousness, the lighthearted nature of the show, and his rivals constantly getting in his way), the way he refuses to break Katarina and his engagement off despite her repeatedly asking him to, as well as some of his lines here and there, are definitely NOT cute. 

Keith is Katarina’s adopted brother, but clearly has a thing for her too. On one hand, they only first met when they were nine and he fell for her pretty immediately. On the other hand, he still refers to her as “sister” constantly which is kinda eesh. 

The other two guys are all right- Nicol’s big thing is he’s inexpressive and doesn’t talk much which, considering show doesn’t spend much time inside his head, doesn’t make him a very interesting character in the ensemble (maybe he comes across better in the novels) but there’s nothing wrong with him. Alan is undoubtedly the Best Boy in my book. He’s another common trope- rambunctious and competitive with Katarina but clearly soft for her- but he’s done well and they have a lot of cute moments together.

I find the girl love interests to be a much more interesting group overall, though this may be my obvious bias talking. Sophia has the strongest connection to Katarina, their backstories being intertwined in a surprising and touching way (I’m told in the novels her affection for Katarina was treated as more platonic, but the anime definitely plays it up as having romantic elements). Maria’s original role as the game’s heroine puts her in the most interesting position (and would make her the most narratively satisfying choice of love interest, if the show was actually interested in choosing). And while Mary is comically tenacious in her pursuit of Katarina, she’s doesn’t ever act ‘sinister’ or overstep boundaries in the way Geordo does, her “scheming” only really amounting to straightforwardly asking if Katarina wants to ditch her fiance and run away with her. 

As I mentioned, one thing that really contributes to My Next Life as a Villainess being a relaxing watch is that the queer characters are treated with casual acceptance. Mary in particular isn’t subtle about her crush on Katarina, but nobody bats an eye at her and she’s completely open and comfortable with herself too. The observing maid notes that the girls are in love with Katarina with the same bland affect as when she notes she notes the guys are. And while the social practices of the nobles are pretty heteronormative- girls are always engaged in arranged marriages to guys, the guys are expected to dance with the girls (something Mary complains about!)- there’s apparently a booming queer romance novel industry that inspires our young wlw.

Katarina, having grown up in a different world, seems to be the one most prone to heteronormativity of her group. She never really considers  that a girl would ever fall in love with her, but is also never hostile to the idea. It’s telling that when Mary very clearly indicates her desired romantic partner would be a girl, Katarina’s the only one that gets tripped up and has to walk back her assumption that Mary would be talking about a guy. 

Mary LAYING DOWN THE LAW

Also, Katarina has  SEVERAL “she’s so cute! My heart is beating faster!” moments with the other girls, on par in frequency with her moments with the guys. This strongly hints she’s an oblivious bisexual disaster.

So, My Next Life as Villainess is a fun, frothy watch and the rare positive example of silly wish-fufillment that’s inclusive to a wlw audience. But is the actual plot good, or remotely complex? The answer to that is no, the plot is fairly predictable and one definitely shouldn’t got into this story expecting a deep examination of the nature of fate or anything like that.There’s no real explanation of big reason as to why why Katarina was reborn into this game world and so on.

 The antagonist that does eventually emerge plays off otome game tropes a bit, but ultimately isn’t that interesting or built up all that well. . The attempts at drama the show makes towards the end fall a little flat, especially since it tends to rely on very-late-in-the-game-exposition-dumps (dark magic isn’t even MENTIONED as existing in this world until like, the second to last episode where it becomes relevant and we get a vague infodump explaining its mechanics). The conflict honestly almost feels shoehorned in and the climax is pretty standard and doesn’t really utilize the big cast of characters all that well

But in the end, that’s okay! The show makes it abundantly clear from the beginning it’s not here to be Deep, but to be some silly fun. And it really fulfills that purpose well, from it’s catchy, peppy theme tune to its consistently warm tone. It MAY get repetitive at times for some, and I do have some quibbles- like how I found the childhood segments to be some of the shows best material and wish we could have stayed in that section for a bit instead of rushing through it, how I wish Katarina had kept her cute little scar, etc- but overall, it was definitely the soothing balm I needed during a very rough time and I absolutely recommend it if you’re looking for a chill, feel-good watch.

 And hey, a second season’s supposed to be on the way too, so there’s something to potentially look forward to!

[loopy777]

RE: WIPs game: Actress Mai. what is she acting in? besides her ongoing starring role as Repressed Perfect Child?

Ah, "Actress Mai." This is a headcanon I keep chipping away at in the hopes that I'll eventually have something I want to publish. I have a whole host of little ideas and scene concepts, but only one actual WIP.

It started with the idea that Zuko and Ursa are theater snobs. Sure, Ursa apparently attended Ember Island Player performances, which Zuko disdained, but my thought is that she took what she could get in terms of live theater with her family even if she agreed with his criticisms. However, I like to headcanon that Mai loves the Ember Island Players, hates classical theater, and generally is the type of person who thinks that Michael Bay movies are great and more people should just turn off their brains and allow themselves to be entertained.

Why?

Well, because character conflict is what makes stories interesting. Zuko gritting his teeth through Mai's praise of how the EIPs finally made "Love Amongst the Dragons" interesting? Gold! Ursa and Mai getting into heated drunken arguments about theater styles? Gold! Mai convincing Kiyi of the good points of the controversial 'Love Amongst the Dragons II: Love Harder' (which is canon to at least two of my Maiko fics) while Zuko and Ursa grit their teeth? Solid gold!

This fun little conflict turned into something more, though. If Ursa and Mai are dark mirrors of each other in terms of theater tastes, then it felt like Mai needed a little acting history to parallel Ursa's own. But Ursa could be a publicly known actress because she was a peasant; such a profession was okay for her. Mai is a noble, though, and an acting job would be seen as beneath her, especially as a woman, as Polite Fire Society knows (or thinks it knows) that 'actress' is really just a polite term for prostitute. This is a takeoff from some real-life history stuff that I first learned of through Sherlock Holmes stories. Apparently, Irene Adler being an 'opera singer' was a thing British readers would recognize as being of a sordid nature.

So I decided that Mai did some secret, illicit acting anonymously during her childhood and teenage years. She stumbled across an opportunity, gave it a try, and found it fulfilling despite the social stigma. She liked being able to project emotions of all kinds in public, while at the same time shielded by masks or makeup or costumes or whatever. She liked being other people, people who find love with their heroes or die tragically to teach everyone a point or villainously ruin everything around them as a force of vengeful nature. It was the only opportunity for expression that she had, as well as a quiet form of rebellion. So for years she snuck out of the capital, down to Harbor City, and acted in all kinds of plays for a troupe that accepted not paying her as a fair trade for keeping her anonymous.

Naturally, moving to Omashu put a crimp on that, and so it ended.

So the idea is that Ursa eventually learns this about Mai after years of their butting heads over theater opinions, sees the parallels and perpendiculars in their lives, and grudgingly comes to respect Mai's completely wrong opinions about theater as at least being informed. And Mai, who is good at acting and does know the classics and would be wasted in the Ember Island Players, helps Ursa out with some plays she writes (still anonymous, although Zuko and Ursa know) even though Mai privately thinks the dialogue is too stilted and the stories kind of cliched.

But I have had trouble beating all of this into a proper story. I want to do flashbacks to Mai on stage, I want to show her conflict with Ursa, I want to reveal how Ty Lee found out and used that to get Mai to accept running away to the circus, I want Zuko's reaction to finding that his wife can recite soliloquies from all the major classics, I want Kiyi becoming an Ember Island Players groupie, etc. It's just missing a plot to hang it all on.

So here's a snippet of one of my attempts to construct something:

Noren grimaced. "Honestly, I was impressed we got enough people to fill out all the parts, never mind understudies. This play-"

"-is important," Ursa finished for him.

He hesitated just a moment before nodding. "And it's important for the same reasons that it was tough to get actors. I'm sure once Zuko sees it and can give it his official approval-"

"But he can't see anything without a Rinzen." Ursa thought about her son out there in the audience, anonymous amidst the 'peasants' of Hira'a. Zuko didn't mind mixing with his people, despite being their Lord, but the only reason he was here, tonight, was because Ursa herself had written the play, and he was a good son who would always support his mother.

Zuko had even brought his friends, including the Avatar. Aang was a delightful young man, and always very nice to Ursa, but she couldn't help but feel trepidation at his presence. After all, Avatar Roku, Ursa's grandfather and Aang's previous life, was a major character in this play, and while the story was based on real events, it was Ursa's hand that had shaped his dialogue and actions. She was putting her thoughts and philosophies, her very heart, out on the stage for public assessment, and this was tricky material. Would it do right by history?

Plus the lead actress was sick, and going by her complaints and the smell of the privy, perhaps dying.

Ursa had to tell herself that her audience, her friends and family and neighbors, wouldn't enjoy this play becoming a disaster. None of them were that bad. This wasn't the Capital. And she wasn't a princess. Not anymore.

So why had she taken it on herself to write this play, to positively dramatize a story of an ancestor who a few years ago was considered a heretic and traitor, to will into being a performance right here in the Fire Nation of a play that featured a heroic Air Nomad character whose actress was currently trapped in the privy?

Because her nation had hurt the world, and she wouldn't leave it to her son alone to do all the work of helping to fix that. That's why.

"Maybe," she ventured, "I could play the part."

Noren frowned. "You? But you're playing the Lady of Glass, and the characters share several scenes."

But Ursa was already analyzing the copy of the script that existed in her mind. "Rinzen has a lot more lines than the glass spirit, and I'm the only one who knows them. And playing a spirit is a lot easier than playing an Air Nomad. A spirit is just a voice, a costume, and some special effects. An Air Nomad character is a performance, and we're fresh out of actresses."

Noren's head tilted from side to side. "We could ask Kiyi. She knows the play by heart. She's a bit young for the part, yes, but-"

"No," Ursa cut him off. "She'd say yes if we asked her, but she hates being on stage. I'm not going to do that to her. I'd rather call off the play and see if our Rinzen is feeling better tomorrow."

Noren blanched at the very thought and made a gesture of good luck. "Well, maybe we can find a new Lady of Glass. And adjust the Rinzen costume. So are you thinking we'll just go on stage and ask the crowd who wants to join the cast, or maybe-"

And then there was a shift behind Noren, the red curtain over the office's doorway being pulled aside to reveal a living shadow. It seemed to Ursa that a chill had entered the room.

Lady Mai, Intended to Fire Lord Zuko, had arrived.

Ursa stiffened as Mai stepped into the office and let the curtain fall back into place. Time and familiarity had not made it any easier to be in a room with her son's lover. She had no real doubts about Mai, no resentment over the early difficulties Zuko that had apparently been overcome, but it was hard to reconcile Azula's shy and dour childhood companion with what existed now. Mai walked around covered with knives, watching everything; she never spoke unless there was an explicit need, but her gaze was always focused and her eyes missed nothing.

And it was in Mai's kind of silent, watchful abyss that Judgement grew. Ursa did not have a good feeling about how Mai likely judged her. How could a child of the Fire Nation's capital, someone who had become strong alongside Azula, a world-class warrior whose last stand for the life of her lover was already the subject of at least one popular poem, have any empathy for Ursa's life or the mistakes she had made?

Mai looked at her with dull eyes. "Is everything okay? The crowd is getting restless, and Zuko was worried. I told him I'd check on things so that he wouldn't miss the beginning of the play."

Ursa hesitated against that flat, low voice, and Noren stepped in to answer, "Our lead actress is sick. Ursa and I were just discussing options. There- uh, there aren't a lot of them."

Mai might as well have been told that dinner was planned to include green sprouts, but they were all out and so the yellow ones would be substituted. "Which part?"

Ursa swallowed. "The Air Nomad girl, Rinzen."

Mai quirked an eyebrow. "The heroine." She was still and silent for a long moment, and then sighed. "Zuko's really been looking forward to this. I guess I can help out. All right, I'll be your Rinzen."

Ursa wasn't quite sure she had heard that right. "You- you want to take the part? But-" Her voice faltered, as all the possible objections swirled through her mind. Mai was, to put it simply, completely lacking in charisma and non-threatening presence. She spoke without emotion. She moved so efficiently that no one in the back of the audience would even notice her. And she was so disinterested in everything that she'd probably nod off in the middle of the performance.

Noren offered a troubled smile. "Thank you for the offer, but acting is harder than it looks. It's not just about going on stage and reciting lines. An actress needs-"

"It's Nomad part, right?" Mai shrugged. "So we want a high, bright voice. Circular gestures. A bounce in all the movements. Here, like this." She stretched out her arms, shook her head, and then-

-and then-

-and then Mai was no longer there. The woman in red and black looked like her, but there was a wide mischievous smile on her face, and her eyes were big and bright. She stepped towards Ursa- no, they weren't mere steps. She kicked her heels high with each one, and the way she shifted her weight flirted with almost being a dance. She held her arms up at her side as she moved, and then when she reached Ursa, swung them dramatically to bring her hands together into a sign of respect.

She bowed, and in a voice that positively rang and filled the room, said, "Are you not the Firebender Avatar, Roku? What a fortunate wind blows to lay my path upon your own!" She rose again, and trotted in a circle around Ursa. "I say, you are taller than I expected, and must be quite heavy. Are you sure you're keeping up with your Airbending, young Avatar?" She raised a hand and held it out to the side.

Noren recovered before Ursa did, realizing what was going on, and quickly found a rag and placed in the waiting hand.

Mai's eyes never left Ursa the whole time, and as soon as the rag was in her grip, she moved again, taking a stance that had clearly been modeled on Avatar Aang's own style, and held the rag out in front of her, dangling it from her fingers and bouncing it in the air.

Mai gave a laugh that was echoed through the little room. "Your beard flutters in my breeze! Come, young Avatar, let's have a spar!"

There was a beat, and Ursa was tempted to deliver Roku's next line in response, but then all at once the younger woman slumped, letting the grandness leak out of her limbs. When she straightened, Mai was back, standing like a blade made of shadow, her face blank and her eyes dull.

Ursa blinked. What had she just witnessed? So many questions swirled in her mind, and she decided to ask the most important of them: "You know all the lines?"

[carewyncromwell]

There! Finalized my model sheet for my HPMA girl, Anastasia Read! You can read more about her here at this moodboard post I did for her, but basically she’s a Gryffindor who dreams more than she talks and is determined to be the heroine of her own fantasy story.

Some more info about Ana under the cut...

Ana doesn’t resemble her biological parents, John Read and Bonnie Pinkstone-Read, much at all except in hair color (both are also brunettes). Her soft, endomorph frame, strong shoulders, and bluish gray eyes come from her maternal grandfather. As an adult Ana’s even taller than her mother Bonnie, who’s very petite all the way around.

Poor Ana is actually quite self-conscious about her weight, thanks in no small part to the, um...attempts at support from her mother Bonnie, who frequently expresses “concern” about Ana’s health because of her size. At school she wears a highwaisted skirt to hide her tummy, as if she wore a skirt like all of the other girls’, she’d look like -- in her mother’s words -- “a sack of potatoes tied in two.” It’s also the reason she always wears pants, tights or leggings -- she thinks her legs are very chubby and unattractive. Despite her roundness, however, Ana’s also always had very strong shoulders and is on the taller side compared to her other female classmates, which helps her put off a tougher image.

Bonnie Read’s biggest foible as a mother is her immaturity. She wants to be Ana’s “friend” more than a mentor most of the time, and so has difficulty enforcing discipline or even in setting a good example. Bonnie almost immediately dated three other men after divorcing John, all of whom either pointedly ignored or expressed open resentment toward her daughter Ana, before she finally met, dated, and married her second husband. Bonnie’s dependent personality and (as mentioned) subconscious weightism doesn’t help matters either.

Ana’s father John Read is an active-duty soldier. He’s actually an incredibly absent father who never really had much interest in having a family, but Ana’s always put him on a bit of pedestal, partly because of her image of him having become a soldier for noble reasons like serving his country and partly because him not being there to actively be a poor parent like her mother Bonnie made it easier for Ana to romanticize John in her mind. Ana writes to John very frequently. John doesn’t write back much at all.

Ana’s best mentor figure is her stepfather, Bradley Pinkstone (a wizard and Gryffindor alumnus himself). He and his two grown sons Jasper and Preston (a Slytherin and Gryffindor in their day) are very affectionate toward Ana, which kind of weirded her out at first, considering she’s not their blood relative and she’d assumed they’d hate her...but oh, was she ever so glad to be wrong! The new Pinkstone-Read family live in a rather pretty brick house in Stratford-Upon-Avon.

Her best and favorite class is History of Magic, but she tends to enjoy all classes where she can write essays. She’s always been miles ahead of her classmates when it comes to writing, especially considering that there are no specific writing or grammar classes taught at Hogwarts. Just about every written assignment Ana’s ever submitted has gotten an O.

Contrariwise, she struggles in classes that are more “physical” like Care of Magical Creatures or Flying.

Despite not getting into Flying class or Quidditch, though, Ana does take time to practice flying on her own at night when no one else is around. She finds moonlit broom rides incredibly romantic and great inspiration whenever she’s suffering from writer’s block.

Ana’s an avid journal keeper! She goes through a good five of them every year. She generally magically shrinks her finished creativity journals for easier storage, and she always hexes whichever one she’s currently writing in order to make sure no one else can open it. (If you’re somehow lucky enough to get her permission, she’ll open her creativity journal for you so you can read it and look at the doodles she did.)

Her favorite authors are Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Hans Christian Andersen, and William Shakespeare. Her favorite type of movies are high fantasy like The Princess Bride, Stardust, and The Lord of the Rings.

Ana’s also huge into Japanese manga! Her one true love is Sailor Moon, but she’s very fond of shoujo manga titles like Cardcaptor Sakura, Ouran High School Host Club, and Fruits Basket.

Ana’s favorite musical genre is symphonic metal, introduced to her by her oldest stepbrother Jasper. Her favorite bands are Within Temptation, Evanescence, and Nightwish.

As a teenager, Ana falls in love with the Victorian Gothic and steampunk subcultures, the first of which Jasper dabbles in and the second of which Preston is hard-core into. Being an INFP, she loves the creativity, historical bent, and romanticism in both movements. At the Pinkwood-Read family’s formal Christmas parties, you’ll often see all three of them wearing top hats with their holiday ensembles.

Ana does NOT make friends easily, but once you do become her friend, she’s always got your back. Her BFF is Hufflepuff Robin Isherwood @cursebreakerfarrier​. She also gets along pretty well with Gryffindor housemate Lorcan O’Donnell @unfortunate-arrow​, Slytherin Jordi Prewett @cursebreakerelmswood​, Ravenclaw Noa March @that-ravenpuff-witch​ and Hufflepuffs Mitch C. Hodge @department-shoe-stud​ and HG Gray @ljthebard1​. They all either call Anastasia “Ana” or “Annie” -- her stepfather and brothers call her “Anya.” 

Upon finding out how much her BFF Robin likes flowers and plants, Ana went out of her way to collect some books on the Victorian language of flowers. (Her brother Jasper gave her a hand with finding some good ones.) One Valentine’s Day she even sent Robin a friendship bouquet of irises, goldenrod, oak-leaved geraniums, and southernwood without any sort of note -- not that it was necessary, given that flowers’ message translated to “Just wanted to let you know you’ll always be my best friend.” (Everyone else assumed Robin had this mysterious secret admirer.)

If anyone rubs Ana the wrong way, they can expect a formal dueling challenge. Ana is witty on the page, but not verbally, and she’s upfront and honorable enough when she’s angry to want to “take it outside” and settle the dispute on the dueling field the way a knight would avenge a slight to their king’s honor, rather than be backhanded or sneaky about it.

Ana may be cisgender and identify as straight, but she is the ULTIMATE LGBT+ ally. Even when she was a kid, she would get very hot under the collar about homophobia, racism, or any other sort of prejudice, thanks to her Gryffindor sense of honor and her INFP sensitivity, and after Bonnie married Bradley and Ana met Jasper (who’s transgender FtM himself), Ana became all the more passionate about LGBT+ rights. She only becomes more vocal in her support after some of her friends come out of the closet too.

Ana’s greatest fear is being insignificant. This is depicted in boggart form as the whole room around her suddenly becoming huge, to the point where she’s as tiny and helpless as a mouse.

Ana’s Patronus is a black swan. If she ever became an Animagus, she’d be a large brown and gray tabby cat with oddly colored bluish gray eyes.

I could see Ana one day becoming a well-regarded author of fiction books for young magical children.

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIP

Warstan (but John got killed off before the story starts) and purely platonic Sherlock & Mary.  Quite AU... John and Mary get together before Sherlock jumped off of Bart’s.  Maybe a little bit of hinted unrequited Johnlock, I honestly can’t remember if I was going there with this fic.  A “Mary is the new Watson” retelling of “The Adventure of the Empty House,” rated T.  This was written before S3 happened and I fell in love with BBC Mary and she actually made me view BBC John as an interesting character in his own right and I rejiggered my alignments.

I’m going to rant here, just briefly, about how ACD’s Mary Morstan is probably one of the most wronged-by-their-author characters that I can think of, which is why I started writing this fic where she takes the lead.

She appears for the first time in the second-ever (authorially, not chronologically) Sherlock Holmes story, “The Sign of the Four,” and is delightful.  Watson falls hard in love right away and acts like a huge dweeb about her, she’s courageous, clever, and kind.  Maybe without all the panache of the later Irene Adler, but a more traditionally Victorian heroine for our more traditionally Victorian junior protagonist.  Her next appearance, “The Adventure of the Crooked Man,” is significantly more tangential, but she sets the action of the story in play and is shown to be a helpful, kind figure.

And then all of a sudden Conan Doyle ships her off to visit her mother (she was established as an orphan), stops using her at all, and finally kills her off.

Not even on the page.  Between books.  And it’s mentioned so tangentially in two lines of “The Adventure of the Empty House” that you can easily miss it if you aren’t looking for it.

(Incidentally this sort of shit is why ACD fandom can’t agree on how many wives Watson had or who the subject  of his “sad bereavement” is.  The number ranges from 1-13.)

Why, Artie?  Why did you do that?  I mean I get if you want to park Watson back at Baker Street you probably do have to off her but you were a fairly good hack and doing it this way made you give up the opportunity to have some sort of emotional payoff in your stories.  Especially since you later introduce another wife character who is in no way distinct from Mary (a niche component of ACD fandom thinks that Mary didn’t die at all and Watson “abandoning (Holmes) for a wife,” was him and Mary reconciling after an estrangement.)

Anyway.  Don’t create cool characters and then kill them for no good reason.  That’s my point.

_____________

The Empty Flat (Mary)

I had been widowed for three months and was rather surprised at how badly I was doing with it. The snug three-bedroom garden flat in Maida Vale had been the perfect size for a not-quite-young couple planning on children.  Now it seemed vast and empty and utterly, utterly silent.  When I slept, which wasn’t all that much, I did it on the sofa.  Our bed still smelled faintly of his aftershave, and I couldn’t stand either to sleep there or to wash the sheets.  Arthur, the blue point Siamese cat who I had bought into the marriage, would curl up on my feet and awaken me with his yowls in the morning.

To some extent I had been able to occupy my mind with work, and the requirements of my job had kept me more or less a functional adult.  But the summer holidays had begun a week previous, and I was thus thrown entirely on my own resources, which were scant. What family I had left were all back in America, and the friends I had made in England seemed to have melted away since John’s death.  Some days, I thought that this was due to the universal impulse to avoid reminders of mortality.  Other days I decided it was more likely due to the fact that I deleted their emails and declined to answer their phone calls.

The truth, as always, was probably somewhere in the middle.  

Whatever the cause, my life was empty.  I ate when I remembered that I was meant to.  I wore pajamas all day.  I left the flat when I ran out of cat food, and at night I would turn on the tv and stare at it without paying attention until I finally sank into oblivion.

Presumably it was on one of those descents into the maelstrom of crap British late-night TV that I first took note of the murder of Ronald Adair.  The dead man was vaguely familiar to me, though I had never watched any of his shows personally.  He was a scion of one of those impoverished but very old-and-noble families that the English keep on out of sentiment. Showing unusual initiative for one of his class, he’d made a success of himself by appearing on a famous reality show, then on the “celebrity” version of that show, and parlaying that into one of those mysterious but apparently quite lucrative careers that consist mostly of having your picture taken.  

And now, he was dead, shot in the back of the head in his own bedroom on Park Lane.

The story struck me, for some reason.  John, when he’d been alive, used to take four daily papers and half a dozen weeklies, and I had not cancelled them yet.  I plucked a week’s worth out of the recycling where I had tossed them, unread, and scanned through them for articles about the murder.

Ronald Adair had been alone in his bedroom, drinking neat whiskey and updating twitter, when he died.  His last tweet (@JustLukeyA, “LOL C U @ Ibiza”) had been sent at 10:11 in the evening. His personal assistant had heard the sound of breaking glass, broken down the locked door that led into the bedroom, seen his body, and dialed 999 by 10:17.  The bullet had been a large caliber hollow point round that had done severe damage to the back of his skull, and he had most likely died almost instantly.

The entire affair was mysterious.  While the police hadn’t released any real statements, the personal assistant had been the only other person in the house at the time of the shooting, and had been released after questioning.  This would suggest the shot had been fired from outside, but the window in Adair’s bedroom, while open, was on the fourth floor.  There was no evidence to suggest anyone had climbed to the window, meaning that the shot had come from somewhere outside.  

This made no sense at all to the gossip rags.  The window faced directly over Hyde Park, and any level shot would have had to come from over a mile away.  And shooting from ground level would have been impossible: the Park was open, reasonably crowded given the warmth of the summer evening, and no one had heard a thing.  The American embassy was less than two hundred yards away, and even its overblown security hadn’t noted any unusual activity.  Essentially, it was impossible that he could have been shot, and yet there he was.

As I read through the papers, I thought how John would have gone through them at the breakfast table to try and figure out what had happened.  Although his professional interest in solving mysteries had died with Sherlock, he never lost his fascination with the more arcane sorts of crime.  He would have loved this one, and I could imagine the crinkles that would form around his eyes as he would describe the possible motives, mechanisms, and solutions.  It was a Sunday, and I suspected that he would have wheedled me into taking our normal long walk in the direction of the crime scene.  I’d have teased him, said he was morbid, but I’d have gone, and he’d have hypothesized happily for a while.

I could so clearly imagine it, and it made me smile, despite myself.  It had been difficult to like Sherlock Holmes, and very difficult to deal with the fact that their association put John into danger on a regular basis.  Yet, now that they were both gone, I found myself forgiving every thoughtless insult and sleepless lonely night the detective ever gave me, since he had made John so happy.  

Wishing to hang on to my happy memory, I decided, abruptly, to take the walk over to Park Lane myself, just as John and I would have done.  It was past time I actually started doing things again.  I would go and see where Ronald Adair had died, and I would try and solve the mystery, and I would remember John.  Quickly, before I could change my mind, I showered, dressed, and left the flat.

July, in London, is one of the few times of the year when it approaches being warm enough, and it was a beautiful day.  I took the long route around Kensington Park, since a straight shot would have taken me directly past St. Mary’s Hospital, where John had worked - and where his body had been taken. The trees were brilliant green, and it seemed everyone in London was sunbathing or playing football or falling in love around me.

Ronald Adair’s flat was adjacent to the Mariott, in one of the converted brick Georgian edifices that infest all of Park Lane.  I had forgotten to take note of the number, but it was easily identifiable by the flowers and stuffed animals heaped up on the low fence that surrounded it. There were a fair number of gawkers, and by asking, I found which window Adair had been shot through.  I was stumped, for the moment, but thinking logically, decided the best route was to see from where I could have made the shot.  The busy street and the shrubbery borders of the park being ruled out, necessarily, I confined my attention to the sidewalks.  I took pictures on my phone, and paced around, and tried to work out the trigonometry involved.  

Then I stopped.  There were half a dozen locations from which the shot could have come.  It would be the hell of a task: the window was small and high, but if it were dark out and the shooter were aiming into a lit room, it would be possible. I had hunted a lot as a kid, and might have been able to make it with a rifle.  John, who had been an excellent marksman, might have been able to do it with a handgun.  But to do it quickly enough to avoid notice in a busy neighborhood, to do it silently?  That was impossible.

All facts that were undoubtedly obvious to the police.  If John had been with me, it would have been a fun little mathematical exercise.  We’d have followed it with a walk home, dinner at the pub on the end of our street, and making tipsy love in the light of a summer sunset in our flat.  But he wasn’t with me, and he never would be again, and the day would end as all days did, alone with the cat and the television and the dark.  The whole thing was a pointless, futile exercise - a little girl’s attempt to play make-believe.

I knew, suddenly, that I was going to cry.  It happened a lot, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to share with all London, so I spun around to depart and slammed full-force into a souvenir hawker who had been just behind me.  Grace has always eluded me.  The pole she carried, hung with ballcaps and other tat, fell to the ground, and she gave an indignant Cockney squawk of “Oi! Watch it!”  I bent to retrieve her pole and handed it back to her, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry,” and fled outright into the park, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.  

Leaving the path, I hurried through the park, not really aware of where I was going as long as it was quieter and emptier.  I reached a dim copse free of children, tourists, and lovers, where I sat down, and let the tears flow.

It’s easy to see why the ancient Egyptians thought that the heart, and not the brain, was the source of love.  True sadness isn’t felt in the head, it’s felt in the chest, and I could feel every choked beat of my heart as I sobbed and gasped and tried to catch my breath for what seemed like ages.  But from a pragmatic point of view, I’m sure I didn’t go for long.  Crying is too tiring to keep up for much time.  Of course, I had come out without any tissues, so I wiped my aching eyes and puffy face on the corner of my cardigan.  

At that moment, the hawker walked into the copse.  

“There you are!” she called out, “Wondered where you’d got to!”

I sighed.  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about knocking into you.  It was an accident.  If I’ve damaged anything I will be happy to pay-“

“Na, na, love.  Just a load of rubbish.  Can’t hurt it if it isn’t worth anything to start with.  But I saw your face and thought you might be in some trouble.”  The woman was elderly, with a mop of dyed auburn hair and a thick Docklands accent which I would love to render in text, if it didn’t look so silly.  But her blue eyes were kind, and she handed me a miniature water bottle marked with “Souvenir of Hyde Park.”

“I’m – fine.  I just got a little upset.  Thank you.”  The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plasticizers, but it soothed my irritated throat.

The woman seemed to take this remark as an invitation, and placing her wares on the grass, sat next to me.  I have lived in London since I was twenty-five years old and I could tell what was coming.  There are two main personality types among the English: the type that is intensely uncomfortable with any sort of emotion, and the type that delights in every possible expression of sentiment and wishes to hear all about it.  They’re like New Yorkers in that respect.

Apparently I had found one of the latter variant.

“You get to see a bit of everything, my line of work,” she said, digging a battered packet of Silk Cut out of her pocket, “Care for one?”

I had officially quit smoking years ago, when I finished my doctorate, and stopped even having the occasional one when I started dating John, since he loathed the things.  Just at that moment, though, it sounded like heaven.  “Yes, thank you.”

She shook two out of the packet, and passed one to me before getting out a transparent plastic lighter.  She lit hers, and then handed over the lighter.  A brief breeze kicked up, and I bowed my head over the tiny flame, trying to make the cigarette catch, as she said, quietly, “Now, Mary, you need to remain calm.”

The cigarette caught, and I took that first delicious, poisonous drag, before the fact that this stranger knew my name really filtered into my mind.  

I looked over, and where the woman had been, sat Sherlock Holmes.

  The Sign of Four (Sherlock)

The art of disguise, as I have often remarked, is in context far more than it is in costume.   Truly approximating the appearance of someone else is only possible from a distance: in ordinary situations major alterations to the face appear theatrical and attract more attention than not.  If, instead, you select a character who would be entirely appropriate in the context in which he appears, you need make only minor changes to your own appearance.  The observer’s mind will then do ninety per cent of your work and you will be de facto invisible.  I intend to write a monograph on the topic when I have the time.

Mary Morstan may have had some subconscious understanding of this.  On the occasion of our first meeting, I observed that she was wearing a carefully calibrated disguise, although I doubt she would have referred to it as such.  Very high heels, but an intentionally prim and boxy suit, severe makeup and hairstyle, heavy-framed glasses.  She introduced herself with a flat, middle-American accent, only slightly sharpened by years of living in London.

Just after she arrived, John walked into the flat, his arms filled with carrier bags of groceries, which he set down with great rapidity in order to shake her hand.  

“Mary Morstan, my associate, John Watson.  Miss Morstan,” I said, “Teaches maths at Westminster School.”

She stared at me when I said that.  John, I noted, didn’t let go of her hand when her attention was distracted.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

I sighed, though in truth I always enjoy it when they ask for the reasoning.  

“You’ve obviously come straight from work, meaning that you work Saturday mornings.  Chalk dust on the right cuff, which is worn in a way that you only ever see with people who spend a great deal of time writing on blackboards.  There are traces of red ink on the heel of your hand and a splotch near the tip of your index finger.  Thus, teacher.”  

As I’d expected, she dropped John’s hand to examine her own.

“You took the tube to get here, and in those shoes you probably didn’t walk far before you boarded at Westminster station: there’s construction digging up the street there and the fresh splashes of yellowish mud on your left stocking are quite distinctive.  Half a dozen schools in that area, but your ensemble suggests older students and moneyed parents. Hence, Westminster School.”

The last was a gloss, as her ensemble suggested nothing of the sort.  It said quite plainly “I teach older boys.”  Her skirt was unfashionably long, her blouse was buttoned up to the neck, and her jacket was boxy in order to conceal her rather large breasts.  Having attended an all-boys senior school, I recognized the style, and the motivation behind it.  But since I was undoubtedly going to receive the ”abrasive” and “show-off” lectures after her departure, I saw no reason to add the “inappropriate” one, and simplified the matter.

“And… maths?”

I sighed again, this time sincerely.  The easy ones are never any fun.

“There’s a graphics calculator in the right pocket of your overcoat.”

At that, she laughed.  Giggled, really.  But almost instantly, she caught herself, cleared her throat, and dropped back into the lower vocal register that she had previously affected.  Everything I could ever have wished to know about Mary Morstan’s character was thus revealed in the first five minutes of our interview.  Nature had given her a respectable brain and deposited it in a body that was small, blonde, and rather fluffy.  Her disguise did a reasonable job of concealing this, but she would spend the rest of her life trying to make people take her seriously.

“That’s amazing,” she said, “I read in your blog, Doctor Watson-“

“John, please,” he interrupted.  Oh dear.

“John.  I read about this kind of analysis but it’s remarkable to see it in real life.”

“Can be a bit creepy if you’re not used to it, though,” John replied, which I thought extremely unfair, given that I had been very polite and not mentioned that her teeth demonstrated her adolescent bulimia or that her fingers and eyebrows strongly implied a mild obsessive-compulsive condition.  I maintained my dignity, and said only,

“Thank you, John.  State your case, Miss Morstan.”

“Right.  Well.   I suppose I have to go back to the beginning.  My father, Thomas Morstan, was English.  I was actually born in Sussex, but when I was two my parents divorced and my mother and I moved back to America. I never got to see him much, growing up, but he always kept in touch, by phone and letters, and then by email when that came around.  Sent birthday gifts and that sort of thing.  Ten years ago I finished grad school, and he offered to buy me a ticket to come and meet him in London.  I hadn’t seen him for several years at that point and I didn’t have a job so, obviously, I said yes.”

“Mmm.  Continue.”

“He’d booked us rooms at the Langham, which I thought was much too expensive for him, but he said it was a treat for my graduation.”

“What was his profession, then?”

“He started off in the Army, but he resigned his commission after the first Gulf War and joined the diplomatic service.”

“As?”

“An attaché.  Just an office job, basically.  Visas and helping distressed tourists and so on.”

“And his rank in the army?”

“Ah, he ended as a Lieutenant Colonel, I believe.

“Go on.”

“I flew to London, expecting him to pick me up at Heathrow, but he wasn’t there.  No answer when I tried to call him.  I took a cab to the Langham and asked if he’d checked in, and he had, but there was no answer when they called up to his room.  Eventually they agreed to open the door – he’d had a heart attack a few years before, and I was getting very upset - and all of his things were in there, but no sign of him.  I never saw him again.”

“Interesting.  Did the police investigate?”  John was patting her shoulder, sympathetically, which seemed excessive given that the death (and yes, it was death, almost certainly) was ten years in the past.  She should have been well beyond it by this point.  But upon closer observation, I could see that he was right: a slight swimminess around the eyes and the set of the jawbone indicating gritted teeth.  Oedipal complex.  She replied, calmly enough.

“Yes.  They didn’t find anything.”

“Of course they didn’t.  They never do.  Did your father have any acquaintances in London?”

“Only one that they could find: a Major Sholto.  He had no idea Dad was even in town.”

“Mmm.  I doubt a disappearance ten years ago would incline you to seek the services of a consulting detective today.  What has changed?”

Morstan cleared her throat and opened the battered leather attache case that had been sitting at her feet.  From a manila folder, she removed a broadsheet page of yellowing newsprint, with a quarter-page sized advertisement in the upper right hand corner circled in red ink.  The paper was the Omaha World-Herald, the date was May 4, 2004, and the advertisement simply stated:

“If Mary Morstan, daughter of Captain Thomas Morstan, will contact the address below, it will be to her advantage” followed by an email address.

“Half a dozen of my friends from high school saw this and forwarded it on to me.”

“And what did you do?”

“I sent them an email.  I said I was Thomas Morstan’s daughter, that I’d relocated to London, and asked what they wanted.”

“Any reply?”

“No.  And when I sent on a follow-up a few days later, it bounced.   It was just Hotmail… could have been anyone.  But then a few days after that, I received this in the mail.”

Reaching back into the attaché case, she pulled out a small pouch made of black jeweler’s felt. Loosening the drawstring, she tipped something small and square into her palm, and passed it over to me.

I could hear John inhale sharply through is teeth as I reached for my lens.  Mary said, wryly, “Yes, that’s pretty much how I felt.  It’s a three carat, blue-white, flawless diamond.  Probably dug up in India, if that’s any help.  It’s worth around $150,000, retail.”

“Unusual cut,” I murmured, looking at the magnified lump of crystallized charcoal, “It’s called the-“

“The old mine cut,” interrupted Mary, “Meaning it was most likely faceted sometime between 1700 and 1900.  I know.  After the police gave it back to me, I had it appraised at Sotheby’s.”

“You went to the police again?”

“I did.”

“Any good?”

“Not really.  They hung onto it a while, but nobody reported any similar gems lost or stolen, and then they gave it back.  Apparently it’s “not illegal to be given things.”  So after that I was on my own.  But I still didn’t feel right about it, so I had the appraisal to see if a real professional could find anything more useful.”

“Well done,” said John, heartily.  He was in a fair way to make an idiot of himself over this woman, although she seemed flattered by the compliment.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, “And then, the thing is, Mr. Holmes, that it didn’t stop with this.  Every year since then, on May 14, I get another one of these in my mail.  I’ve changed addresses and it didn’t make a difference.  Perfectly matched, very expensive diamonds.  I left the rest of them in my safe deposit box: even carrying one of them around makes me edgy.  And then, yesterday, there was this.”

She passed over a letter.  Fine, high linen content paper, no watermark, 10-point… Trebuchet font, printed on an HP laserjet printer. It read, “Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre on Saturday, July 9 at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.”

There was no signature or address.

“Did you keep the envelope?”

“Yes, here.  And here,” she said, passing over a small heap of padded mailers sealed into plastic zip-topped bags, “Are the envelopes the diamonds came in.”

“Well, you do have the right instincts.  Not much to see here, though… the letter and the last three packages had their labels off the same printer.  The first four were from another.  It stretches credulity to think that there are separate groups doing this so we’ll assume for the moment it was simply a matter of replacing an outdated device.  The mailers can be bought anywhere.  Various London postmarks… thumbprint on this one, Miss Morstan, may I see your right hand please?  Thank you.  Your thumbprint. I’ll put them under the microscope later but I doubt there’ll be that much to learn.”

“And you’ve no idea at all who may have sent these?  No… admirers, things like that?” John asked.

She laughed at that.  “Generally, when men are interested in me they go more for things like asking me to dinner rather than anonymously sending me a million dollars in gems over the course of seven years.  I’m not that unapproachable.”  I rolled my eyes at their stale flirtation, although I don’t believe either of them noticed it.

“But…” she continued, more hesitantly, “Mr. Holmes, do you think that there’s any possibility that these are from my father?”

John was glaring at me, and so instead of saying “Of course not.  He’s been dead for ten years,” replied “I’m afraid it’s very unlikely.”

“I see,” Mary replied, quietly.  She drew a deep breath and continued, “Well, regardless, I had planned to go… unless you can give me a real reason not to.  If whoever it is wants to hurt me it seems like they’ve chosen a really baroque way of going about it.  I mean, they already know where I live so it’s not like there’s much point in avoiding them. And I’m getting sick of this mystery.”

“There are, however, a few points of interest in it.  As you are allowed to bring two friends and John is already planning on accompanying you, I believe I shall join him.”

She darted her gaze back and forth between us, smiling, “Really?  You will?  Both of you?  Oh, thank you, thank you so much! This whole saga has just been so shady and I didn’t know anyone who’d be any help with this kind of thing.  It’s such a weight off my mind. Thank you.”

She was gushing, and her voice had inevitably pitched up again.  I responded calmly with, “Yes, well.  Can you be here by five thirty on Saturday?  And leave us your contact information.”

“Of course!”

And, writing an email address and a phone number on a sheet of scrap paper, she disappeared in a whirl of gratitude.

John rose to escort her to the door.  I remained seated, and began texting.

“That, he said, picking up his carrier bags and taking them into the kitchen, “Was a very attractive woman.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Really.  I knew you were a human adding machine but I never thought you were actually dead.  Sherlock, it’s an objective fact!  She’s got a beautiful smile.”

“Very short.”

“Oh, come on.  She’s an inch or two shorter than I am.”

While this statement would not actually exclude “short” from consideration, I simply raised my eyebrows and replied, “Women have developed this remarkable technology called shoes which they use when they wish to increase their height, John.  She’s no more than five feet tall.”

“Yes, well, shortness is not a handicap, Sherlock.  And she’s clever.”

“She’s adequate.”

“And brave.  She was going to walk by herself into a threatening situation just because she wanted to find out the truth.”

“So are you.  So am I, for that matter.  I fail to see why it’s so much more meritorious when it’s her doing it.”

“I’m a combat-trained military reservist, and you are England’s only consulting detective.  It’s our job.  She’s a very small maths teacher.”

I set down the mobile and glared at him, “Mary Morstan, John, is in no need of your protection.  This affair of the diamonds is a mere personal intrigue.  She’ll meet with the woman and resolve it without the benefit of your attention.”

He paused from putting the potatoes in the bin and inquired, “It’s a woman sending the diamonds?  You’re sure?”

In general, I don’t admit which of my deductions I’m certain of and which are (very good) guesses.  Maintaining a reputation as infallible isn’t a trivial exercise.  But John had repeatedly earned the truth from me, and so I said, “No, I’m not.  I’m reasonably confident, given the font choice, the computer used, and the wording, that it’s a woman, and a rather melodramatic one.  But there’s more – uncertainty in these things than I would like.”

John chuckled.  “I should take a picture of you right now and call it ‘Sherlock Holmes admitting he might be wrong’.  They’d love to have it down at the Yard.  So why take the case if you don’t think there’s any mystery?”

“Oh, there is one, just not the “why is someone sending me expensive gemstones” one she came in with.  Can you log on to the GRO database and look something up for me?  My email address and password will get you in.”

“Sure,” he said, walking back into the sitting room and picking up his laptop, “What?”

“Deaths.  Start by looking for “Sholto” in late April, early May of 2005.  If that doesn’t bring up anything, look for ex-military, older, in London, same time frame.”

“Right.  What are you going to do?”

I held up my mobile.  “I’ve done it.  I’ve sent a text to brother Mycroft.”

“Why?”

“Watson, when a man leaves a high rank role in the army to become a low-end functionary in the diplomatic service, what does that suggest?”

“Er, PTSD?”

“No. It suggests spy.  I want to find out exactly what Thomas Morstan did for a living.”  

A week after that, Mary Morstan arrived punctually back at Baker Street. She’d replaced the dowdy suit with trousers and a blue blouse cut low in the front, left off her glasses, and undone her severe bun to let her hair hang over her shoulders.  She had chosen flat shoes this time, which was a relief, as it showed the target of all this display was John rather than me.

Six hours after that, I saw that the display had been successful.  I had to physically restrain John from going to her as she was handcuffed and loaded into a black maria for the murder of Barbara Sholto.  As typical of Americans, she was explaining loudly and slowly to the arresting officer that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, clearly expecting this to rectify the situation.  

“John, look,” I said, sotto voce, as I pinned him to the wall of the alley, “If you go over there you’ll only be arrested too.  Athelney Jones has already picked up the entire domestic staff and Theresa Sholto and would be only too happy to increase his bag.  The man’s an idiot, even by the standards of the metropolitan police.  We’ll text Lestrade to let him know, and the worst she’ll have is a few uncomfortable hours, but we need to be on our way if we’re going to actually catch the killer which is the only thing that will do her any good.”

Even that early, I suspected that Mary would not be as swiftly forgotten as the rest of the girlfriends.

Three days later, Mary was a free woman again.   The lost crown jewels of the Russian Tsars, of which she had been offered a one-third share, were scattered along six miles of the bottom of the Thames.  She had accepted this development with equanimity.  As she said to John, “Even if they hadn’t been lost, it’s not like I was expecting to keep them.  I’m sure there’s still some Romanovs somewhere who’d like to have them back.  The whole time Teresa was telling me the story of how she got them I kept thinking “Yeah, this kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.””

I heard, while they were falling in love, enough of “The Things Mary Says” to gag a cat.  I heard about Mary’s feelings on politics, the arts, and current events.  I heard about Mary’s emotional turmoil on the discovery that her father was an intelligence agent who had taken the pay of so many competing nations and organizations that even now nobody could say who he had really worked for.  And that was apart from his being a jewel thief.  I heard enough recitations of her personal charm, intelligence, and integrity to gag a dog.

  Not being enamored of her, I was able to observe her far more clearly.  I saw that she omitted to mention during the investigation that she was already in receipt of seven perfectly-matched flawless three carat blue-white diamonds, pulled from a coronet made for some forgotten Tsarina.  I saw no reason to bring it up to anyone, if she had overcome her scruples about receiving stolen property.  I would rather the money have gone to John than to anyone else, and it was clear by that point that it would.

Over the next months, Mary incorporated herself into John’s life, and thus, into mine.  I grew accustomed to the scent of her cosmetics in the flat’s shared w.c. (she was a disgustingly early riser and had usually gone before I woke up), and the sounds of their post-sex conversation from the upstairs bedroom (they kept the actual lovemaking quiet, out of politeness, but the after-chat was quite distinct).  I drew the line, however, at allowing her to tidy the place.  She didn’t understand the system and would have made a hash of it.

Ultimately, just over six months after the day she rang the bell at Baker Street, I found myself ordering a round of tequila shots at the bar of the White Lion and slipping chloral hydrate into three of them.  Earlier, Mary had balanced on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear “Can you please try not to let them get him too drunk?”  I carried the round back to the table where a flushed and grinning but not yet weaving Watson listened as a dozen of his Army and medical school friends speculated on whether Mary would qualify him as “Four-Continents Watson” or if the actual location of the coitus mattered more than the origin of the lady in question.  I passed the shot glasses around, judging that the administration of three Mickey Finns to three particular members of the party would bring the night to a graceful but early end in about an hour.

I judged, as usual, correctly.  After decanting the three dazed ringleaders into a cab, the party broke up, and John and I made it back to Baker Street with only slightly more difficulty than usual. The stairs did give him some trouble, but ultimately I was able to successfully deposit him on the couch.  I shook two aspirin from the bottle and handed them to him along with a glass of water.  He took both uncomplainingly.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.  For whatever you did back there.  I’d hate to be a mess tomorrow.”

“I looked up the duties of the best man and apparently making sure the groom is present and presentable are tops on the list.”

“And you even agreed to wear a tie!”  This non sequitur amused him, and he chuckled at his own joke for a moment, before sobering (comparatively), and staring around the flat.  “I’m going to miss all this.”

“No, you won’t,” I predicted, climbing the stairs to fetch the blankets off his bed.  

“I will!” he insisted, “I’m happy, really happy, about Mary.  She’s wonnerful.  But I’ll miss this life.  And you.”

“It’s not as though I’ll be dead.  You’ll be ten minutes away.  I’ll be sure to call you whenever I need my cases blogged.”

“I love you, mate, you know that?  Even though you are- just such a prick.”

I smiled and pitched the blankets at his head.  “I do.  Tosser.  Now go to sleep.  You have a busy day ahead of you.”

He was out and snoring, wearing everything but his shoes, five minutes later.  I refilled his water glass and left it on the end table.

At noon the next day I (wearing not only a tie but my entire morning suit) stood at John’s left shoulder and watched Mary Morstan walk down the aisle.  I doubt she saw me: her eyes were fixed on John, who was sober, alert, and in full dress uniform, as requested.  The expression of love and joy on her face obliged me to concede that, at the moment, she was in fact a very attractive woman.  

I don’t think I could have given him up to anyone who loved him even a bit less.

At the reception I gave a speech which everyone said was very interesting, and drank one and a half glasses of inferior Prosecco.  I watched them cut the cake, noting that the new Mrs. Watson was far more comfortable with John’s ceremonial saber than he was.  She’d lost the callosities of the dedicated fencer, but the skill remained.  Then, as Molly Hooper was prowling around with an eye towards dancing and my actual duties were complete, I slipped out of the hall and walked back to Baker Street.

I stopped in at the chemists and bought a packet of cigarettes, then let myself into the flat.  There was a peculiar sensory illusion that it was larger and emptier than normal: nonsense, of course.  John was routinely absent when I was there.  The fact that the absence would now be permanent didn’t alter the actual physical size of the place.

There was always work, and heedless of my dress clothes, I went to it.  Three months later, I “died.”  And three years after that, I returned to a London which seemed larger and emptier than I recalled.  Sensory illusion again.  The softer emotions have a very negative impact upon accurate observation, and the world in general doesn’t change at all when a single person drops out of it. On an individual level, though, a single death can rip the bottom out of everything.  Such was the case with Mary Watson, who I encountered on a bright August day in Park Lane.  She’d lost a stone in weight, which was significant at her height, and was wearing an oversized camel-colored cardigan which I recognized with a pang as being one of Watson’s.  She had, in general, the appearance of a child’s toy where the stuffing had been pulled out.  I approached her, unseen, as her attention was on Ronald Adair’s flat.   When she lost her composure and fled, I hesitated.  Then I followed.  There were two reasons for this.  The first, as always, was John.  I couldn’t envision a situation where he would not have come to the aid of a crying woman.  In the particular case of Mary, he’d have sprinted to it.

As for the second, well…  On the occasion of the case of Neville St. Claire, John had said to me that, “People in trouble come to my wife like birds to a light-house.”

And I truly had nowhere else to go.   Chapter 3: The Death of Ronald Adair (Mary)

In general, I am not a fainter, and I didn’t faint then.  But a grey mist swirled in front of my eyes, and when it subsided I noticed I had dropped the cigarette onto the well-clipped Hyde Park grass.  I picked it up with numb, nerveless fingers.  With my other hand I reached out to Sherlock and pushed on the flesh of his bicep.  He was reassuringly solid.

“So I haven’t gone mad.”

“No.”

“Not dead, then?”

“Yes.”

I took a drag from the Silk Cut and asked, “Does anyone else know besides me?”

“Mycroft.”

“Of course.”

“And Molly Hooper.”

“That bitch!” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself.  I wouldn’t quite have called Molly a friend.  We didn’t see much of one another, but her quiet competence had gotten me through the hellscape of the funeral.  I found it startlingly painful to believe that she had been concealing a secret like this- especially from John.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “You’re harsher on her than on Mycroft?”

“There is nothing that I would put past one of the Holmes boys.”

He sighed, and drew on his own cigarette.  The sun dipped below the treetops and set us into shadows.

“Sherlock,” I asked, eventually, “What do you want?”

“I need a gun.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.  Of course you do.”

“Mary, please-“ and he hesitated.  He and I had never been more than “friendly”, and he certainly had never been inclined to ask any favors of me.  

“You’re still in trouble, aren’t you?” I accused.

He hesitated again.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I said, brushing off my pants and rising, “We’ll talk.  Baker Street, or our place?  My place.”

“Baker Street is being watched.”

“Can we take a cab?”

“Probably.”

It was actually very impressive, how he collapsed his face into that of the Cockney souvenir hawker.  He even seemed to lose several inches in height.  The stage lost an excellent actor when he decided to go into detective work.

We walked in silence back to Park Lane, and took a cab (after he’d dismissed the first one that tried to stop).  He sat next to me in silence, until a horrible thought overtook me, and I said, “Oh, God, has anyone told you?  About-“

“Your… bereavement?  Yes.  I was… very sorry to hear of it.”

It was a relief.  It had already happened several times: some colleague or acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in a while would, in the course of ordinary chit-chat, drop, “Oh, and how’s John doing?” into the conversation.  And then I would have to watch their faces change from polite disinterest to horror and pity as I gave them the news.  I would say it was the worst thing I had to do, but I had developed an entire new suite of worst things in recent months and was somewhat spoiled for choice.

We didn’t speak any further until I let us into the flat.

“Have a seat.  I’ll just go get it.”

John, given that he was occasionally prone to physically violent nightmares, had always kept the Sig Sauer semi-automatic securely locked away in a box in the master bedroom closet.  I retrieved it, and returned to the living room.  Sherlock had installed himself in his old favorite spot on the sofa, and Arthur had climbed onto the arm next to him.  They were watching each other with matching expressions of flat-eyed distaste.

“I don’t know where the key is,” I said, passing the box over.

“It’s fine,” he replied.  And indeed, he materialized a lockpick from somewhere and opened it within ten seconds.

He’d removed his auburn wig, although he still had on an excellent shade of lipstick for his complexion: a glossy transparent berry-stain.  It was almost the only color on his face.  Whatever he’d been up to, it was doing no favors for his health.  I wouldn’t have thought he could have gotten thinner or paler, barring his contracting tuberculosis or vampirism.  And yet, he had managed.  At some point, he’d cut his hair off close to the scalp, and it was faintly peppered with grey.  Sherlock was a year or two younger than I, but at the moment I could see what he would be like as an old man.

“You know that thing’s illegal, right?” I said.

“It’s not something that’s a real concern just at the moment,” he returned, calmly.

“It should probably be cleaned.  It’s not been touched since… well, I’m not sure of the last time John cleaned it.”

“It will be fine.  They’re very simple instruments and Watson was always over-cautious.  I didn’t clean my old one for years and it never had any problems.”

“That’s because John would secretly do it for you every few months.”

One of the small pleasures in life that everyone should get to experience at least once is to watch Sherlock Holmes’ face when he is informed that one of the normals has gotten something past him.  I had to suppress a flicker of a smile at how thunderous he looked.

“Look,” I said, “Give it here and I’ll do it.  The cleaning kit’s on the top shelf above the stove in the kitchen, if you’ll reach it down for me.”

I could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet as I released the clip, disconnected the slide, and popped out the spring.  I laid everything down on the coffee table and accepted the kit when he returned and gave it to me.  When I sighted down the barrel, I could see ample dust, and a fair bit of corrosion from the soggy English atmosphere.  It only made sense, really.  When Sherlock had died, John had lost any professional reason to carry a gun, and gained a strong personal reason to lock it away and leave it to rust.  Dipping the cleaning swab into the wide-mouthed jar of solvent, I began passing it through the barrel.

“’In a self-defense situation, there will be many things you can’t control. The condition of your weapon is not one of them,’” I quoted.

“Did Watson say that?”

“No, though he’d have agreed with the sentiment.  That was my stepfather.  He was the one who taught me about shooting.”

Sherlock blinked at me.  “I didn’t know you had a stepfather.”

“Like everyone else, I do actually have an objective existence apart from the parts you find interesting, Sherlock.”

I sounded bitter, but I didn’t care.  I had been the one to put John back together after Sherlock’s quote-unquote death, and having him sitting calmly on my sofa irked.

“I only meant,” he replied, “That he wasn’t at your wedding.”

“He has congestive heart failure and travel is very difficult for him!” I snapped,

“Sherlock, why the hell did you do this?”

“Well, I had in fact been exposed as a fraud and-“

“Bullshit.  You have been more or less cleared for two years and I’m sure your brother told you that.  D.I. Lestrade had to demonstrate that you weren’t, in general, a criminal, because he wanted to keep his job. Fifty people, including me, by the by, came forward to tell stories of how you had solved cases that you couldn’t possibly have faked.  The only real mystery remaining is this whole affair with Richard Brook, and frankly the best person to justify that would have been you.”

He scrubbed his hands through the bristles of his hair.  “There was more.”

“So tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, and stared off into the space over my left shoulder.  “When the head of an organization is removed, the organization generally remains.  John Kennedy is shot, the United States persists.  The death of Jim Moriarty left a thriving multinational criminal organization with a vacancy at the top for which there were numerous keen candidates.  I have spent the last three years attempting to take advantage of this situation and dismantle its operations entirely.”

Something about the cold way he said “dismantle” made me think I really didn’t want to hear much about this process.  I asked, “And you couldn’t have done that in your own persona?”

“No.  Because- Moriarty was in many ways a remarkable man.”

The tone of this statement was pure admiration, and I rubbed my forehead where I could feel the old familiar “Sherlock” headache coming on. “How’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t want to say he founded a cult of personality, but in his immediate circle were several men who genuinely did admire him and support him in his goals, as opposed to the ordinary hangers-on who simply were in it for the profit.”

“So, his friends.”

“What?”

I sighed.  “Never mind.  Continue.”

[manabingu]

Haruka Nanami = soft girl

This has been sitting in my inbox since yesterday MY BAD! I wanted to answer this earlier but got distracted by deadlines of some stuff ANYWAY. Thanks for sending me an ask about Nanami CUZ I BEEN WANTIN TO TALK ABOUT MY HOME GIRL FOR AWHILE BUT NEVER GET THE CHANCE TO! So thanks~*~*~*

THIS GIRL RIGHT HERE. NANAMI HARUKA ^^^^ I WOULD DIE FOR HER.

Honestly, I’m that one person in every fandom that tends to fall in love with characters who I feel get undeserved hate or are either a minor character who gets glossed over. And be like….YALL??? Why you so mean to such adorable, innocent,sweet, hardworking, wouldn’t hurt a fly characters and then say that characters who are LITERAL murderers and criminals are the “precious cinnamon rolls who can do no wrong” only cuz you attracted to them??? yall thas sad. Listen…I’m honestly tired of people who bash on the anime and only play the games cuz they think it’s boring. Yes, you can have your opinion & I respect that, but I’ve seen some people whom have a pretty steadily growing following just bash on Nanami or some of their “not best boys” for reasons that make no sense to me & I been bottling this for awhile but Imma just SPEAK today cuz I’m on fire. ANYWAY BACK TO MY QUEEN.

LET ME HAVE MY NANAMI HARUKA TED TALK. Debunking complaints

Complaint I’ve heard: She’s boring

IN MY PERSONAL OPINION. NANAMI HARUKA IS ONE OF THE BEST LEADS IN ANY IDOL/ REVERSE HAREM ANIME I HAVE SEEN TO DATE.

She’s FAR from boring. She kind of reminds me of one of my other favorite lead heroines of all time. Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket. Both are humble & haven’t really had much in their life. Let’s talk about her story, she is a girl who was born with with bad health so much so that her parents sent her to grow up and live with her grandma in the countryside where the air was cleaner & less polluted than the city where they live. While she stayed with grandma, she learned to play piano by ear & she really didn’t grow up with much technology. She states in episode one that she didn’t even have a TV so anytime anyone in her class makes a reference to a famous celebrity she doesn’t know who they are. If I had to guess she only probably had books, toys, & a record player at grandma’s house AND I think she was home-schooled? Which means that that her only other friend besides her grandma & possibly the local neighborhood kids was grandma’s piano.

 I think she’s highly relateable too. I sure have had similar experience (trust me, my immune system is TerRibLe XD so I feel home girl) But I knew the moment I saw that part in episode 1 where she describes how music LITERALLY saved her life, THAT is when I knew I would protect this girl for the rest of my life cuz I just yelled at my screen SAME GURL! SAAAAAAME TTuTT/ In Nanami’s case, she went by herself to the city to visit her parents, she thought since she no longer was a kid, her health wouldn’t be too endangered but she she got there she got REALLY lost & the noise pollution was so overwhelming that her anxiety gave her a panic attack. AND THIS IS WHY I REALLY LIKE UTAPRI. BECAUSE THEY GET HELLA REAL HELLA FAST. THIS KIND OF THING IS NOT SOME KINDA MADE UP THING. LET ME SIT YALL DOWN AND TELL YOU A STORY.

Listen- I remember when I was like 16ish I went to New York with a cousin & as a person who comes from a small town- being in the city BY YOURSELF for the first time, it’s SO SCARY to someone who has anxiety. I was dropped off in Manhattan while she ran a work errand she gave me money for food & encouraged me to explore. As soon as they left, I looked around thinking OH GOD WHAT NOW?? I saw a cathedral close by and I RAN for it. I was so scared being alone I went to a small corner of the cathedral and started crying & tweeting, which got some comforting responses from native NY people that followed me & I texted the friend that was closest to me (if you count Virginia close lol) But he called me & just talked to me & helped me feel better. He encouraged me to not stay in one place & to go find a place I like & perhaps if I was too anxious, to go stay there till I was picked up. IT TOOK ME 30 MINUTES to get courage enough to walk to the Barnes & Noble/Starbucks that was close & I stayed there texting him the rest of the time. So ANYTIME people talk crap about Nanami’s panic attack in the city I’m gonna politely tell them to get out of my face cuz that’s a VERY real emotion. The thing that saved Nanami was hearing a singer in a giant screen singing a soothing song. THE MUSIC HELPED CALM DOWN HER ANXIETY. EXCUSE ME. YALL CAN’T SAY THAT YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SOOTHED BY A SONG IN YOUR LIFE. WE ALL BEEN THERE. WHEN WE WERE SO DOWN THAT LISTENING TO A SONG MADE US FEEL BETTER. I know that happened with me. Just like Nanami, I had a time in my life where I was just ready for death, I had lost hope to live but hearing ONE. SONG by my favorite singer, literally stopped me. So I can relate how she felt about HAYATO in the city. And how afterwards she was so inspired by it that she wanted to try to have a career dealing with music. HER REASON FOR WANTING TO BECOME A COMPOSER IS BECAUSE SHE KNOWS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO FEEL SAD AND SCARED. SO SHE WANTS TO MAKE MUSIC THAT CAN TOUCH PEOPLE’S HEARTS & IF THEY’RE HAVING A BAD DAY, SHE CAN CHEER THEM UP WITH A SONG. IF THAT ISN’T THE GREATEST REASONING TO GO FIGHT FOR A DREAM, I DUNNO WHAT IS.

AND SHE KNOWS THAT THE ODDS ARE AGAINST HER. BUT SHE DOESN’T THROW IN THE TOWEL EASILY. I FREAKING LOVE HER FOR THAT. NANAMI. HARUKA. IS. NOT. WEAK.

Once she was of age, she applied for THE most prestigious music academy in her area. She was nearly late to the entrance exam cuz she helped a lost child find their mom while she was running in a snowstorm to the school. And because she was noticed to have that high moral compass by the principal, she was allowed to take the exam and made it in. And even when she DID get in, she was bullied by all the rich kids for not being able to read sheet music & not being taught by a private piano teacher when she was asked to play in front of everyone. She KNEW that she can play piano but she was self taught & played by ear. ((THIS STRUCK ME HARD TOO. Because I am self taught too- as a singer, I thought that if I didn’t have access to all these things & I didn’t know how to sight read I’d never be taken seriously or that I was less worthy to be called a musician than my peers)) But did she give up??? NO. HOME GIRL RAN TO THE LIBRARY and she studied her ass off to not let her first assignment project partner down. I COULD GO ON FOR HOURS ABOUT THE FIRST SEASON ALONE. SHE WAS THROWN SO MANY CURVE BALLS TO CRUSH HER SPIRIT AND DESPITE HER ANXIETY KEPT FIGHTING FOR HER DREAM.

But you know what? She also showed me THAT IT’S OK TO FALL DOWN TO ROCK BOTTOM. It’s OK to feel like giving up especially when your confidence has been crushed to a pulp by everyone. YALL, I FREAKING BAWLED MY EYES OUT WHEN SHE FOUND OUT THAT STARISH - THE BAND SHE SINGLE-HANDEDLY  (and with some magical fate strings pulled by Cecil)) CREATED WAS GONNA DEBUT WITHOUT HER. She was asked by the principal if she thought HER music could compete with pros already established and household names already in the business. She didn’t want her friends to give up their dreams of debuting so she agreed to step down as STARISH’s composer AGAINST their demands for her to not give up. She went home and cried to her grandmother that she felt SO outclassed. And you know what? I’m GLAD Utapri shared this kind of story because I’m sure it has happened to a lot of people.

Nanami is a really kind, compassionate, selfless human being. She does anything and everything so that all her family & friends can be happy at the expense of her own happiness. She takes it to the extreme that she is PUSHED and forced to FOR ONCE think selfishly and do something for herself. Her purity & kindness won the respect of her classmates & teachers so much so that they always want to support her dream of  becoming a songwriter. When STARISH came to her house cuz they heard she ran away- she openly admitted  IN TEARS that SHE wanted to be STARISH’s composer, she didn’t want anyone else to write for them because she had fun with her friends and she didn’t want that to stop. ((The principal overheard her and said FINALLY! SOMETIMES ITS OK TO BE SELFISH WHEN IT COMES TO YOUR DREAM! Its ok to be kind but also think of your own feelings sometimes too. I think young, budding artists need to hear this. )) SHE GIVES ME HOPE CUZ I BE THE SAME WAY SOMETIMES WITH MY STUFF SO YEAH ;~~~~~;/

SOMETIMES When I watch a show that has harem elements to it, I really judge the protag that everyone is falling for and I think about if the harem people’s feelings are justified enough for them to actually fall in love with the protag. And you know what? In Nanami’s case?? ITS A BIG OL HELL YEAH IT’S JUSTIFIED.

FrICK- I fell in love with Nanami too??? How could I not??? I AM A BIGASS SAP FOR INNOCENT, SHY, CHARACTERS WHO TRY THEIR BEST EVEN THOUGH THEY SCARED AF CUZ OF CONFIDENCE ISSUES.

She’s a wonderful, compassionate, gifted person who just needs love and support and you know she’ll be there for you too and it’s mutual. She works SUPER hard at her job, she’s endearing, she makes you wanna just protect her cuz if she is sad lord I will probably go on a rampage. This girl doesn’t deserve to go through more than she already has. I love and respect Nanami. A female protagonist doesn’t need to be bitchy, slutty, or badass to be considered “interesting”. 

HECK, one time I heard someone say “This show would be 10x if Nanami was a guy. UMMMM???? WTF??? Ok, listen, I’m in the lgbt spectrum, & I’m sick of people saying that Utapri would be better if Nanami was a boy. Why is it so bad that she’s a girl?? Like- I would like ONE reasonable explanation that doesn’t involve fetishizing your personal fantasies. When people fetishize an lgbt relationship- you’re causing that type of relationship to not be taken seriously irl. If we wanna make this the norm, we gotta treat it like it’s a natural occurrence. Not force something for the sake of fanservice. There are barely any well written female protags like Nanami out there in the world and if we change her, we are taking out one of the best from the list. I want more shows to write good, memorable  female protags like Nanami. I wouldn’t be against her being a boy. But only if the reason was for good reasons and to explore character development dynamics. Cuz I enjoy content that has actual substance. SERIOUSLY- If Utapri was ONLY fanservice, I would despise it. BUT IT’S NOT. It tackles real issues & speaks about people in the industry and they don’t sugarcoat ANYTHING. They show you the harsh realities but they also give you hope to keep doing what you love even if you gotta work extra harder than your peers who might be more experienced than you.

And THAT is what I learned from Nanami Haruka. And I will defend my songwriting princess till I die. Thank you.

[alarriefantasy]

                                              Royal Fic Rec

Royal Harry

We Gotta Get Away From Here by @afangirlfantasy

Words: 4k

Or a Royal AU where Prince Harold needs saving and Louis is his Knight in shining armor...sort of.

Wake With The Morning Sunlight by sweetly_disposed

Words: 7k

Cinderella AU.“Sometimes the royal carriage passed through the village, and Louis would always be there to see it go by. He imagined being able to ride in it one day, to be pulled along by white horses with magnificent feathered plumes, and feel the gentle rocking of the wheels over cobbles underneath him. As he'd got older, those dreams had turned into wistful gazes at the castle every now and then, pauses at the window where he looked over at the grand palace and got lost in thoughts of dances and banquets and a certain green eyed prince that he knew was at the center of it all.”

Tall Tales For Summer by turnyourankle

Words: 11k

Harry knows something is up when his mum insists on throwing him a birthday party in the summer. He's even more suspicious of her intentions when he notices the guest list is all male.

(Or, modern nobility AU where Harry's mother is trying to set him up without his knowledge.)

Prince Harry and the Expert in Motorcycle Maintenance by juliusschmidt

Words: 15k

an abo cinderella au in which prince harry rides a motorcycle and louis, a simple mechanic, fixes it.

Buried Like Treasure by QuickedWeen

Words: 40k

Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps.

Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

Fool For You by flowercrownfemme, starpoweredradio

Words: 46k

In which Harry is a brooding prince who's scarcely smiled since the death of his mother and Louis is the dashing jester hired to change that.

I won't be afraid (Just as long as you stand by me) by larrycaring

Words: 49k

Harry leads an ordinary life, and he’s totally okay with it.So, of course, when it all changes and he learns he is the actual Crown Prince of a whole country he’s never heard of, he doesn’t welcome the news with open arms.Thankfully, Louis is there by his side, and that? That, will never change.or a Princess Diaries AU that I just really, really needed to write. No regrets.

And My Heart Is A Hollow Plain by NiamJenn1994

Words: 58k

Its the 1600s and all Louis wants is the freedom he knows he will never taste again.He knew happiness, knew a good life and love. Had dreams and reasons to see the good in people, to expect good things from life.Forced into a marriage he will never get out of, all he's looking for is a breath of life. Maybe something or someone to come save him from the hell he knows.

like cabbages and kings by you_explode

Words: 60k

When Louis was a kid, he had a series of very vivid dreams about a place called Wonderland. There were rabbits wearing waistcoats and talking cats and ridiculous tea parties, and amidst all the absurdity, there was a boy. A boy with dimples, big green eyes and the sweetest soul Louis has ever known. Louis has always kept a place in his heart for that boy and for his funny dreamworld, and when he’s twenty-five and his life falls apart, it turns out Wonderland might not be so imaginary after all.

The Stars In Your Eyes Light Up The Sky by @andthensusays Words: 60k

Or, The one where Harry is a prince forced out of the closet and Louis is a boybander forced in. When they meet, everything changes.

Castle Hollow and Cold by Nicolasgrimshaw

Words: 67k

One fateful night, he finds himself at the masquerade ball being thrown in the Princes honor. It was really just meant to be one big pool of women for the Prince to peruse through--after all, he was in need of a princess; a Prince can’t exist without one, right? But in a twisted turn of events, the women aren’t the one’s Prince Harry is showing an interest in.

Affairs Of Royalty by @wubwubnparmaham

Words: 68k

~Or~ Being a senior in high school is hard enough.

Being one of the only two Omegas in a fully human high school is even worse. Add two secretly royal Alphas from England into the mix...and it's impossible. 

Like a Bullet in the Dark by @vurdoc

Words: 99k

Prince Harold Edward Styles Lancaster is second in line to the throne of Great Britain. He is also your average Uni student- or he tries to be, anyway.

With a promise from the press (and his father) that they'll leave him alone for four years, he sets out to be a student at Cambridge, when he meets his very normal, very working class, very handsome suite-mate, Louis Tomlinson.

Louis makes Harry feel more like a person than he ever has before, which might cause some issues later on- 'cause Harry has a secret that he's only told his sister Gemma about.

Little does he know though, that Louis has some secrets of his own.

A Will & Kate Au- with a twist.

Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by MCSSymon

Words: 119k

Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

Royal Louis

 Happily Ever After by Nutella_enthusiast

 Words: 4k

The boy is tiny when Louis first sees him - probably no older than nine or ten, and Louis thinks he's the most beautiful creature that he has ever seen in all his thirteen years of living. He wants him, and he tells his father this as their carriage passes him by. His father just laughs, and tells him that he'll get him another servant boy as soon as they get home.

Louis crosses his arms and pouts for the rest of the ride, because he doesn't want just another servant boy - he wants the beautiful curly haired boy with the wonderful dimples, and skin that looks like it would be soft and creamy despite the fact that it appears to be covered in soot and other things that Louis' mother would have described as, "not proper to discuss in polite company."

Once Upon a Cornflower Hill by binarysunsets

Words: 7k

Or, something of a fairy tale, in which Harry is a knight, Louis is a prince, Niall is an elf, Liam is a warrior, Zayn is a wizard, and only through their combined efforts can they rescue Louis from the witch who stole him away the day of his eighteenth birthday.

Can you hear these dreams? (Calling out your name, can you hear them?) by larrycaring

Words: 14k

After visiting an ancient royal castle in France, Harry is haunted by the portrait of a young man who seems familiar beyond explanation.

Like Gold by ishiplouis

Words: 17k

Royal AU where Harry is Prince Louis’ Adviser, and Louis is anything but helpful.

Sunrise on Your Sins by cuppalouie

Words: 25k

Louis Tomlinson is at his wit’s end trying to keep up with all the responsibilities and demands that come along with being the Crown Prince of England. Exhausted and desperate for an escape, his life is suddenly derailed when in walks Harry Styles, renowned rentboy and expert on all things BDSM. Blessing or curse, Louis decides to see where this unlikely partnership will lead.

my kingdom for a kiss (tonight you're on my mind) by @softersin Words: 30k

Or, the one where Zayn and Louis make a friendly wager and it goes too far, Harry's a baker with a heart of gold and really great hair, Liam is an overworked PA who just wants to enjoy his holiday and Niall is completely at ease, as always. An accidentally married AU mixed with a splash of modern royalty.

Pretty Boy by @canonlarry  

Words: 32k

Harry's been forced into a high-class prostitution ring because his heroin-addicted mother is too strung out to realize that her boyfriend is pimping out her son. Louis is the crown prince of England and gets into a lot of mischief and thinks it's normal to pay prostitutes to "get a good night's sleep." They probably aren't meant to see each other beyond that one random night, but then again, they probably aren't meant to see each other at all.

All The King's Men by sacredheart (orphan_account) Words: 39k Louis is an arrogant, self assured prince who falls in love with a charming thief named Harry during his youth. However, years later, a revolution is sparked amongst the frustrated commoners... and Louis's former teenage romance is leading it.

Worth Dying For by whoknows

Words: 44k

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

And They Lived Happily Ever After by @c-e-d-dreamer Words: 45k

Prince Louis is betrothed to the Princess Eleanor to ensure the peace between their two kingdoms, but while visiting her land, he meets Harry, a knight.

Unchain My Heart (Baby, Set Me Free) by @suddenclarityharry Words: 48k

Harry was taken at a young age, and chained up in a slave pen. He's been waiting years to be chosen by a passing noble or royal. He's starting to think there's something wrong with him because no one wants him. Then, Prince Louis shows up and decides to take him back to the palace. Suddenly, Harry isn't sure if he was better off in the slave pen or if, maybe, he's found a place to call home.

Common by Cori Lannam (corilannam)

Words: 50k

Henry VIII ruined it for everybody. Now the king or queen can only marry a person chosen by the magic of the church, or disaster will befall Britain. Prince Louis, heir apparent to the British throne, dislikes most things about his inheritance--but most of all that it could keep him from finding the real love of his life.

Brasswood Boys by Tomlinsontoes

Words: 59k

After befriending an international student in his last year of school, a seemingly innocent break from school work leads Harry to learn the true identity of the boy he’s become so enamored with.

Why Can't It Be Like That by taggiecb

Words: 63k

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream by @lourrynavy Words: 123k

Harry is a journalist with a lot of secrets and Louis is the future king of the United Kingdom; they live together for 60 days.

Both

Don't Let the Tide Come by SadaVeniren 

Words: 14k

aka King Louis of the fire tribe has a week to find his water tribe soulmate. This would be infinitely easier if the four tribes on the continent were not isolated from one another.

The Tale of Two Kingdoms by @larriebane

Words: 24k

ABO-universe with modern language mixed with some new and old traditions, no technology exist (cars, phones, electricity etc.)Prince Louis of Doncaster finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time as the feared Hijackers from Cheshire come to claim their annual pray of omegas. He is taken away and transported to a strange country that Louis has been taught as the enemies’ land. When unforeseen events take place and even more unlikely savior turns up, Louis’ all previous beliefs are being proved wrong. Will love save the two kingdoms and form an alliance after several centuries of feuds between these bordering countries?

not even the gods above by suspendrs 

Words: 25k

Both are new kings of countries that haven’t been allies for the past decade. They need to come up with a treaty which means actually spending time with another. A hate-to-love.

The Prince Of Light by jacaranda_bloom

Words: 35k

Louis was found abandoned at a hospital at six months old and adopted by an older couple who raised him. Now twenty, he studies by night and by day works as a live-in au pair for a family with three little girls. One of the girls, Holly, swears there is a Garden Fairy coming and eating treats she leaves out in the cubby house each night.

When the family goes away for a two week holiday, Louis is secretly tasked with feeding the Fairy. While laying out the food one night he falls from the cubby house and is found by Harry. Harry is different and Louis is fascinated. But as Louis learns how different Harry really is, he discovers his own true home and a very surprising past he never knew.

Cue badgers, bananas and cookies, soulmates, a whole other world, and a future he’d never imagined.

(we will be) as if chosen by alivingfire

Words: 35k

There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight.

Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

You Take Me Over, You’re the Magic in My Veins by @supernope

Words: 36k

Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he turns to head toward his seat. He tucks a secretive smile into the palm of his hand while he slides into place beside his sister, his mother’s seat still empty as it awaits the Queen’s entrance. He knows he should be behaving himself a bit more, should be focusing his attention on Gemma, rather than her brother. He’s working on borrowed time, is expected to announce his engagement to the Princess within the next few weeks, but he can’t seem to help himself. Gemma is lovely, kind and witty and beautiful, but he has no interest in being married to her, had no interest in marriage before her arrival, period.Teeth sunk into his bottom lip to disguise his smile, Louis risks a quick glance toward Gemma and Harry’s usual seats, finds Harry already seated and staring steadily back at him. His hair is a mess from Louis’ fingers and his cheeks are still flushed, and Louis’ heart gives a heavy, delighted thud. No, he thinks, he has no desire to be betrothed to Princess Gemma, but he finds he wouldn’t mind being married after all, if it was Prince Harry he was promised to, instead.

I'll Be Here Waiting on Forever by sweaterpawstyles

Words: 46k

Or A Romeo and Juliet AU where Louis is an alpha prince who falls in love with Harry, an omega prince from the neighboring kingdom

It's the Magic Between Us by thoughtlessblogger

Words: 90k

Louis' a Prince in a kingdom that needs help and Harry's a Prince with a secret.

Kill Me/ Heal Me by millionlittletings

Words: 92k

The kingdom of Scotland hasn't been in peace for decades now. In the heart of the country lies the rivalries, hate, and struggle of power. Amidst the chaos, five young men discover the meaning of life, friendship, love, hate, and heartbreak through their journey. Louis, who is struggling to find a place where he belongs. Niall, who will protect what belongs to him with his life. Zayn, who is learning to navigate through life. Liam, who knows when to use his heart and when to use the brain. Harry, who is set to kill anyone who will come into his way of finding the truth about his mother. From dealing with their personal issues to finding out the real culprit who changed the course of their lives, these five men are set to uncover the deepest and the darkest secrets of the kingdom.

Victorian Boy by DonnaHaywardsHead

Words: 101k

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

Credit to the owner of the photo

updated 8.25.2019

[titoslondon-blog]

New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.com/whos-the-most-feminist-disney-princess-of-them-all/

Who’s The Most Feminist Disney Princess Of Them All?

Rex Features

When the first trailer for the live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast was released last November, the two-minute clip set a new record for most views in its first 24 hours alone.

Since then, the remake, which sees Emma Watson playing the bookish heroine, has supplied us with plenty of 1998 nostalgia–illustrating, once again, the remarkable staying power of the Disney princess. But with Beauty and the Beast's entrance into the modern era–and what a tumultuous and monumental era it is–our childhood protagonists are now subject to modern scrutiny.

While Belle serves as the poster child for brains-before-beauty, Watson has given the princess a more realistic, feminist makeover for the revamp. “In the animated movie, it’s her father who is the inventor, and we actually co-opted that for Belle,” Watson told Entertainment Weekly. “I was like, ‘Well, there was never very much information or detail at the beginning of the story as to why Belle didn’t fit in, other than she liked books. Also, what is she doing with her time?’ So, we created a backstory for her, which was that she had invented a kind of washing machine, so that, instead of doing laundry, she could sit and use that time to read instead. So, yeah, we made Belle an inventor.”

The original set of princesses were created between 1937 and 1998, meaning that the OG fairytale leads lack the advantage of more modern Disney ladies like Tiana, Rapunzel, Ella, and Merida, who lean more heroine than princess simply because of the time they were sketched. But with the imminent arrival of Beauty and the Beast, we found ourselves wondering: How do Disney's original princesses stack up in 2017? To be respectful of each princess' circumstance–they're all feisty in their own right–we created a matrix that compares their level of defiance to their intentions.

Read on for our full analysis of the original eight, their stories, and their fairytale flaws.



1. MULAN


Backstory Refresh: When the Huns invade China, the government calls for one man from every family to join the Chinese army. In order to keep her aging father home, Mulan bandages down her breasts, lobs her hair with a literal sword, and goes full male to join the forces. Even though her initial military skills are weak and she needs to endure daily training sessions where in her captain repeatedly sings that he’ll make a man out of her, Mulan becomes a pretty badass warrior. Her true gender is only ever discovered after she is slashed in the chest by the Hun leader. Ultimately, she is the key player in rescuing the Imperial City and Emperor and her super buff captain falls in love with her.


Fairytale Flaw: N/A. At no point her story does Mulan stray from her true feminist ideals and strong family values.


Modern Day Translation: Modern day Mulan would stick to her non-gender conforming standards of style and behavior even when she develops a baby crush on the stereotypical hot jock. She would put her family and friends over herself and throw support behind their causes.



 

 




2. BELLE 


Backstory Refresh: When her father is trapped in the Beast’s castle, bookish Belle sacrifices herself to take his place. When she’s not gossiping with the fine China, she is gradually befriending the Beast, who is a total jerk (albeit his mood has certainly suffered from being shunned from society). When Belle finds out her father is in danger, she returns to the city. Meanwhile, Gaston, the vain village hottie who feels entitled to Belle’s affection, goes after the Beast but ultimately dies because he hates books and you can’t survive in this world without intellect. Belle, apparently chill with body hair, smooches the Beast and he returns to his true chiseled form, Prince Adam.


Fairytale Flaw: Although Belle ultimately falls for a man well outside of society’s traditional standards of attraction, she also falls for a man who is totally domineering and emotionally immature because she believes she can change him.


Modern Day Translation: Belle can spot and take down a misogynist at the drop of a baguette. But her determination to better a man who treats her poorly despite how it may inconvenience her (like being held prisoner in a castle) is a bit naive.



 

 




3. JASMINE




Backstory Refresh: Princess Jasmine spends her days avoiding arranged marriages to high falutin royal suitors and her nights sneaking out of the castle to hobnob with the middle class of Agrabah. Here, she meets man-of-the-street Aladdin who shows her common decency and so she falls for him. Still, he requests that his genie make him into a prince so he can deceive Jasmine into loving him, but she assumes he’s just another royal and is uninterested in his newly gained socioeconomic status. Ultimately, Jasmine is awarded the opportunity to choose who she wants to marry (her father literally changes the law that said she couldn’t) and she chooses “street rat” Aladdin.


Fairytale Flaw: Jasmine pretty much holds her own against the oppressive standards, which pretty much say her marriageability defines her status as a woman. She does, though, at one point, reduce herself to an object of sexual desire in order to seduce Jafar.


Modern Day Translation: Jasmine is a strong, empowered woman who believes you can be equal parts smart and sexy. She chooses a poor boyfriend to financially support, going against the traditional man-saves-a-woman narrative because he emotionally supports her. Unfortunately, sometimes the only power a woman can wield over a man is physical, but Jasmine uses her sexuality for a pretty noble cause.



 

 




4. CINDERELLA


Backstory Refresh: After her father dies, Cinderella lives and works for her evil stepmother and stepsisters. She is literally enslaved and used as the family servant. With the help of a fairy godmother, though, she is able to attend the royal ball where she encounters a prince who becomes immediately smitten with her. She only has until midnight and flees the ball, leaving behind her trendy, but definitely uncomfortable, glass slipper. The obsessed prince uses his privilege to force every eligible maiden to try it on until he finds Cinderella and marries her.


Fairytale Flaw: TBH, Cinderella doesn’t have too much opportunity to stand her ground as a captive in her own home. But she does defiantly make it to the ball, even if she only wanted to go to find a man.


Modern Day Translation: It might not push the most progressive narrative, but you can’t knock a girl for wanting a night on the town to manhunt with her friends.



 

 




5. POCAHONTAS 


Backstory Refresh: Pocahontas is the original free spirit. She is a walking flower crown full of beauty and good vibes, which is exactly why she doesn’t want to marry stern warrior Kocoum. When the white English settlers come and set up shop on Native American land, Pocahontas encounters the very Aryan John Smith, whom she quickly becomes enamored with. They kiss and basically set off a war between the settlers and the tribe. Smith is sentenced to death, but Pocahontas stops her father (the tribe’s chief!) just as he is about to kill him. When Smith asks Pocahontas to return to England with him, she declines, choosing instead to stay with her tribe.


Fairytale Flaw: Although regarded and remembered as one of the fiercer Disney princesses, Pocahontas endangers her entire tribe and actually gets a couple people killed to be with a guy.


Modern Day Translation: There’s no denying Pocahontas is a true badass female. But a man is rarely worth losing your connection to your family and friends. She makes the right decision to ultimately put her romance to the side and stay with them, but she sort of owed it to them after all the drama.



 

 



6. SNOW WHITE


Backstory Refresh: In order to avoid having her heart cut from her chest (upsetting!) by for her evil, super vain stepmother, Snow White flees into the forest. There, she encounters seven dwarves whom she befriends. She works in their cottage, cooking and cleaning, while they mine diamonds during the day. She’s poisoned by the queen, though, and falls asleep. The dwarves think she’s dead and build a rather stunning glass coffin to lay her to rest above ground. A year later (!!!), she is visited by a prince she met prior to her escape into the forest who smooches her and wakes her from her slumber. They live happily ever after even though Snow White was essentially decaying for an entire year.


Fairytale Flaw: Snow White is the most passive of all Disney’s leading ladies. She never tries to escape her servitude to her nasty stepmother and her first instinct upon arriving at a cottage full of little men is to cook and clean for them.


Modern Day Translation: She might be the most passive, but she’s also Disney’s oldest (Snow White and Seven Dwarves was released in 1937) so we’ll give her a pass on the lack of progression.



 

 




7. AURORA, "SLEEPING BEAUTY"


Backstory Refresh: After Maleficent basically condemns Aurora to die on her 16th birthday (by a sewing wheel of all things), another fairy alters the curse to have her fall into a deep sleep instead, only to be awoken by true love’s first kiss. Aurora is then raised by that fairy and her two fairy sisters and essentially exists to aimlessly walk about a beautiful scenic forest while singing, which she genuinely seems okay with. She meets and immediately falls in love with a charming man with an impressive tenor. After the fairies tell her she can’t see him again, Aurora runs off and is, of course, manipulated and led to the spinning wheel where she pricks her finger and falls asleep until prince man wakes her up with his mouth.


Fairytale Flaw: Sleeping Beauty shows absolutely no real drive or need to create or find a purpose for herself. She only displays any level of passion when she, as a teenager, is told she can’t date the random singing boy she met in the wilderness.


Modern Day Translation: Sleeping Beauty aimlessly wanders through life until she falls victim to her own naivete and needs to be saved by a man.



 





8. ARIEL


Backstory Refresh: Fiery red-headed mermaid Ariel is fiercely curious and interested in a world beyond her own. In fact, she hates her own neighborhood so much and wants to be human so badly that she’ll do anything to be “part of that world,” even if it means disobeying her king dad and regularly spending time at the surface of the ocean gazing at humans. Without any contact at all, Ariel falls in love with human man Eric, who has two legs and well-coiffed hair. She visits sea witch Ursula and trades her magical singing voice for a pair of legs to woo him with. After a ton of drama and her father being turned into a polyp on the floor of the ocean, Ariel is actually saved by Eric. Her excessively forgiving father turns her fin into permanent legs so she can marry him.


Fairytale Flaw: Although inspiring in her rebellious nature, Ariel misdirects her defiance, risking her and her father’s life for a dreamy land-boy. She trades her voice and her home to be with a stranger she saw playing flute for a few minutes from a distance.


Modern Day Translation: Impetuous and passionate as she may be, Ariel committed the most disempowering sin when she gave up her voice for a man. And then, after all that trouble, her father still has to grant her freedom.





This article by Lindsay Dolak originally appeared on InStyle.com.