#i give pay them an homage in raise hell (in name only) because i think about them all the time

[watchyourdigits]

Eventually I'll do a write-up on the minor OCs in my fics. Perhaps build them their own little universes because they deserve it. Especially Alice and Eileen, my beautiful lesbian babies. Some backstory and faceclaims below for those who don't read my fics because I LOVE these two sm (general Night Letter ramblings as well below the cut, lots of rehashed stuff heh).

For those who don't read Night Letter, Frankie is my Sole Survivor OC. He's a gay (cowboy-adjacent) man born in TN. He was moved out to/raised in TX when he was ~4 by his father (who became an alcoholic) after his mom passed away while having his younger brother (who also didn't make it). He's got three older sisters who were very protective of him.

Frankie shipped up to Boston for the military after his dad caught him kissing boys & this lovely lady named Alice at a bar near her college/his station. They hit it off really well and found common ground in being closeted gays. They met up a few more times before deciding to get married to keep up appearances and maintain an "acceptable" social life. And also to appease both their families to remain in their respective inheritances, of course. Gotta do what you gotta do.

Eileen was Alice's live-in "friend". Or long-distance cousin, depending on the day. So far as anyone in Sanctuary Hills knew anyway lmao Surprise! They were partners and met in college. Frankie loved them both so so so dearly. They reminded him of his sisters back home, whom he missed constantly while settling down in Boston. Alice and Eileen doted on him furiously and were the only reason he stayed sane when Malcolm - Frankie's first true love that he met in the military - was killed in action. They kept him grounded.

Shaun was born from Alice and Frankie in the technical sense only. The ladies really wanted a kid together, and Frankie was willing & available to help with that (via sperm donation). He always felt more like an uncle than a father, and that's what they always called him: Uncle Frankie. I might be reconning my own fic here, in all honesty. I actually can't remember if I mentioned the term "uncle" specifically in Night Letter. Also I'm pretty sure I just said he was available to help in that department and never specified that he didn't fuck Alice!!!!!! ALSO he does strategically refer to himself as Shaun's father in the post-apocalypse because he thinks it legitimizes his cause to find him more than if he were just his uncle, saying it for the sake of emotional appeal to those he might need help from. You bet your ass he'll go back to being Uncle once Shaun is living with them :')

My FCs for Alice and Eileen are Elizabeth Taylor and Jane Powell (respectively) because I saw this one picture and couldn't help myself bc they are so goddamn cute

Do note: they are merely mentioned in the fic (posthumously obviously). I have ~problems~ because I have way too much in my head for them despite them not being relevant at all. Like how their first date was a total disaster because Alice stupidly suggested they get milkshakes. Alice does not like sweet things. Eileen does, but they're both lactose intolerant. Neither said anything because they were both just so nervous and trying to be romantic. The date itself was fine, but they couldn't meet up the next day because they were both SUFFERING. Both made elaborate excuses as to why they didn't show up, only to find the other hadn't showed either. They didn't talk about it, calling it a wash, and only found the truth out after two years of being together when wine drunk one night in Eileen's dorm room.

In other news, is it bad that I've considered making Eileen into a ghoul?? Alice was Frankie's legal wife so she was in the vault. But Eileen was out of the house when the bombs fell (not that she was registered for the vault anyway). I like to think she went ghoul instead of being struck from earth okay let me be 😭😭

Less important, but Malcolm (aka Mal, aka loverboy) and Frankie (aka Franklin Lee Barr aka don't fuckin' call me Franklin) are Sal Mineo and James Dean, respectively:

[kicksaddictny]

Kicksaddict Sneakerhead PROFILES Interview Series: @CakedaGawd

After a long Hiatus, we’ve returned! Our popular Profile series has been requested almost on a daily basis (Thanks for the tweets, dms and emails). We were even threatened! (Thanks by the way).

Cake The Gawd! This one was so much fun. Tap in.

Where are you from? Brooklyn, NY born in Crown Heights raised in East Flatbush.

How long have you been collecting sneakers? I was introduced to sneakers in 1991 but I started collecting for myself in 98.

What’s your favorite sneaker and why? Air Jordan 6 Infrared. It's the shoe Michael was wearing when he won his first championship, and to me just it’s just the most beautiful Jordan shoe to date! The silhouette is unmatched, it is timeless, and no matter how many times it is retroed I will buy it!

Besides your hometown, what is the best city for sneakerheads that you know of? Why? I would say LA 100% !! It is a vibe out there. I am part of a sneaker group and 75% of the people in there are from LA. They really about the culture they know their shit and they are fresh as fuck too.

Do you collect just for collecting or do you collect and rock? I collect and rock. That is why I double up on certain shoes.. Some kicks you gotta have for store and show but some you just have to rock them!

What sneaker got you into the sneaker game? I cannot pinpoint one thing, it is so many things. It was Music, my parents introducing me to Nike, my older cousin, basketball, the dope boys around the way, and my 3rd grade crush and her cousin who both had Aqua 8's. (LOL) I cannot just say 1 thing because they all had a significant part in it.

What are your thoughts on these fake celebrity sneakerheads? I hate them all! All of these dudes just get perks, some of them do not even know the shoes. That shit really gets under my skin. Showing off shoes that they get and not even knowing the name or numbers of the shoes, creating their own names. Shit is sickening. S/O to the Sneaker Gawd Wale !

How do you feel about the Off white collabs? I liked the first round of the collabs. With the Presto's, Air maxes, Blazers, and Jordan 1's. I think after that it should've been left alone. But I can respect what they are doing over there. I just won my first pair of Off-White's with the Lot 50 joint.

If you could wear only one sneaker for the rest of your life, what would it be? Air Jordan 3 Black Cement. Yes 6's are my favorite of all time but the Black Cement 3's just go with EVERYTHING!

What advice would you give as far as storing and preservation of your sneakers? Wear your kicks man. I store and rock! I get it, wanting to save shoes but putting them away and never rocking them, when you finally do ya it’s separating and crumbling. In order for your kicks to last they gotta be worn anyway. Unless you're truly just on some collecting only for show vibes.

What is the most you’ve ever spent on a pair of sneakers? $900... I was able to land Black and Red and Royal 1's from 2001 together. A friend of mine had them and said he couldn't think of anyone else. I had literally just started my new job. A chunk of my first check went to that pick up.

Have you ever waited in line for a pair of kicks? I waited in line once in my life for shoes and swore I would never do it again. It was for the 2001 True Blue 3's. I waited online at like 7 in the morning at Kings Plaza. LMAO I said this will never happen again. I didn't have the patience for it. I do not know how ppl used to do that shit or camp for kicks. I was there for 1 hour and I was like this is ridiculous.

You're also a photographer, how long have you been taking photos? I have been taking photos since 2011 but officially became a photographer in 2013.

How do sneakers play a role in your photography? That is a great question because I didn't want the 2 to mix at all. Because I'm a scenery and landscape photographer. But I got into photography because of sneakers. No offense to anyone but a bunch of these  "influencers" get on IG with their DSLR cameras, take some on foot shots and call themselves "Photographers". 90% of them do not even understand lighting. I didn't wanna be one of those guys because I actually live this and study it. But recently I just started letting it be that and owning it. I am nice with this photography shit when it comes to sneakers. I have a deep connection with shoes and I love incorporating that into my art. I thank my wife for that. I told her I don't wanna be just another sneaker photographer and she said to me who said you have to be ?! I took that and ran with it. Off-White just recently featured some of my pictures on their Instagram.

I remember you saying you're a sneaker enthusiast, what is the difference between that and a sneakerhead? An enthusiast really studies sneakers. Sneakerheads just love sneakers like it ain't really about the history and all that for them. They just love shoes because it is cool and makes them feel good. Us Enthusiasts are invested. Things matter like knowing years of a shoe. For example, an enthusiast would look at a pair of Jordan's like Taxi 12's, We know Michael wore those in the 1996 - 97 season, but we also know that Martin gave away a pair on his show for the Christmas episode to the kid who had holes in shoes. They are tied to iconic moments. A sneakerhead may love Bordeaux 7's because they are dope looking shoes. Where for me it's that Michael Jordan wore those in a video with Michael Jackson and Kris Kross in the 92 Jam video. MJ and MJ in a video with Kris Kross, do you know what that did to my childhood?! Give you one more example that is not even Michael Jordan related. Piggy backing off of Kris Kross,The Patrick Ewing’s were one of my favorite kicks growing up besides seeing Pat play in them one of my favorite Hip Hop covers of all time is "Totally Krossed Out" and Kris Kross is wearing both colorways. So you see what I mean there is so much tied to it with being an enthusiast. This is just my opinion though some may not agree so don't shoot me! (Ha)

From the time you started collecting up until now, would you say that the sneaker game changed for the best or the worst? I have been collecting for 20 plus years now. I have seen the game at it's best, I have seen it die, I have seen it revive, and now I am witnessing the death of it again. The sneaker game is disgusting right now, and I honestly do not think it will ever recover. It really saddens me. It is a popularity and money contest right now.

Does pricing affect your collection? Hell No! And I hate that some people are trying to make this the norm. IDGAF if you paid $500 - $2000 for a pair, It doesn't mean shit.  The narrative is getting outta hand.

What does the word “Hypebeast” mean to you? Hypebeast is a person that only buys shit for status and popularity. They cannot form their own opinion about shit. They have to wear and cop items based on what every celeb is wearing or whatever these Social Media "Influencers" are saying is hot! It is not only sneaker related either. N*ggaz were hypebeasting for PS5 last year..

What are your thoughts on the females in the sneaker game? They are the best! I wish we had a Sneaker union and it was only run by females! The men in this game are annoying and so over the top. It is so bad that they feel the need to compete with women. The men get shoes just to show off to one another. Like what type of shit is that? The females are cool. I had a dude on twitter tell me women don't know the value of a shoe let alone about the shoe. The men feel like they always gotta try to shit on the women. The women are just trying to be part of the culture and enjoy it. And they shouldn't have to try to be part of something that is open to anyone who is willing to be invested and understand the culture.

Any advice for a young kid coming up in the sneaker game? Wear what you like! Respect the game and the people who have been doing it before you. Because this new generation of sneakerheads are little entitled dicks. No respect whatsoever!! I don't care about Travis Scott shoes. Without Jordan being who he is Travis wouldn't have a Jordan silhouette to collaborate with! Same with Off-White. These silhouettes were here before these guys. Say know your history and pay homage!! BUT STAY humble.

See I follow you and I'm loving the way you include your daughter in your work, what does that mean to you? Man, it is beautiful!!!! Without even trying she is invested in the culture. Both photography and shoes. Myself and my wife are both heavy into photography, art, music, sneakers, and clothes. My daughter is into all the same things but we are letting it be her own experience. We are not forcing anything on her. We want her to enjoy being a child and whatever things she picks up from us along the way is just a bonus. But I love shooting her, and I love when she asks myself and her mother "do we like her fit". It is truly a blessing man!

All photos by CAKEDAGAWD

Follow : https://twitter.com/CakedaGawd 

https://www.instagram.com/whatsinthesyrup/

[sambergscott]

i've been down here before and i know the way out

Summary: Leo Peralta is named after all the greats - the Ninja Turtle, da Vinci, DiCaprio and McGarry. 

(someone asked me to write about the name leo for jake and amy’s baby paying homage to leo mcgarry from the west wing and since i've officially joined Team Leo, i figured i'd do this)

(the title has nothing to do with the fic, it’s just my favourite leo/josh quote and i *had* to use it) 

It’s a weird feeling, leaving his son for the first time. Sure, he’s only going down the hall to get some much-needed coffee and snacks and he’s in Amy’s more-than-capable hands, but he already feels like he’s missing out on so much. What if he opens his eyes? What if he latches for the first time? What if he says his first word? No, that would be crazy. 5 hour old babies can’t talk, not even when they inherit super smart Santiago genes. 

The point is: Leo is the coolest person he’s ever met, named after Leonardo from the Ninja Turtles (or if you ask Amy, some painter from the olden days), and leaving him, even if only for a few minutes, sucks.

He didn’t understand how any of the other Peralta dads could walk out on their sons before and he certainly doesn’t understand it now.

He could never abandon Leo.

Speaking of Peralta dads who abandoned their sons, he instantly recognizes the white hair and crumpled pilot uniform of the man at the coffee machine as his own father and braces himself for the least fun conversation of the day (even worse than a laboring Amy threatening to kill him if he tells her how to breathe one more time).

“Hey, grandpa,” he says, patting Roger on the back.

“Jakey!�� He exclaims. “Congratulations, son.”

He’s received a lot of congratulations in the last few hours. From his mom, Amy’s parents, Amy’s brothers, the Nine-Nine, their extended families. Every time he picks up his phone to take a picture of the baby or Amy and the baby or a selfie of all three of them, there’s another 5 comments on his Instagram post about their new recruit. It’s all kind of overwhelming and he hasn’t got back to everyone yet (he knows Amy will want to send handwritten thank you cards anyway), but he has read the comments out loud to Amy and told Leo how loved he already is.

(It’s something Jake didn’t really know as a kid and he vows to raise his son differently, to tell him everyday that his mom and dad love him so much).

Captain Holt’s congratulations in particular brought tears to Jake, Amy and Leo’s eyes. To be fair, Leo was crying because he needed a diaper change, but still. It’s like he knew.

Ray Holt (Received 22:07):

Dear Amy, Jake and Leo (who Gina informs me is named after the ‘smokeshow’ actor Leonardo DiCaprio? According to the Internet Movie Database, he was in something called The Wolf of Wall Street and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, although I have only seen the stage productions of the latter so cannot comment on his suitability as a name sake for your child),

Kevin, Cheddar and I would like to offer our congratulations on the birth of your first son. As newborns go, yours is very cute. We hope the labor went smoothly and that you are all enjoying this precious time as a family.

We understand it is customary to buy a stuffed animal for a newborn baby and since we could not agree on a lion (as his name is Leo) or a Corgi (as we have a Corgi called Cheddar), we decided to buy both. We hope you will have sufficient room to store both in your apartment. If not, we have kept the receipts on our person and will return your least favourite to the store.

We look forward to meeting the newest member of our Nine-Nine family and giving him his gifts. Please provide us with an appropriate time slot for visitation.  

I am very proud of you both. I know you will make excellent parents.

Sincerely,

Raymond Holt, Kevin Cozner PhD and Cheddar the Dog.

His dad’s two word congratulations pales in comparison to his Work Dad’s, but maybe that’s OK. They just have different styles. The more people who love Leo, the better, as far as Jake’s concerned.

He inserts his money into the vending machine and punches in the code for Sour Candies, then repeats the process for chocolate for Amy, while Roger makes them two coffees - strong. Parenthood is already exhausting; caffeine and sugar are the only thing stopping him from straight up passing out on the hospital floor and sleeping for an entire day. Well, that and the fact that he just had a baby who screams bloody murder when he’s not in his mom or dad’s arms.

“I’m going to need help carrying all this back to the room,” Jake says nonchalantly. “Want to come visit him?”

“Absolutely I do.”

“OK.” Nerves bubble inside of him as they get closer to Room 458 and he stops Roger just outside the door. “You have to promise me that if you go in there, you will be part of his life forever.” His eyes are dark, protective. He’s never been more serious about anything. “I will not let you treat him the way you treated me. He’s too good for that. If you’re in, you have to be all in. Are you all in?”

“I am,” he promises. “I know you’d probably find a way to throw me in jail if I let him down. And I won’t. I know I’ve been a selfish jerk but I really have changed - I want to be a good husband to your mom, a good father to you and your sisters and a good grandpa to your son.”

“His name is Leo,” Jake reveals, opening the door and smiling at the sight of Amy holding him. The tight feeling in his chest dissipates, replaced by a familiar warmth. He strides forward and kisses Amy, then Leo. “How were my two favourite people when I was gone? Missing me loads?”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “But other than that he just slept.”

“It’s tough being a baby, huh?” He whispers, stroking his son’s dark head of hair. “Maybe you can open your eyes for daddy now though?”

Nope. Nothing.

Damn it. He opened his eyes for Amy while he was in the bathroom earlier, which is totally not fair. She’s already turned him into a mommy’s boy before he had a chance.

(Not that he blames him. Leo does have a very awesome mom. The awesom-est).

“We brought you coffee,” Roger announces, stepping forward. “And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Amy responds, gratefully accepting the to-go cup and taking a sip, despite it still being too hot. Not drinking coffee for 9 months was worse than all the worse bits of pregnancy combined. She complained about it constantly, but he’s pretty sure it was worth it all now.

“You look beautiful,” Roger says. “Considering you just had a baby.”

“Oh.” She grimaces at the back-handed, misogynistic comment and Jake hands his dad the precious cargo before he can dig himself an even deeper hole.

He hovers next to him, his super sharp detective instincts ready to catch Leo if anything happens.

Surprisingly - or maybe unsurprisingly, considering how he has at least 4 kids that Jake knows of (and maybe more that Roger himself doesn’t even know about, since he’s slept with so many women) - he holds Leo perfectly, supports his head, bounces him gently when he starts to shift like he knows he’s no longer with mom.

Jake takes a picture before he starts full on crying and then Amy takes a picture of 3 generations of Peralta men that, when framed, will make a perfect Christmas present for Karen.

“Leo’s a great name, by the way. I once knew a Leo. Leo McGarry. One of my teachers at flight school.” He pauses and Jake thinks he might start crying before the baby. “Great pilot, even better man. He was strict, but he believed in me, even when I screwed up my landings over and over. He had a heart attack and died a month before I graduated.”

“I’m sorry, dad,” he murmurs. He sounds like his version of Captain Holt and Jake would be similarly devastated if anything happened to him. Although losing his flight school mentor does explain a lot about why his landings are still bumpy as hell.

Roger smiles to himself. “He could’ve flown Air Force 1 if he wanted, the offer was there. But for some reason he decided to stick around and help idiots like me. He was the best of the best. Your Leo seems pretty great, too. You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” He exchanges a meaningful look with Amy. “We did good.”

“Peralta and Santiago. Always been a great team,” she grins.

As if hearing their names reminds him that he’s not being held by a) mom or b) dad, Leo wakes up and suddenly screams for them.

“Here, dad, I’ll take him.”

Roger transfers him back to Jake and like some kind of magic spell from Harry Potter has been cast, he calms back down, content in Jake’s arms.

“So dramatic,” Amy teases, taking another sip of coffee. “Maybe we should’ve named him after DiCaprio.”

[twin-images]

Don’t Fear the Weaper

Guys! GUYS! I gotta tell you something! Did you know that in the new HBO Max animated series Looney Tunes Cartoons, that the producers of the show aren’t letting Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam use guns???

This...this...it’s horrible! It’s a disgrace! It’s an abomination! It’s a crime against God and nature!!

Um...actually, no. No, it’s not. This isn’t a big deal. At all. I honestly don’t give a candy-coated crap, and neither should anyone else.

Yet all weekend my phone and my laptop have been bombarded with “news” articles with people whining their collective asses off about how “them lb’ruls” and “the PC Police” ruin everything by not letting 2 cartoon characters use pistols and rifles, even though axes, scythes, bombs and dynamite are A-OK.

Regrettably, I have to say this:

When Looney Tunes Cartoons was just being previewed, I knew some mo-ron was going to find some paper-thin reason to hate on these cartoons, and unfortunately I was right, because we just can’t have nice things. Never mind that these are among the best new Looney Tunes works that I’ve seen in a long time and that they truly pay homage to the classics from Termite Terrace, produced with painstaking care, love and attention to detail; Elmer and Sam can’t shoot anything, so life is meaningless and all of our lives have been ruined.

Here’s the thing: there’s something these chinless wonders fail to notice: namely, that Sam and Elmer haven’t been actively wielding guns for going on 30 years now. There wasn’t a single gun used on The Looney Tunes Show (though one episode had a running joke in which Sam was petitioning to get his guns back), neither Elmer nor Sam brandished firearms in Wabbit/New Looney Tunes, though in the Wabbit short “World Wide Wabbit” Sam brandished his fingers like pistols, he even fired shots from them! Heck, one of THE most recent times we’ve seen Elmer brandish a gun was in this spot for Holiday Inn:

And that was during the late 80′s, and even then, his gun had a cork in the barrel and he never once used it. So why are people suddenly all hopped up and raising a stink about this now??

Before you answer, let’s stick a pin in that for a second and turn our attention to this guy:

Remember him? For those don’t, this is Panchito Pistoles, one third of Disney’s Three Caballeros. When the character made his debut, he was a loud-talkin’, gun-totin’ rooster, but in recent years when he and his fellow Caballeros Jose Carioca and one Don Duck appear in the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disney World, Panchito’s surname has been removed; now he only has one name, like Charo or Chesperito. Furthermore, when Panchito made his debut on Disney’s 2017 DuckTales series, he sported a new accessory...

He now sported portable cameras in his holsters and shot numerous pictures with them. As long as he gets to shoot something, right?

And you know what I heard about this? Crickets. Where were all the pissy hit-piece articles decrying this? Why is no one outraged that Panchito can’t wield a gun anymore, but when Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam don’t use guns (which I’d like to point out again that they haven’t for some time) it’s a scandal and the first sign of Armageddon?? 

Ask a kid how effing wrong it is that Sam and Elmer aren’t using guns on this new show, and the likely response you’ll get is:

Yeah, kids don’t care. Heck, I’m 51 and I don’t care. Would I be OK with these cartoon characters wielding guns? Sure. Do I think that society would plunge to hell in a handbasket if they used guns in these cartoons? No. Kids aren’t that stupid; they know the difference between real violence and fantasy violence, and the ones that don’t have bigger problems going on than watching violent cartoons. But am I upset that there are no guns on Looney Tunes Cartoons?

Times change, and these cartoons are still funny, so no biggie.

[bugaboowritings]

Cameras and Dead News - Emilie Agreste Is Missing - Fic

Adrien is Rocking Some Shades From The ‘90s. 

I got the idea from a post, that I can’t find- lucky me. But basically, Gabriel doesn’t go out after Emilie’s death/disappearance so the paparazzi couldn’t ask him questions. Do you guys know who still leaves the house tho... Adrien.

Just imagine how that would go. A kid missing his mom, forced to hear questions about her disappearance. 

(Found the post, it was @chloe-is-a-lesbeean. Buzz Buzz, Bitches --> the post) 

hope everyone is alright as we handle these COVID-19 shutdowns. 

-----

“Damn,” The young flim-maker sighed before folding the newspaper in his hands. 

His lips pursed together in thought, not knowing how to feel or to even believe what he was reading. All while he sat in a cafe, one that’s tucked under the shade of another building, his friend gladly munched on the breakfast they ordered. He hasn’t touched his plate since he got there and the other has been debating with their wallet if they should order another coffee for the trip back to the studio. Idly slouching on the bean-bag as he sat rigid against his wooden chair, gripping the paper in his hand. 

 He’s a small artist in the north of town, who sleeps on his friend’s couch because art doesn’t sell, not at a price that will pay for rent, only for that of a good breakfast and lost dinner. Only known underground for his camera and his good eye for color, but never really having any real connections to the silver screen nor the crowds usually involved painting on it, but he was one of the many victims that a certain star carried her influence over. You had to be living under a rock to not know the blonde, the one who fostered a new generation of artists under her wing and films. 

Even though this director didn’t know her personally, it didn’t stop the heavy stiffness from setting gently on his chest. Wondering if he should even take this headline to heart. 

Hell, he’s unsure if what he was reading was even true or just another clickbait story. Shaking off the bitter feelings just in case this was fake. A stunt pulled by some hot-shot manager or rowdy marketing team. 

If so, it’s utter bullshit to write an article like that just to sell crates full of print. 

It wasn’t until his friend noticed the cold and untouched coffee, that they raised their eyebrow and nodded their head to him to speak up. Yet, the director didn’t talk, only giving a heavy sigh before passing the newspaper down. They, an able writer and a genuine friend willing to give up a couch, hastily sucked the syrup off their fingers and wiped their sticky hands on their loose denim jeans before taking the press in their hand. 

Licking the sweet cream off their lips from their breakfast before staring hard at the page. 

Suddenly that bagel on the white clean platter didn’t seem so appetizing. The cream cheese turned bland and the orange juice after-taste went sour and disgusted their taste buds. 

“. . .Wow.” 

Quickly after that, the two flipped to the main article inside. Scanning the black text to see if this could even be true. Their fingers pinched the press a little tighter as their hands got clammy.  Swiftly scanning to see if there was any reason to believe the bold headline that was selling fast in Paris. 

           EMILIE AGRESTE MISSING            A STAR NOW DIMMING...?

From her famous production skills to her unforgettable acting, along with her hand in public service with the Mayor and to aid the City of Paris, her strong love for the arts and her endless funding for them, and her infinite support towards the young creators in Paris- Emilie Agreste was famous and known around for not only her marriage but her character. 

She’s the very reason that so many got their chance and felt like they could make it in a field that seemed impossible to touch. 

Agreste, along with being caring, she was talented in so many ways.  She had the audience in the palm of her hand when she played the sickly lover to the crazed workaholic on the screen. When she shed a tear, the spectators wept with her. When she smiled, the world seemed fine and the sun always shined. When she sighed at the sky, people wondered what she was daydreaming about. Her name was used in tv shows and other movies, as an homage to her and to her fame. 

The blonde really was Paris’ muse. 

Emilie Agreste, an icon that was thought to never fade from the minds of Parisians or from their headlines. 

This proved more true when people just wanted to know more as the news traveled further and further in France. All everyone wanted to hear, read, or watch were the updates on this case or the basic details that the public has access to. 

Where was her last known location?  

What could be the cause of this? 

Why did this happen?

How could this happen in the first place? 

Then the one that astonished everyone. 

Where is she now? 

‘What happened to Emilie Agreste?’ became the most searched thing in Paris in under 24 hours. 

The world faced the media for answers and clarification, but they too were speechless. Even the journalists notorious for finding the small secrets from cheating scandals,  friendship drama, secret pregnancies or always managed to know an inside-source for everything— 

They too came dry.

Not with a drop of gossip or a hint of rumors. 

All that there was, was the police report filed days ago by her husband, who seems to disappear from the public eye as his wife did from the earth. 

Calls to interview him went unanswered. Emails for a comment on this situation got clicked and dragged to the trash bin. Cameras that waited outside the mansion,  like starving lions waiting for the picture-perfect prey, only got a snap of the maids taking out the trash. The Agreste fashion-shows, ones that were planned months ago, were canceled the day before they took place. The spring collection had to be pushed back before releasing the photos to the magazines weeks later. 

No one could get the details of Parisian Darling and that didn’t change no matter how much the reporters bid for the voices of assistants and maids to speak on the matter. 

The only person out in public and with a tight connection with the Agreste was Emilie’s one and only child.

Adrien Agreste. 

Blossoming model to the Agreste Brand a few months back and the only Agreste that would step out to the sun to go to his fencing lesson and photoshoots. The reason the gates opened again was to only to let in his Chinese tutors or piano instructor. Then, the gates would shut again when he stayed in his rooms for hours on end. Not really a public face until his father released his anticipated winter collection last year, all with the teen as the front cover of every fashion magazine advertising it.

And man, was it well received. 

There were times where Adrien had to be shielded from the press by his bodyguards to get to his fencing competition. Deciding early on to take his Chinese lessons at home instead of going off to the university for his studies when he got pestered by hidden paparazzi and nosey students. 

Reporters, photographers, and the curious were hot on his heels as they shouted things to make him turn around, to get a reaction. Anything to make their salary bigger.  Anything to put on a tabloid. Anything to print on the press. Anything to get something that sells. 

“Is your mother dead?”

“Is it true that there is a ransom note at Emilie’s last known location?” 

“Do you think your mother left with her own will and didn’t disappear?” 

“Adrien, do you think that your mother left willing or is this just a stunt for the new film with Grand-”

“-How is your father dealing with this situation?” 

“ADRIEN, turn around! Tell the public what they were waiting to hear!” 

“Is Gabrial Agreste so disheartened that he can’t step out? Should we still expect the fall collection with-” 

“What is the police saying about your mother’s case?” 

“Are there any new leads about her disappearance?” 

“Adrien, what do you think of this situation?!” 

The heir to the Agreste Brand, the name and legacy stopped in his tracks on the stone staircase. 

It’s a sunny morning out, so his hair managed to glimmer nicely thanks to the sun’s rays. It was also an excuse to wear sunglasses, to pull a curtain over his face so no one could dare to notice how much he wanted to cry. Covering the bags under his eyes and shielding them away from the bright lights since his eyes got more delicate the longer he went without sleep. 

But no one would see that. All they would point out would be the fact his shades are his dad’s old collection from the ’90s. 

They wouldn’t see how he picks his lips because he can’t tap his toes against the marble floors in his house without creating an echo that makes him feel more alone. 

But no one would see that. They would just ask what his lip care routine or if he used any innovative k-beauty products to keep them that shade of pinky-red or that glossy. Totally not the ointment that keeps them from bleeding. 

He would come to practice in all grey or wear minimalistic clothes because he doesn’t want to think about how to match the patterns or the fact it felt so wrong being so bitter when wearing mustard yellow or baby blue. 

But no one would notice the reason for his monochrome wardrobe and call it a new style for the summer. 

Taking little ways he showed his grief when everyone seemed to move too fast. Adrien barely felt the ground under his feet as Natalie changed the times for his lunch again to fit another appointment and meeting. 

Processing the last time he saw his mom before he got asked for another interview on her disappearance. 

How the little interactions and moments popped into his head only to taunt him. The way she stirred her tea, how she comforted him that one time he fell on the concrete, how she always got a plate of cut fruit for him when he was studying, then how she winked at him and said, “Let me talk to your father. He’ll come around,” whenever Adrien asked to go out but there was some hesitation, or how his mother managed to make even the scariest things seem not so scary in the end. 

So to answer that question, he didn’t know.

 Everything was growing out of place in his life but it was in an excepted way. His father was never a man of conversation but became one secluded in isolation without his mother pulling him in with her words out of his cave and keeping him sitting by the dinner table. Adrien didn’t even know if his father locked himself in his large office and buried himself in work or if he still in his parent’s room- trying to process what’s going on. Adrien has been out of the house so much that he doesn’t even know if he left his bedroom the way it is or the maids cleaned up when he was gone, not knowing if his game is still paused at this point. 

 It also just hit him on that nice, sunny day that he may have lost the ability to say ‘parents’ when only one is currently at home. 

As hungry reporters encroached the teen, Gorilla shoved them back and away. Setting his palm on the young Agreste’s back to urge him to keep moving. Only getting a nod, letting a few seconds pass before he hurried up the staircase and into his lessons. 

[fortunatelylori]

Thoughts on Otis Molyneux

I hesitated somewhat before making this post because the fandom seems to have settled on Otis being “a good man who made one terrible mistake” and who am I to rain on anyone’s parade?

Inner goddess: A very opinionated woman … that’s who … No one keeps baby down!

Well … since you put it that way …

My very first meta on Sanditon revolved around the idea that this show is Andrew Davies’ homage to Austen’s entire body of work. And since I discovered a very interesting link between Otis and one of the more misinterpreted Austen characters, I couldn’t resist. Particularly since every time I read a remark on Otis, I end up going:

He is a most fortunate man! Everything turns out for his own good! He meets a young woman at a watering place, gains her affections, she consents to an engagement! He treats her abominably, she bares it like a saint! His aunt is in the way, his aunt dies! He has used everybody ill and they are all delighted to forgive him! He is a most fortunate man indeed!

Emma is perhaps Jane Austen’s most transgressive novel and, while it is not my favorite (that’s Persuasion in case anyone was wandering), I think it’s the clearest indication of her genius. In Emma, Austen not only spoofs herself, as the old maid Miss Bates, but also pulls off a master stroke in concealing her villain, Frank Churchill, not only from the characters but also from the audience.

Austen villains are usually charming, fun and attractive, most of the time far more so than the hero that will eventually win the heroine’s heart. What Austen does with the likes of Wickham and Willoughby is show that superficial charm and a pretty face are poor substitutes for substance, integrity and a value system.

In order to drive that point home, her villains usually suffer a fall from grace: Wickham gets exiled to Newcastle (the degradation!) and is stuck with Lydia for the rest of his life; Willoughby gets ousted by his aunt, told off by Eleanor and publically canceled by Mrs. Jenkins.

Whatever it may be, all of her villains suffer some consequences (even if it’s just not getting the girl as is the case for William Elliot in Persuasion). All except one: Frank Churchill. As Mr. Knightley’s frustrated speech above shows, Frank is so fortunate that by the end of Emma, he gets everything he’s ever wanted and everyone continues to love and cherish him as if nothing had happened (with the exception of Emma and Knightley).

And because the characters move on from his betrayal so quickly you can barely get a glimpse into their POVs, so does the audience. By the end of the book, most of the readers are as pleased with Frank as the people of Highbury.

I can just imagine Jane Austen cackling with joy at our silliness.

Just because there are no consequences for Frank and because all ends well despite his efforts to the contrary, it doesn’t follow that he should be absolved of responsibility. For all his professed love for Jane, Frank involves her in an imaginary extramarital affair, flirts with Emma in front of her and ultimately humiliates her at the picnic. For all his friendliness and affability, he is less than generous to his father, uses Emma for his own motives and is secretly chopping at the bit to see his aunt, the woman who raised him, dead so he can inherit her fortune. Despite what his endgame would suggest, Frank Churchill is an immature, selfish man who is used to getting his own way with little thought or care about how that might hurt other people.

Which brings us to Otis “I fell in love with your soul” Molyneux.

But, but … I hear you say … Fortunatelylori, he did suffer consequences. He lost Georgiana!

To which I say don’t bring out the pity parade just yet. Because in losing Georgiana, Otis’ actions are reduced to an unfortunate youthful indiscretion by the characters (Georgiana and Charlotte) as well as by the people watching. Because he shed some resigned tears and spoke prettily about how much he loved Georgiana’s soul, everyone is “delighted to forgive him”.

But just as with Frank, is his love for Georgiana enough to absolve him of his wrongdoings? Should we cheer for their potential reunion or think she deserves better, the way Mr. Knightley thinks about Jane? And while we’re on the subject, what are Otis’ crimes? He clearly never meant to cause Georgiana’s kidnapping so what’s the big deal?

What gets lost in Charlotte’s “you are insensible of feeling” rebuke of Sidney is that Otis isn’t a victim of circumstances nor is him honestly being in love with Georgiana a get out of jail free card. Otis is a gambling addict who has amassed debts so vast that the man who is trying to collect them resorts to kidnapping a teenager to get his money back. And that’s just one guy he owes money to.

Does he love Georgiana? Yes, in his own way he loves her just about as much as he loves losing money at cards. What do you think would have happened if they married? Because me thinks Otis would run through that 100.000 real quick while simultaneously loving the hell out of Georgiana’s soul.

Which brings me to Otis’s less than agreeable character traits: lying and manipulation. He lies to Georgiana from the first moment he meets her. Worst yet, he takes advantage of her vulnerability and he encourages her to rely solely on him for emotional support:

Georgiana: I was uprooted. Lost. In despair. Otis restored me to life. Those 3 months were the happiest I’ve known.

That sounds great and all but what happens after he’s gone from her life is that Georgiana feels like she suddenly has no one and nothing. Because her entire sense of self was tied to Otis.

He also allows Georgiana to believe that her guardian is a racist monster who is keeping them apart because of the color of his skin when he knows full well that’s not the case and also that Georgiana needs to have a good relationship with Sidney for the foreseeable future at least.

In order to keep up the charade, he takes active part in poisoning Charlotte against Sidney and very much enjoys playing the wronged party in this whole scenario:

Otis: But then your friend, Mr. Parker, took it upon himself to rip us apart.

Charlotte: However painful that might have been, Mr. Parker must surely have had Georgiana’s best interest at heart.

Otis: Then you clearly don’t know Mr. Parker as well as you think.

 Lying is so ingrained in Otis’ modus operandi that he can’t help himself from doing it even when there’s not even the slightest chance that he can get away with it:

Beecroft: Oh, yes! The famous Miss Lambe! Mr. Molyneux speaks of little else. Miss Lambe this, Miss Lambe that.

Otis: That is a lie! If I mentioned her it was only in passing …

Beecroft: I’m not the liar here. You told me a wedding was imminent. That her fortune was as good as yours. I never would have let him run such a debt otherwise.

Otis: All I wanted was to buy a little time … If I had known even for one moment …

What was that about Sidney not having good reason to keep you away from Georgiana, Otis?!?

Also look at him running the eluding responsibility obstacle course like a pro:

Otis: He’s sold her! The villain has sold her!

Charlotte: What?

Sidney: In return for a promise to buy his debt, she’s been handed to some dissolute named Howard. Even now he’ll be dragging her to an altar.

Charlotte: An altar? But that cannot be allowed without your permission.

Sidney:  No. They have no such laws across the border. There they will marry you with impunity.

Otis: Had you only allowed us to marry!

Otis has gambled himself silly, bragged about Georgiana’s money to the worst possible people, disappeared from public view (he hasn’t picked up his mail in weeks because he’s in hiding from the debt collectors) and his reaction is to put all the blame on Sidney. That is not the behavior of a well-balanced adult. This is the behavior of a gambler who thinks he can talk his way out of anything because he has “game”.

This brings us to his last scene with Georgiana when everything comes into focus. If you really think about it, there is not a single moment during their relationship where Otis isn’t lying to her, including the romantic separation that hit everyone in the feels:

Otis: I’ve gambled. That is true. But whatever they tell you, I never gambled with your name.

Notice how the first thing out of his mouth is manipulative. “Whatever they tell you” i.e. turst no one but me. I’m the only one who is telling the truth so listen to me as I lie my ass off right now.

Otis: I never boasted of your wealth. I boasted of you.

Two lines in and he’s already lied twice. You can actually do a play by play of what he says here and what he says in the Beecroft scene.

And then comes the coup de grace!

Otis: It was pride. That is all! And Lord knows, I have paid for it!

As consequence of his gambling, hiding from his creditors and running his mouth about Georgiana’s fortune, the woman he loves was kidnapped, Charlotte almost got raped and Sidney is however many thousands of pounds lighter for paying off his debts. So bring out the waterworks for Otis, guys! Let’s not forget who the real victim in all of this is!  

Alexa, play Despacito.

Otis lies so much he has ended up internalizing his lies to such an extent that he has turned himself into a victim. His narrative is ultimately rejected by Georgiana, leaving him pained but that shouldn’t fool you into thinking he’s a good guy. Neither he nor Frank are moustache twirling villains but their flaws and the way they allow those flaws to affect the people they supposedly love speaks volumes about their character.

Maybe, eventually, they both grow up. Maybe Frank becomes more selfless and starts treating others with respect. Maybe Otis never gambles again and becomes the responsible civil rights leader he wants others to see him as.

But as things stand at the end of their story line, I, for one, am not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s sadly too late for Jane to pick herself another husband. But I haven’t given up hope that Georgiana will shake Otis off like a spot of English rain.

[lesbian-ashe]

hey guys... I wrote a fanfic... baby’s first... it’s about a Velafitine’s Day celebration

title: Velafitine’s Day 2: Rehashing words: 1693 rating/warnings: T for some bad words and mentions of alcohol and mildly suggestive moments maybe? pairing/summary: none but Markus kisses a lot of people like the himbo he is

It was the morning of the 14th day of 2nd month. A normal, mundane day to any other, but to a certain Markus Velafi, it meant so much more. It was another of his surely made-up holidays that he forced all of his friends to participate in, one he dubs Velafitine's Day, and he had a grand plan for it. As they walk into the bar, our party notices Markus setting up a peculiar booth. Curious, a little suspicious, Ashe says "Hey Markus... Whatcha doing there?"

"Don't you remember Ashe? Why, today is Velafitine's Day!" he says, spinning around to face her.

"Oh gods..." she sighs, remembering last year. "Please don't sing another song. Not like the last one, please."

"Oh no, not a song this time. I have a new idea!" Markus, with coy expression, twirls his sign in his hands, faced away from the party. Ashe eyes the sign suspiciously. He places it gingerly atop his stand, revealing the bright, glittery (too glittery) pink writing, reading '♡Kissing Booth♡'

In unison, Ashe and Thog’s faces contort with exasperated expressions. Kyr and Gregor, however, both gleam with excitement.

Markus steps behind his booth, placing a smaller sign on the counter, ‘♡1 gold = 1 kiss♡’ “Step right on up!” he cheers, seeming all too pleased with himself. Gregor excitedly steps up to the booth, placing a single gold piece into the jar (covered in glitter and paper hearts) on the counter. “One of your finest kisses please!” he beams. Ashe looks a little worried at this, but sighs a breath of relief as Markus gingerly grabs Gregor’s face and gives a chaste peck on his cheek. Gregor twirls around with an exaggeratedly dizzy motion. “Wowza!” he chimes, fixing an imaginary hat and tie. Markus and Ashe, despite herself, chuckle at this.

“Okay…” Thog sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you hoping to accomplish with this, Markus?” Markus puts on his best innocent face, offset by his horns and gently swaying tail. Batting his eyelashes, he says “Why Thog, I’m merely trying to spread the cheer of the holidays!” “The holiday you made up.” Thog interrupts. “Because,” Markus scoffs. “I just have so much love and appreciation for my friends, and I want to share that! Is that so wrong?” Thog rolls his eyes. “And! It also serves the purpose of raising money for Nine Shrines Adventures and Dines bar!” Thog grimaces at the terrible name, frown deepening further as Markus scribbles ‘♡Booze Money♡’ on the coin jar.

“Me next! Me next!” Kyr shouts, bouncing excitedly and shoving Thog to the side. He slams a handful of gold pieces onto the counter, sitting up on it and peppering Markus’ face with about a dozen kisses. Both are smiling like fools as Kyr hops down. “See Thog? I think this was a great idea.” boasts Markus.

Other patrons begin to flock to the bar. Many familiar faces, acquaintances and friends. Their home is livelier than usual. “Friends! Good to see you got my invitations! So happy to see you all!” beams Markus. Thog grumbles. Of course he invited everyone again, just like last year. Kyr and Gregor are busy excitedly greeting all of their friends, (and Rat… gods, why did he invite Rat? Thog’s gun hand twitches as his shrill giggles fill the room.) while he and Ashe are dreading the rest of their day. They look around and take notice of garish pink and red decorations, and glitter, so much glitter, positively everywhere, as is typical Markus fashion. Thog groans yet more knowing it would take forever to de-glitter the bar. In addition to the ostentatious decor, the bar itself is lined with various drinks (fruity liquors, and bottles of sparkling juice for Gregor) and carefully crafted treats, a sign in front reading “♡My Treat♡” Ashe smiles. She supposed she did feel appreciated, and perhaps this wasn’t actually just another of Markus’ ploys to irritate the hell out of them. Was Markus up late preparing this? She nudges Thog to join her at the bar for a pink beer. He seems to perk up, or at least stop scowling.

Several guests make their way over to Markus’ booth, greeting him and giddily offering coins, accepting chaste kisses on noses, cheeks, foreheads. Dont, Kyl’il, Moren, Horaven, even some random bargoers pay their homage. Markus is grinning contentedly. He’s alerted by a small tapping on the side of his stand. He looks down to see Charoth offering him a handful of dry beans and some pebbles. He laughs, picking up Charoth and setting him to sit on the counter. Markus sticks his offering in the jar, and gives him a little “kiss” of rubbing his nose against Charoth’s beak. He seems delighted, and raises his hand at Markus, who very excitedly high-fives it. Charoth hops down and scampers off. “Ashe! ASHE! Charoth high-fived me again!” Ashe gives a non-committal hum and ignores him, sipping her beverage. Markus pouts in her direction, but his pouting is interrupted by a curly-haired and bandaged individual approaching him.

"Colvin! What a pleasure to see you today, on this day of friendship and romance!" greets Markus.

"Day of friendship and romance? Is today something special? Is that why you invited us here?" asks Colvin.

"I'm so glad you asked, my dear! Today is Velafitine's Day, a day to celebrate love in all its forms! I've decided to celebrate with my humble booth here, and you're more than welcome to partake." he says, looking at Colvin with a flirtatious expression.

"Hmmmm... your sign says one kiss is one gold, what will twenty gold get me? It's all I have on me." he inquires, holding up a twenty gold piece. Markus' eyes light up.

"How about you hop on over here and I'll say when?" says Markus, waggling his eyebrows.

Colvin, taking the word 'hop' as literally as he takes everything, leaps over the counter, tackling Markus. He would have complained about his now sore ass, but his mouth is crushed against Colvin's, in a rapid flurry of rough and passionate kisses. Markus is caught off-guard. How is Colvin such a good kisser? Colvin? Of all people? He wouldn't have even thought the man had kissed anyone before! But here he was, caught in this assault of passion, lips, and just the right amount of tongue and teeth, Colvin's body pressed against his on the floor. My gods! He was in heaven! From the front of the booth, Markus' legs could be seen flailing, tail swaying excitedly, and his muffled noises filled the bar. Ashe and Thog look over a bit disturbed. Thog takes a swig from his drink. Kyr is flashing a big smile and two thumbs up.

Just as quickly as Colvin’s attack started, however, it was over. Colvin withdrew and stood up. Markus shakily stood and gripped the booth, a dazed and very pleased expression plastered on his face. “Well,” starts Colvin, “I think I got my money’s worth, but I don’t have anything else on me.” He turns, starting to leave. “Wait!” Markus shouts. As Colvin exits the bar, he shouts back “I have to find some more gold!” “We’re running a buy-one-get-one-free special right now!” Markus calls after Colvin, but he’s already gone. Markus slumps disappointed onto his counter.

Thog walks over. “Hey, cheer up Markus. Y’know, I think I’ll donate to your cause too.” he says, flipping the coin he took from the booth while Markus was distracted by Colvin in his palm. Ashe noticed, but hides a chuckle and says nothing. Perking up a bit, Markus leans over and waits for Thog to kiss him. But to his irritation, Thog simply pecks him lightly on the lips and withdraws. A smirk on his face, Thog says "Unsatisfactory. I want my money back."

But before Thog can pocket the coin, Markus grabs him up by the collar, pulling him forward.

"I said buy-one-get-one special!" Markus kisses Thog hard and deep. Surprised, Thog can’t bite back his moans. The kiss shifts into a tender one, passionate and wanting. Thog, shuddering, places his hands on Markus’ hips, but to his dismay, Markus pulls back, grinning smugly, knowing he’s gained the upper hand on Thog. “Thanks for your patronage.” goads Markus, taking the gold from Thog’s limp hand. He can only stare back at him red-faced and dazed. He doesn’t register Ashe cackling in the background. Without a word, he places a five gold coin tip in the jar and walks away. “Come again sometime!” Markus calls to him, waggling his fingers in a taunting wave.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ 

Time passes. The day goes on, chatter filling the bar. Its’ patrons seem happy, talking amongst each other. Markus chats with his guests and his friends, drinking with them and generally having a good time, but soon he sighs as he notices people ignoring his booth in favor of mingling with each other and sampling his pink-dyed liquors and red wines. Then, the metaphorical lightbulb (or perhaps not so metaphorical, as a small flame flickers to life above him) goes off over Markus’ head.

“Attention!” Markus announces, marching over to his booth and tipping over the ‘♡1 gold = 1 kiss♡’ sign. “It is now free kiss happy hour!” Markus darts off after his friends, one by one, most of them laughing and running off, like playing a game of tag. Ashe and Thog tried to act irritated with him, but couldn’t help laughing and smiling as Markus peppered their cheeks. After all of his friends have been sufficiently smooched, he settles down to drink and talk, all of them smiling. Today was a good Velafitine’s Day after all, they decide. 

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ 

Unexpectedly, someone kicks the door to the bar open, startling the patrons. It's Ballast McGee.

"So what's this I'm hearing about a kissing booth?" he says with his usual sleaze, eyes half-lidded and brows waggling.

Markus grabs his money jar, sets the booth on fire, runs through the bar, pushes Ballast over, jumps through the window and runs.

[garglyswoof]

for @austennerdita2533​. Happy birthday, i had the sudden urge to try to write something that reminds me of you, with imagery and metaphors, to pay homage to your lush style. Here’s what came out after work. Posting without edits because otherwise you’ll never get anything.

It is close to dawn when she first hears him. A muffled voice, rage’s jaw clenched in hissed syllables rising to a crescendo, words lost in the deep. Her eyes crash open though she remains still, tangled in the sheets, an anchor.

Car……….ten……….ell

Fat lot of good vampiric senses are doing her right now. She sits up so fast that her head spins, the silvery light of the moon a prison through the blinds as she strains to hear the voice. Her heart is racing like it knows what this is before she does, like some part of her has always known.

Klaus.

For a moment, a swell of anger, choking in its fury, because she knows, she knew, all of them had to have known he’d have an escape clause. Anyone who blusters their self-made title so that you know it is Serious Business - he is the Original Hybrid - is not one to give up this immortal coil easily. How stupid, how stupid her tears had been.

But then that voice sounds again and now that her heart has thrummed frantic through her veins she can hear the desperation in it, and the air leaves the room, unwilling to witness.

“Klaus? What? -Are you? Wh-where are you?” She reaches for the light but pauses, unsure if it will break whatever tenuous connection he has right now.

“Caroline” the name is tiny, so unlike his wolf of a voice, a voice that curls around words, seducing them before they’re daggers in your heart. Well, except for hers.

She thumbs open her phone, dials, heart in her own voice, stilted, hopeful, too much.

A sleepy voice, though it lacks the anger Caroline would have if it was her being woken. “Mmmmm’lo?”

“Bonnie, it’s Klaus. He’s here. Well here, but not. His voice is here, but not, like he’s underwater, or wrapped in 16 layers of blankets but it’s him I know it is it’s got to be a spell what do we-”

“Care.“ The voice steadies over the line. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know, the only thing that was clear was my name. But-” She cuts off. A glimmer, there, near the dresser mirror where peeling photos are a memoir.

A shadow, drawn across the blinds.

Caroline can hear Bonnie asking for details but she sets the phone down with a promise to call back, floating up from the bed like she’s the ghost and oh god if that’s really him she’s going to kill him.

“Sweetheart.” Clear as the toll of a bell, low and sonorous. She turns. He’s there.

Or somewhat. He’s faint, not solid, and ripples flow across him like faded tv signals, unsettling in an uncanny valley sort of way. The moon shines through him and he is shot with silver and she’d never admit it if part of her hadn’t been a wreck since the day he died, but his face is impossibly beautiful and her hand raises, unbidden. Something between this world and the next lies between them, so her hand slides through empty air,.

“What, what is this, Klaus?”

“I don’t think I have much time, love.”

“Oh no no no no no freaking way, I am not Rose you are not Ten, I refuse.”

He laughs then, and it lodges in her chest. “Perhaps someday you’ll explain that reference to me, but for now…” She tunes him out because she can’t hear past the promise that’s spilled from his lips.

“God, Klaus. Will you just tell me what’s going on and how in the hell to get you back? You owe me like sixteen trips around the world at this point, there are promises and you are breaking them.” It’s all she can say, the words, the jokes a distraction because all this? Is impossible to process without a cup of coffee and a degree of certainty that she won’t wake up in the throes of a dream.

“I’m here, love. Trying to form myself back together from the pieces I left in. I’m a memory of a dream and that’s not much to work with. I need magic. I need time.” His face falls, doubt flickering as his image does the same, and his voice is tentative, small again like before.  “I need you.”

And there’s the thing, as the moonlight shafts through his darkness, as the edges of the photos on her dresser curl further in this impossible march of time. There’s the truth of this thing between this man piecing himself together in front of this not-so-baby-vampire who’s heart is still lodged in her throat.

Sometimes needs are ruinous in their folly, and sometimes they are promises made whole.

[guildielove]

     meechi. since we’re on the topic and i’ve been thinking about it a lil’ i guess it’s high time to make an official HC post in regards to Scott’s spiritual beliefs and how they came to shape his view of the world and/or the way he interacts with specific individuals in regards to it.      first of all, scott was born and raised in a primarily irish - catholic family. he had no choice or say in the matter ; he was forced to go to church every sunday and partake in certain traditions regardless of his own personal views or feelings of the matter. the main reason why i’m pointing this out is because scott was a largely blunt, honest, and critical child. he wasn’t necessarily cruel or coldhearted, but concepts like lying to avoid confrontation or to soften certain truths went completely over his head. he didn’t quite understand social concepts ( and, even now, i would argue he doesn’t understand them. the way he acts, even when he’s being supposedly polite, makes this very evident to me. any kind of sympathy or politeness he bothers with, it almost seems mechanically artificial and not the least bit genuine ). for scott, he was a kid who learned best by taking in and analyzing his sensory surroundings ; this idea of some evident being weighing the pros and cons of his choices seemed way too big and grandiose to understand. he would always question the things people told him and demand concrete explanations. it was too beyond him to understand, because it was all abstract theory, nonsense and air to his little head. he did eventually come to accept something that is God, but not the way you’d expect it to be.      In scott’s current definition of God, he supposes it to be a force of nature that cannot be explained or understood insofar as science or other means cannot theorize. God is Chance, Luck, Fortune, what - have - you. it’s the entity that takes away and gives without any explanation. it’s not a benevolent force for Good nor is it a malevolent force for Evil, but rather simply a force of Being. scott views God in the same light as he understands human beings, hence why his version of God is so critically skewed.      if god created man in his own image, then that’s a good point for foundation.      So, God is selfish. He’s tyrannical, fickle, two - faced, and deceiving. He’s like a businessman in the way that He promises Salvation for those who pay Him homage. In that way, God is like Satan. You can make a deal with God to grant you free passage to Heaven, as well as you can make a deal with the Devil to grant your every wish and desire. Then, are they essentially not one and the same? It’s everywhere in the text : God is proud, God is stubborn, He punishes evildoers . . . God is not everything Good nor is Satan everything Evil. God, for lack of a better name, is not different than Man. What makes Him a cut above the rest is that He’s simply more powerful than them all.      Then, what does that of Heaven and Hell? They’re the same place. Scott has decided long ago that neither side matter to him in the slightest. He’d be bored in Heaven, so he’d raise a lotta Hell. He’ll be burned in Hell, so he’ll make his own Paradise. He views Catholicism and Christianity the same way a pagan might view it ; an intermingling of all that is natural and seeable and evident.      He doesn’t disregard nature. He doesn’t think there’s anything to be ashamed of in having a base set of morals. It’s selfish, but so is God for wanting to take the best while they’re young.      As you can imagine, Scott is now an ex - Catholic. He no longer upholds any of the same values or partake in many of the same traditions with a similar likeness of fervor. But, he does possess some Catholic sentiments and retains a lot of that ideology that developed within him. But, he views it all with a very pagan - like lens and likeness, so the idea is non - traditionally Catholic - like.      I should also note that, because of Scott’s mindset and his willingness to believe in his own sensory input, the existence of beings like Lovecraft or Arahabaki won’t shatter any particular worldview he has. He doesn’t think of them as anything heretical or devilish or demonlike ; he simply views them in the same guise as he does humans and God. they’re entities that exist in a similar plane as his own and such news, while surprising, isn’t that particularly world - shattering either. because of this, scott’s pretty open to concepts like aliens, ghosts, astrology, tarot, what - have - you. although he doesn’t actively seek these things out, he willingly accepts them as beliefs or ways of life not so different from his own.      A lot of these views, particularly of God being selfish, are reinforced by traumatic events. his daughter’s death, for example, is a huge one he continually looks back on. from his vain attempts to understand the reasoning -- why her? why like this? -- this form of God emerges. words such as it’s all in god’s plan, etc. does very little to soothe him and only foster into this ongoing belief that God is merely an entity out for Himself, who acts on similar human whims for reasons way beyond their control ( and who’s to say those reasons are good? when a human kills another human, we call it murder regardless of the reason, but when God takes away a loved one, we bow our heads in passive agreement without question? if God was a wolf, you sheep would be easy prey ). so if God helps no one . . .      then all Scott can do is help himself.

[battlestar-royco]

Sjm's has so many rip-offs from lotr that I just CAN'T. Aside from what I've read from K0A, the whole series 'takes inspiration' from Tolkien's work. Evil object that the protagonist has to take with them in order to keep the world safe from the bad boy but it also has a bad effect on them because it's really powerful? Check. Villain who wants to conquer the world with his creatures and have no true motives aside from being pure evil? Check.

Ancient proud forgotten kingdom ruled by none because they are waiting for their 'true ruler' to come from a specific dinasty and some kind of steward that doesn't want to give the throne to them? Check. Dark place with the bad people living there?? Check!! Ffs, it didn't even change the name that much,, Morath-Mordor. Also, I've always think that the witches were some kind of Nazgul inspiration, and it's super obvious that the gods we know take from the Valar in so many aspects. Idk, most fantasy genre drinks from Tolkien's work in some way, but when the story and so many specific moments happens exactly as paraphrased in lotr, it raises a suspicious brow at that work tbh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Yessssss! I think it’s fine to pay homage to the authors who inspire you, and definitely the western fantasy genre often hearkens back to LOTR, but SJ/M really toes the line between inspiration and straight-up copying. @star-crossedvoyager​ @spaceshipkat​ @longsightmyth​ and @sarcasm-and-procastination​ are the real LOTR experts, so they can speak more extensively on SJ/M’s “inspiration” than I can. I can’t confirm or deny all the Tolkienisms in SJ/M’s books except for stuff from the Hobbit and what I’ve read of Fellowship, but I am very well-versed in the HP and ASOIAF worlds, characters, and storylines. As an HP and ASOIAF fan, I see a lot of unforgivable “similarities” between SJ/M’s books and the works of JKR and GRRM. When Faerug or whoever the fuck said “Light can be found even in the darkest of hells,” and when the ENTIRE ENDING OF E0S HAPPENED, I was enraged. Every time I see “the Hand of the King,” “the Narrow Sea,” “oathbreaker,” kinslayer,” “the Queen Who Was Promised,” or Alien generally exhibiting show!Dany behavior, I get the urge to crush something. I can’t stand how SJ/M manages to not only get away with reworking better fantasy writers’ ideas into her books in the stupidest ways, but also get praised for it. It’s infuriating and pathetic.

[peterknowsshit]

Road trip (Leg 1, Part 5) Pride in the Pines #TheRedDoorsWrite

Peter:

-I knew there was a reason I packed this shiny gold vest at the last minute. I had even pulled it out of my bag at one point, sure there was no way in hell I was going to need it on the trip. But just like every other time my fucked up version of a Spidey sense was tingling, I ultimately gave in and trusted that it meant it would come in handy at some point. And low and behold, here we were. We had seen the advertisements all over Northern Arizona for Pride in the Pines. And decided it would be a fun thing to check out before we rolled out of the state to continue our trek west. As I eyed myself in the mirror, it felt like something was missing. Reaching for one of my hats hanging on the pegs near the bed, I tried my usual brown one on for size and shook my head. I may not know shit about fashion. But I knew that didn’t work. Tossing that one on the bed, I reached for the black one. There it was. That was the missing piece. With a grin and a nod, I made my way out of the bus in search of @MyJokersWild-

Tori:

[I could have watched him a thousand times try on hat after hat and the reaction would have still been the same. It was no secret that @PeterKnowsShit was a fine specimen to look at but put him in that button up and vest? Well, let's just say that soft sigh that left my lips was paying homage to women across the world that ever had a thing for a man that knew how to rock an entrance and the color gold.] My Gods.. [When you did the spin for me to fully take it all in, I couldn't help but laugh almost nervously.] You can't be serious right now. Peter Pan! [Wolf whistling, I wasn't even sure I knew what I was asking but I did know one thing, the festivities that awaited us that night were something I was never going to forget, especially with the likes of you in that hat.]

Peter:

-My grin was instant when my eyes landed on my pretty bird, and I let out a chuckle at that wolf whistle- Well, I was second guessing the C-3PO vest. But if it gets that reaction out of you… -winks as I walk up and place a tender kiss to your lips- Have you ever hit up one of these pride things before, babe?

Tori:

Not here but elsewhere I have! [It wasn't my first rodeo at a PRIDE celebration and once I had turned into a free spirited teen like my mother, there wasn't one I missed since. Whether it was to pay my respects to those few that had gone before me, celebrating in their honor and in general or to be with others of my kind, I always looked forward to the month of June every year. This year however, was even more special because I got to spend it with you. That fact fueled my excitement the more I checked you out in your attire for the evening and I gave you a quick kiss back, careful not to get any more glitter on your clothes. Let alone your mouth as our chariot awaited. Our sights set on downtown where you could already hear the buzzing of the car horns and music blaring from loudspeakers. The energy alone, was calling our names like a corner street light coming on would. That being the signal from childhood that it was past time to come home.]

Peter:

-The closer that we got to our destination, the more palatable your excitement got. And I found myself stealing even more glances than usual at you. It didn’t help the way that colorful eyeshadow seemed to make your eyes pop even more, and briefly had me wishing that my vest had been a more vibrant color to match- I’ve been a couple times for various reasons. -grins- It’s always a good time. But I have a feeling this year is going to top even those. -places a hand on your thigh, giving a playful squeeze- Anything in particular that makes Pride for you? Something you have to see or do to make it complete?

Tori:

You mean besides one of the famous shows and a joint? A toast at the end of the night! Mmm, pancakes at IHOP or Denny's sounds amazing too. [Who was I kidding? Of course, I only had to ponder your question for a moment when instantly a shot of Peppermint Schnapps with a Miller High Life came to mind, a dear old friend's signature drink in memory and a tale that would spark laughter in all those who heard it was soon to follow as you made the drive for us and parked once we arrived in true stoner fashion. One of the clubs had to be in our sights but not before we made our way over to the walkway of tents you had every plan of showing off to me then. The smile on my face only widened the closer we got as I heard the hostess with the mostess over the outdoor intercom system. The celebrations

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PLQR0kBLvU&feature=youtu.be

Peter:

-As we made our way through all the different tents, most of them adorned with shirts that said things like, ‘Adam and Steve, not Adam and Eve,” I couldn’t ignore the loud booming music from the drag tent. My eyes occasionally flicking over there to catch glimpses of big wigs and colorful lights. By the time we reached the end of the row, I turned to you with a raised brow- What is it with Liza Minnelli and drag queens? This is like the third one I’ve heard...

Tori:

It won’t be the last either. She is an icon, mine. Judy Garland’s daughter. [Smiling as we made our way down the rest of the strip, the make-up was flawless, not a hair out of place and as I walked through with you, to the human eye, we were mingling with the stars. Liza, Madonna, Janet Jackson, Cher, and Lady Gaga, were all in attendance and let me just say, they did not disappoint. Nor did Mariah Carey number three four and five. Between merchandise booths from local artists and the bars open for curbside, there wasn’t a stone left unturned when it came to celebrating, or showing our love and support for our community, our friends and our family. Having reached the end of the row, we were having to make a decision to go either left or right. Either way we chose, the day of adventures already proved we were in for a treat and I ducked my head inside the first tent on my right to see what was going on inside, dragging you with me. The scent of that powerful herb hitting my senses like a ton of bricks was too inviting to ignore once I caught wind of it.] You smell that, Peter Pan? [That’s when we found them, or maybe I should say they found us. There she was as if I had plucked her right out of the movie itself and before you know it, her voice like velvet filled the air. Mother Judy. It was Dorothy, in the flesh. “My my, if he’s Peter Pan, hold up Tink. They do not make men like him anymore, honey.” I flat out snickered. That smile growing incredibly wide as the ladies, Mariah number six and myself, fawned all over mine as we shared not one but three blunts going around our little drum circle and what they had signed us up for next was something that was going to go down into the history books indeed.]

Peter:

-Sitting there in that vest, you would think I would be the brightest one in the room. But the way these women were dressed made it look like I was wearing a potato sack of boredom. And the more times I was passed to, the more vibrant everything seemed to become. Looking down at the blunt in my hand as I slowly exhaled, I popped my brows. This shit just might give my homegrown pride a run for its money. I was so lost in that thought, that I didn’t even notice the music getting louder, and was caught by surprise when an impeccably manicured hand pushed me back. Before I could utter a word I was overwhelmed by the smell of expensive perfume and hairspray. Not my pretty bird. Definitely, not my pretty bird. I wish I could tell you which one it even was that was now using me as a prop to their show but all I could see was hair. Lots of hair coming to swallow me whole. It got in my nose, my eyes, and as I coughed and choked a little at the taste of aforementioned hairspray, in my mouth. As I worked to pull my head back and breathe non aerosol air, I briefly wondered if this was the way that I was going to go. A long ass life burned out in a blaze of glittery glory. But just as the desperation was starting to take over, the song ended and my lap was free again. Taking a big gulp of air, I realized even though the wig had departed my lap, there was still enough hair in my mouth to make another of my own. Shooting @MyJokersWild a look of desperation, I attempted to pluck the hairs from my tongue-

Tori:

A human chair? My Peter Pan? [I laughed. That blunt now long gone but the conversation between Dorothy and myself had still been in full swing as I chanced glances @PeterKnowsShit’s way, making sure he was alright with the sudden burst of attention he was getting. The second his hat went however, all bets were off, that long hair of his not just my undoing but the collective “Girrrrrl.” that sounded around the makeshift dressing room could have been heard two streets over if you asked me. “Do you see him, Dorothy! Right off the cover of one of those romance novels. He has to be in the show! The crowd will eat him up honey if I don’t first!” All those big hopeful eyes were on him, even the Mariahs’ were laying the eye fucking on thick and I couldn’t help but nod my head, giving him a wink.] Just one song.. [Cracking up, I was still high as hell but managed to get back up on my feet, Dorothy already joining @PeterKnowsShit with the rest of the ladies and I gave him the universal hand gesture for grabbing a drink, knowing that if I was feeling thirsty as hell, so was he as our newfound friends began to help you get ready with the sounds of I’m coming out starting to play.]

Peter:

-I was still picking the hair out of my mouth when I vaguely heard @MyJokersWild referring to me as a human chair. And damn if that wasn’t an accurate description of what I had just been through. I was still reeling so much from the first round that I didn’t even fight my hat being plucked from my head and placed atop another wigged one. Was that one of the Mariahs? Hell, if I knew. But I was interrupted from that thought process when the chorus of, ‘Girrrrl,’ sounded around me. Now my eyes were darting between dramatically made up faces as they plotted my ass being part of the show. What the hell was going on here? Bringing my eyes back to my pretty bird as she joined right in on the encouragement, I knew I was outnumbered- What all does this entail? -my brow cocked in a show of are you fucking kidding me when Liza number one answered with, ‘Don’t you trust us?’ I had to bite back an answer of, ‘To thoroughly suffocate me and make me the first vampire ever to die at the hands of a drag queen? Yes.’ Apparently I wasn’t going to be answered as a chorus of laughs now filled the dressing tent and suddenly I was being accosted by brushes and pink fuzzy blobs of nope. Now, I was cursing every thought I had about not being colorful enough because I was sure by the time this was done, I was going to be everything but bland. Suddenly a blast of cold and perfumed something hit my face, causing me to blink rapidly- Fuck! That burns? What the hell was that? Satan’s piss? -Another round of laughter at my expense as my hair was tousled and then they all stepped back admiring me. ‘You know what he would be perfect for?’ Liza number one turned to one of the Mariahs with a knowing nod. My eyes flicking between the two of them as they seemed to have a silent conversation- What? What would I be perfect for? I’m not wearing a dress. -Finally they seemed to hear me as Mariah shook her head, “Oh, no, no, honey. A dress you will not wear. You’ll just join Belle over here in her rendition of Beauty and the Beast. Damn it, I forgot the mask. But we’ll make it work.” Next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the stage, bright lights shining on me as I looked out at the crowd which was now packed. I had made it clear to them that dancing was not my strong suit. So, if they expected me to do anything complicated, they were going to regret it. After many attempts to teach me to “flow” across the stage and me nearly tumbling off the side as I blinked through the mountains of spray glitter they had sprayed on me, they finally took my words to heart and allowed me to stay put in a chair. Luckily, this time around the wig was some complicated up do that stayed out of my face. And Belle proved to be a little more hands off as she danced around me, mouthing the words. What I hadn’t accounted for was how fucking long the song was under those bright lights. Now, that damn vest was working like a sauna, causing me to sweat. And wouldn’t you know it, Belle was sweating too under that dress and wig. She was also getting awfully fucking touchy again. I tried, man. I fucking tried to be a good sport. Grinning through the pain as that shit dripped into my eyeballs. I wasn’t going to see right for a week. Then she propped herself in my lap again, sweaty body to sweaty body as she casually slid that glove from her hand, and flicked it out into the crowd just in time for another fucking song to start. Glaring up at Belle with red, glitter filled eyes, I mumbled- I thought it was just one song? It took a few notes before I recognized what fucking song it was now. Just in time for Belle to stand, ripping off her dress to reveal a sparkly bodysuit beneath, and striking a pose as she mouthed the lyrics, ‘It’s raining men!” To my horror several leather clad men jumped up on the stage and began gyrating around me. I attempted to get up only to be slammed back into the chair and held there by Belle’s surprisingly strong grip, a quick shake of her head that had a small drop of glitter sweat flicking from the end of her nose and smacking me right in the middle of the

forehead. Nope. This was done. I promised one song. I struggled with Belle as she motioned for her dancers to help her out. Now the Village People from Hell were holding me in place as Belle did dances that would make a stripper blush. Then it happened. That glittered up chest was being pressed to the side of my head as I clawed and fought for freedom. I don’t know what the hell those boobs were made of, but it definitely wasn’t soft. And as she turned to the crowd in a dramatic flourish, I seized the opportunity to jump up and yank myself free of her hold. Only to trip on that motherfucking wire of her microphone. Haven’t these people heard of wireless microphones? Instinctually, I reached out in an attempt to break my fall, which only brought Belle down with me, in a faceplant right to the groin that I couldn’t have planned if I tried. With a shove of Belle, I was up off that ground and jumping from the stage in a beeline for the exit of that damn tent. Only stopping once I was sure I was free to send @MyJokersWild a text- Oh dear God, it got in my mouth again. Help!

Tori:

I’ll be right back... [Famous last words and sure enough, I sing-songed all four of them before I ducked completely out of @PeterKnowsShit’s line of sight, realizing the words had left my lips before I could stop them as my mind finally caught up, and of course I knew better. I. Knew. Better. A jinx, was a jinx was a jinx as my dad would say and in this case, it was a given that the moment you did say those words, the next thing you knew, you’ll be two songs deep into a rescue mission while still waiting for those celebratory free gratis drinks you were gifted for helping out. My Peter Pan was being a good sport about the whole thing, totally and completely on board through the rainbow filled haze we found ourselves in.. One song, @PeterKnowsShit had agreed to just one and I had reassuringly went along with it because seeing him up there, well, it just added to the “Remember that one time..” list of memories we were making here. So when I saw Dorothy’s head pop up not a second later out of nowhere while I was standing in line for the bar, I couldn’t help but wonder what awaited me upon my return. My view of the stage had been nearly blocked off by paying customers more than ready to wet their whistles and before I knew it, Dorothy’s arm was hooked around mine, dragging me to the front of the line, calling in a favor or two no less, I was sure when the stools before us suddenly opened up and the invitation presented itself. “I can’t thank your man enough! All of us have had our fair share of turns playing Beast for Crazy Belle all month! The goddess herself has smiled down upon me with the likes of you two!”] If you don’t mind me asking, why do they call her crazy? [When I was met with a “You’re about to find out.” Drinks now in hand, or one hand rather, I watched as Dorothy graciously grabbed my free hand and helped me climb up on the stool to get a better look, seeing how she had done the same only seconds ago. Before I could fully take it all in, a flash of gold filled the sky as a surge of bodies surrounded and began piling up on the stage. The big finale was raining men literally. And just like with lightning, realization struck again.] Oh no… [It wasn’t just a finale, it was an encore too. Every performer from along the boulevard, was making their way up to the stage just in time for us all to see @PeterKnowsShit almost levitate, and yes, I mean close your eyes and up you go levitate. It wasn’t even ninety seconds later that he was in that sitting position one minute, and almost off the stage the next… Almost. Life as we know it sometimes has a way of making our wildest dreams come true and in that moment as the stage was descended upon by every color of the rainbow, I laughed at the sight of you popping out of what could only be described as a huge pot of gold. And while you were magically delicious, Belle was no match for your Beast literally when she met him in the form of your crotch. That was it. You were gone in a sea of wigs galore and lifting my head back, I let out a loud whistle before taking a leap of my own down off the stool, drink still in hand when I got that incoming text alert from you. “Oh dear God, it got in my mouth again. Help!“ As quick as my fingers flew across the screen with an “OMW” back, I was just as quick to fire off another one too.] I can’t believe you stuck your dick in crazy! [Hitting send, I laughed again and sent a follow up before pocketing my cell as I made my way outside, in search of you. That’s right. He didn’t know it yet but I saw it all and pancakes were most definitely on the menu. I just had to know if @PeterKnowsShit preferred Denny’s or IHOP.....]

Peter:

-The sound of @MyJokersWild calling my name jarring me out of my trance as a grin instantly spreads across my face at the sound of your laughter. I was about to point out again that had I known she was referred to as Crazy Belle, I would’ve resisted the whole thing a little harder. Only I was interrupted by the waitress appearing at our table with our pancake orders. Now my mind was effectively redirected to the doughy goodness that would soon be filling my mouth. And by the time both plates were set in front of us, I had already placed the blueberry syrup I knew was your favorite in front of you, and was reaching for the OG for myself. Taking the time to draw designs on my pancakes with the syrup as I poured, I only looked up at your question. “Thinking about the night again?” That knowing smirk you sported causing me to chuckle low, and shake my head.- Baby, I’m going to be thinking about last night for ages to come. -picks up my fork, cutting off my first bite, and popping it into my mouth before offering you a closed mouth grin- #TheRedDoorsWrite #Pride

[kingdomofthelogos]

Of Light and Life

Read Matthew 2 and Psalm 2

Download a printable version here.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee, from darkness to promote me?” John Milton’s words, from Paradise Lost, capture the mysterious charge of the fallen man. No one asked to be born, to be found in the moment of which they dwell; but yet, they are indeed found. We must ask ourselves, do we want to walk in the ways of this world, surviving without goodness, truth, or beauty; to live as though we are dead? Or, are we willing to step into the great truth by which the church is called, to bear the cross with Christ and walk the path of righteousness.

Few know what it really means to live, to make good on the irreplaceable talent which is the breath of life. It is one thing to exist, to survive on this side of Eden, but it is something altogether different to truly live in the goodness of God’s providence. In Revelation 3:1 Jesus addressed the church in Sardis saying, “I know your deeds, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead.” There are many who think they are alive, but are indeed dead.

Let us examine our world. We have constructed televisions to draw us from reality to live within the programing, institutions and experts to think for us, and even leaders to have courage in our stead. It is easy to fool ourselves into thinking we are living when in fact we are dead. Such a world is not alive, but only massaged to sleep, deluded in a dream where there is neither virtue nor meaning.

Now let us examine ourselves. Inasmuch as there is only one path to the Father, there is only one path to life, and that is with Christ Jesus, who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Our modern age can hardly understand what this title means, for the world is offended to hear that there is one Way above all, it is angry at  the notion that Truth could be real, and entirely uncertain about what it means to be alive. But for those in the church, we must understand that there is something more beautiful than mere survival, that goodness itself is worth pursuing even though its pursuit is not safe.

After calling out the church in Sardis for being dead, Jesus went on to say in Revelation 3:2, “wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God.” Before us now is great work to be done. Even though our society is dying, the good work of God is still to be done. In our moment there is life to be achieved, truth to be proclaimed, and noble courage to be raised. But do not be not deceived about the price of these things, for they are neither cheap nor easy. There is but One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and outside of Him there is only darkness. You did not ask to be in this moment, but here you are. If you will bind yourself to Him who is Faithful and True, then you will find life and life abundant.

God wants us to be alive, and to walk in goodness and truth. It is hell that desires you to be dead, and hell is hungry to tear our world back to the emptiness found in Genesis 1:2, where the earth was a formless void. God wants you to understand that this will not be easy, and He has given us assurance. Matthew 10:28 reminds us to “fear not that which can kill the body, but the One who can destroy both body and soul in hell." There are many things which can kill the body, but Jesus gives us peace that none can take your soul from Him in John 10:28 saying, “I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.” Just as there is something worse than bodily death, there is life more beautiful than mere survival, and for that life it is worth dying. 

Today we find ourselves near the day of Epiphany in the Christian calendar, a day when we celebrate the coming of the wisemen to see the Christ Child. Epiphany is a time for us to behold those who were moved by such fierce loyalty to that magnificent star that they discovered the truth of all creation. Matthew 2:1-2 details for us that “1 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” From these few details, we know that certain wisemen were willing to leave behind all that was ordinary in their life and walk in a mysterious truth. They were willing to rid themselves of everything mundane in order to step into something beyond the reaches of this world.

The Christian faith is founded on a piece of factual evidence: that Christ Jesus died and rose again. Either Christ died and rose again, or He did not. The matter cannot be escaped. Beneath all of the creeds, songs, and even Scriptures is this foundational truth, and one must reckon with it; for, such a claim has the power to reshape eternity. 

Inasmuch as this is the case with Christianity as a whole, the call of the wisemen is also built on a piece of hard evidence that must be reckoned: a star appeared in the sky. Caesar in Rome cannot hang a start to announce the birth of his son, and neither could Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon, nor Pharaoh in Egypt. The guiding light of the wisemen either rings true or it does not, for it is neither a philosophy to dismantle nor a document to be forged. Its claim is that of a real event. It is the truth, hanging out in the sky for the whole world to see. Yet, as is often the case in our world, many are blind to the truth around them, ignoring the most basic details right before their eyes. 

The wisemen answered the call to truly live. The star is fascinating in that it is something of cosmic significance, existing deep in the frontier of the unknown; yet, at the same time it was present in their personal lives. The star is otherworldly and nonetheless one can see it clearly enough to follow it. The wisemen were willing to pursue that which was good, and in turn we, too, must make our decision. Are we willing to pursue that which is good and true?

As stated earlier, it is rare that people know what it truly means to live. The world does not know how to truly live, for it doesn’t understand goodness, truth or beauty. Let us consider Phillippians 4:8, which says “beloved, whatever is true, noble, just, pure, beautiful, of good report, or anything virtuous of praise, meditate on these things. If we weigh every aspect of this against the world, what do we find? Does our world value any of these elements at all?  Moreover, do we truly understand that evil hates these things, and that the forces of hell want to destroy all of these like an unreasoning animal?

Jude 1:10 reminds us how evil hates the goodness of God in saying, “but these people slander whatever they do not understand, and they are destroyed by those things that, like irrational animals, they know by instinct.” There are those who are doing everything they can to remake our world in the image of that which is evil. God created men and women in His Image, to live together in the goodness that is the family. It is no accident that the world hates the providential design of the family. The darkness hates all of the good things which give life meaning, and it hates them with a vicious hatred. By instinct it wants to tear them all down; therefore, we must fight for them.

We must have a firm understanding of what is good and true. In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, at the end of each day God declared it to be good. Goodness is much more than mere satisfaction, it is something rare and precious that comes from God. Goodness is not safe, and in fact it is quite dangerous. Goodness does not happen by accident, and the world does not naturally progress towards it. Goodness must be contended for, it must be fought for, and for it God Himself was willing to die on the cross.

Galtians 6:7 reads, “do not be deceived, God will not be mocked, a man will reap what he sows.” Are we sowing seeds of goodness? Our world has been sowing seeds of chaos and downward movement. We must stand against it and plant seeds of Godly aspiration.

Psalm 2 opens up saying in verses 1-4, Why do the nations conspire, and the peoples plot in vain? 2 The kings of the earth rise up and the rulers band together against the Lord and against his anointed, saying, 3 “Let us break their chains and throw off their shackles.” 4 The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them. Just as there is a beast in Revelation 13 which deceives the whole world, there are nations which conspire against God and His goodness. Despite this, victory belongs to God. Let us take joy in our God, and walk with Him in the light. The devil and his demons are things of conquest, desiring to steal what is rightfully God’s. There will be people who are happy to go along with this. Revelation 13:3 reminds us that in amazement the whole earth followed the beast. We must fortify ourselves by walking in the light. 

God has invested in us, leaving His domain and coming into our world that each and every one of us might walk with Him in the truth. Christ did not reveal Himself to be the Way, the Truth, and the Life because He wanted us to rely on others to think for us, to have courage for us, and to decide truth for us. Christ came to us, that each and every one of us could walk in the truth.

Our world needs revival. We need goodness and truth, and that can only come from God. We must put on the whole Armor of God, recognizing that the Scriptures are true and should change how we behave. We must do the good work of snatching our neighbor and enemy from the jaws of hell. You do not have to have all the answers, but you have to be willing to say that Christ is Lord and the beast is not. This is the charge of the church in our moment: are we willing to contend for the Gospel, to say Christ is Lord and nothing else is. We must stand for all that is good and true in the face of a vicious world that wants to rip everything back to the void.

[callistochan87]

No one:

My brain: what if Frostbite had the same hairstyle as her dead mother, just to pay homage

Me: okay but who’s her mom?

My brain: idiot, you’ve been researching black holes and you’re not ever gonna do anything with this information, she’s black, Black Hole. she can make black holes. The explosion that killed her basically incinerated her and destroyed most of her personal belongings, so Frostbite doesn’t have anything to remember her by except her hairstyle. Not that it matters, because Frostbite took after her father in terms of powers, not her mother.

My brain: her logo can be an approximation of the first black hole imaged:

Me: ooh yes. Go all out. Bodysuits, gloves, boots. Give her a big girdle to accentuate her tiny waist, because I actually do like that look more so than anything low on the hips. Go big or go home.

Me: wait, how do I distinguish the black hole logo from the black bodysuit?

My brain: bold of you to assume she’s not fuelled by glitter and spite

me: oh right, sequins, got it

Me: pure black eyes? Nah might be too creepy, just give her goggles. Those are real black holes people

——

me: this woman is FABULOUS

Me: who says you have to be quiet to be menacing?

Me: go big or go home

Me: it’s a good thing she’s dead because the story could not handle this much drama, she’d steal every single scene she was on. Not one would give a fuck about Cosmic Star with Black Hole around

Me: do you think she called herself Black Hole first, or did Cosmic Star come along and then she called herself something astronomical?

Me: her likes: women in STEM fields, drama, a good bold lip, calling out mediocre white boys dislikes: the bullshit she has to put up with at her day job being a woman in a male-oriented field, Captain Outrageous or whatever the hell his name is because he’s the epitome of Mediocre White Boy who doesn’t do much and makes all the other superheroes do things his way, women tearing down other women

Me: they tried to call her a man-hating lesbian, but if she hates men why is she married?

Of course she’s married

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER —— Me: Frostbite’s dad probably has the ice powers, or something similar enough to it. It would make sense if he were also a scientist of some sort, maybe

Me: no wAIT

THAT MAN

IS A DANCER

HE’S THE ONLY ONE THAT COULD LIFT HER

THEY WERE A TAG TEAM

SHE DIDN’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT DANCE BEING A SCIENTIST BY TRADE BUT HE TAUGHT HER

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

THEY WERE HUGELY IN LOVE

AND ALSO THEY HATED THE GUILD BUT LIKE, THEY’D HAVE BEEN WILLING TO LEAVE THEM ALONE IF THE GUILD WASN’T OUT TO START SHIT

—

Me: he was probably really torn up when she died

My brain: well DUH

Me: like, enough so that he just couldn’t supervillain any more. Some people get more determined? Opposite reaction. His willpower was snuffed out

The man is hugely depressed

My brain: did the Guild leave him be?

Me: I mean I’d imagine so, they’re all about PR and no one wants to admit they’re beating up a widower trying to raise his daughter by himself now. He wasn’t even a proper supervillain anyway, he was really just a complement to Black Hole. The straight man to her funny man, the guy doing the literal lifting but Black Hole was the one posing dramatically in his arms giving the speeches

me: they all tell themselves that Black Hole could have been a good person, maaaaaybe if they’d let her be, because she started real slow and in hindsight they did realize they’d sort of...created their own problem

So they tell themselves that the kid and the grieving widower won’t cause them any more trouble now that Black Hole is dead

—

So she fought Cosmic Star. Cosmic Star was a nemesis, but in, like, a friendly, mentorship kind of way. Black Hole thought Cosmic Star was too much for the status quo. She didn’t buck the Guild ENOUGH

Didn’t HATE her per se, but when you’re dedicated to creating black holes and sucking in buildings or whatever, the Cosmic Star is dedicated to you know, not that, conflicts will happen

me: I bet Captain What’s-His-Face actually hates her. Like. Legit hate.

Not because she’s black, no. Not because he’s ~secretly~ pining after her, lol no. no. No, he’s used to being THE Hero, the one to defeat the villain BUT

He never fought her. Black Hole never LET him fight her. When she was doing her shit, he was always doing something else caused by someone else. When he did try to fight her, she was at home relaxing.  They just never crossed paths. this was by design.

And they SHOULD. In any other story they WOULD. Black Hole doesn’t have time for whiny little bitches like him, so he could just piss off and be a whiny bitch somewhere else. She was going to fight who she CHOSE to fight, and it wasn’t him or his Barbie wife, either. She only fought those with POTENTIAL, not rich yuppies who had everything handed to them.

Black Hole is all “eat the rich”

This means she’s fighting someone younger than her, so be it. Cosmic Star had potential. She recognized that. It was a deep sort of sisterhood, motivated with healthy doses of Foe Yay, and also Cosmic Star was an independent, she could respect that. There was POTENTIAL in her

— My brain: I bet you Frostbite got along well with her mom

Not like, in a competitive way. No competition. Frostbite didn’t have the same powers, but that was okay. Black Hole would love and support her regardless of where she chose to go in life. Frostbite was never super into the idea of apprenticing with her mom, but she’d wanted to Black Hole would have been fine with that too.

THEY WERE A LOVING FAMILY

EVIL IS JUST A POINT OF VIEW

Black Hole also support her husband in whatever he chose to do. Maybe he wound up giving up dance professionally to do something more steady, 9-to-5. it wasn’t giving up, he just wanted the family to be stable, especially since super villain probably racks up some medical bills from time to time.

It came in handy once she died. I’d imagine something like professional dancing isn’t exactly steady and probably doesn’t have a flexible schedule. A boring office job gave him the routine he needed to keep going, even if it was a shell of his former self. It gave him stable income. His workplace is pretty good, so it even gave him some flexibility in his scheduling if anything came up with Frostbite that he needed to take care of

Me: Does Frostbite blame Cosmic Star? Maybe/ she probably knows in her heart of hearts that Black Hole probably generated a black hole, and the hole collapsing in on itself (because they had such a short window of viability, she knew that) caused the explosion what killed her. But, like Cosmic Star didn’t even give her a CHANCE, she might’ve been independent but she was no better than the Guild

It’s irrational. She knows it’s irrational. Much easier to blame the other person there, even if she’s probably dead too. The Guild? Well she can’t take on the whole Guild anyway, even if she wanted. Her mom would have cautioned her against that, because her mom just wanted her to be safe.

Frostbite misses the evenings at home playing board games, or bothering her mom at work. She misses trying on her costumes in the closet or snuggling with her, or even practicing her evil laugh. She misses being together as a family. They don’t feel like much of a family since she died. Dad withdrew into himself and doesn’t want to do anything he used to like

Frostbite misses the sense of being a normal family. Because they WERE a normal family. Black Hole separated her professional life from her family life pretty well. The reality docudrama a la Tiger King produced by Netflix? Yeah, that was all done in her lab. No shots of the house. No one in the family was on it. Black Hole glittered and gleamed and made even drag queens go “honey, that’s a bit MUCH,” and was a perfectly memorable villain, but like, that was Black Hole. Not her mom.

She misses Black Hole, but she misses her mom even more. She misses her old life. —

Me: Honestly Black Hole is probably better off not being seen at all. You can mythologize and glorify someone much more than if you actually saw their actions on screen. Make her be a big, beautiful memory. She can be anything you want if you just hear about her through other people’s stories. She was glorious in her time but time goes on

Me: I should’ve given her more glitter

Also me: also I like the leggings too and can’t decide. Ah well, this isn’t even my story so even if she stays it’d be entirely to @erinhime83​‘s whims

My brain: you spent like an hour and a half on this

all that and you still fucked up the hands

Me: I KNOW, God, stop reminding me

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 040 [Code Names]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,666

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Take a step back when we roll up ’cause I know what. We been loyal, we been fam, we the ones you trust in. Won’t hesitate to go straight to your head like a concussion.” Lil Wayne, Wiz Khalifa, Imagine Dragons, Logic & Ty Dolla $ign, “Sucker for Pain”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“The name you give yourself is important,” Aizawa told us. “It helps reinforce your image and it shows what kind of hero you want to be in the future. A codename tells people exactly what you represent. Take All Might, for example.”

Momo turned in her seat to hand me one of the whiteboards that Aizawa had passed out to the first kid in each row, along with a marker. I hummed thoughtfully, tapping the end of the marker on the board as I propped my cheek up with my left hand. Hero names, huh? Haven’t really thought anything about it.

Aizawa leaned back against the wall and slid down, asleep before his body even touched the ground. That left Midnight in complete charge. “Now students, who among you is ready to share?”

While the rest of the class didn’t seem too happy about presenting their names, Aoyama wasted no time in stepping up to the podium. “Hold your breath,” he proudly displayed the board. “The Shining Hero: I cannot stop twinkling! Mon ami, you can’t deny my sparkle.”

My forehead slammed onto the desk, making Momo jump in surprise. She asked if I was okay, but I could only mutter under my breath. That fucking name… I’m getting war flashbacks from being forced to watch Twilight a few years back. Fucking sparkling vampires, get the fuck out.

“It’ll be better this way,” Midnight took the board from him and started to write. “Take out the ‘I’ and shorten the ‘cannot’ to ‘can’t’.”

“It’s stunning, mademoiselle.”

“She likes it?!” The class chorused in disbelief.

There is no way… in the nine circles of hell… that a fucking pro is gonna call him that. Can you fucking imagine this fucking pro hero decides to be nice and host an internship for U.A. first-years, right, and Aoyama walks in and introduces himself as ‘Can’t stop twinkling’ and the fucking pro just starts to question his entire life choices. Bro, I would fucking retire right then and there.

“You’re not really French, are you? That’s just an act.” Sumo questioned, but Aoyama ignored him and returned to his desk.

“Okie dokie, let me go next!” Ashido stepped up. “My code name? Alien Queen!”

“Hold on!” Midnight’s body started to shake, a look of terror on her face. Just what is she imagining? “Like that horrible monster with the acidic blood?? I don’t think so.”

Ashido pouted, returning to her seat.

“Ribbit,” Tsu raised her hand. “I think I’ve got one. Okay if I go next?”

“Come on up!”

She stepped up to the podium. “I’ve had this name in mind since grade school. Rainy Season Hero: Froppy.”

Since grade school? Damn, girl. I think Tsu is the only fucking one taking this seriously, to be completely honest. Not like I have much room to talk.

“That’s delightful!” Midnight cooed. “It makes you sound approachable. What a great example of a name everyone will love.”

A little devil perched on my shoulder, whispering a brilliant idea into my ear. I smirked, messily scrawling the code name onto the board before standing up and heading to the front of the room. Midnight raised a brow when she saw me, “This should be good.”

“Heh~ You have no idea, bruh,” I smirked, locking eyes with Katsuki as I flipped the board around. “LordXplosionMurder.”

“You bitch!” Katsuki slammed his hands on the desk, anger seeping off his shaking body.

“Hey, isn’t that your gaming handle, Bakugo?” Kirishima asked, tilting his head.

“Shut up!”

“Denied!” Midnight smacked the back of my head. “Sit down.”

I clicked my tongue and returned my seat.

“I’ve got mine, too!” Kirishima hopped up. “The Sturdy Hero: my name is Red Riot!”

“Red Riot? Interesting. You’re paying homage to the chivalrous hero, Crimson Riot, yes?”

“That’s right,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “He may be kind of old school, but someday I want to be just like he was. Crimson is my idol!”

“Hmm, if you’re bearing the name of someone you admire, you have that much more to live up to.” She commented.

“I accept the challenge!”

Paying homage, huh? I erased the board with my fingers, staining them with the ink.

Kyouka stepped up after him. “The Hearing Hero: I’m Earphone Jack.”

“Now that’s a good one!”

Next was Shouji. “Tentacle Hero: Tentacole.”

Why not just go with Hentai Hero?

“Oh, I like what you’re doing with that. A nice portmanteau!”

Then Sero. “The Taping Hero: Cellophane!”

Ain’t that the really thin clear plastic that sticks to literally everything but the food you’re trying to cover?

“That’s on the nose. Good work!”

Ojirou. “Martial Arts Hero: Tailman.”

Sounds like a villain from that TV show that Shin-chan is obsessed with.

“No surprise with that one, I guess!”

Sumo – god, what is his name? “I’m the Sweets Hero: Sugarman!”

That really sounds like someone parents should keep their kids away from… If only his hero costume had a trench coat.

“Perfect!”

Ashido tried again. “Pinky!!”

“Make those looks work for you, girl!”

Are you… are you serious? Her hero name is Pinky? The only fucking way that is cool is if you’re referencing Pinky and the Brain, bro.

Kaminari. “Stungun Hero: I am Chargebolt! Electric, doncha think?”

Damn, that one’s actually kinda cool. Way cooler than he actually is.

“Ooh~ Makes me all tingly!”

Stop being creepy, please. I’m gonna have PTSD.

Floating clot – er, I mean, Toru. “The Stealth Hero: Invisible Girl!”

“That really suits you!” She clapped her hands, addressing the rest of the class. “Now come on, who’s gonna step up next?”

I approached the front again with a smirk. “Don’t gimme that look, Midnight. I got the perfect one this time. The Tsundere Dad Hero: Dadzawa Soft Hour – shit!” I scowled down at Aizawa, who had kicked me in the back of the ankle. How the fuck did he even do that in the fucking sleeping bag? “Fucking rude, I’m trying to present here.”

“Can you take anything seriously?” He cracked open an eye to give me a lazy glare.

“Don’t be like that,” I grinned. “Why – so – serious~?”

Midnight smacked me again. “Denied!”

“Che,” I returned to my seat, Momo patting my shoulder as we passed each other.

She stepped up to the podium, looking equal parts nervous and determined. “I hope I can live up to this name. The Everything Hero: I’m Creati.”

“Crea-tive!”

No, stop. You’re not a dad, Midnight.

Next was Todoroki, his face devoid of emotion. “Shouto.”

I sweatdropped. That damn edgelord didn’t even try, bro. Sheesh.

“Just your name?” Midnight asked, raising a brow. “Is that it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Like a wet sponge, that one.

Fumi went next. “Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi!”

I stood up, clapping loudly. When the others turned to look at me, I just said, “That’s my son up there! I’m so proud!”

Fumi’s cheeks went pink but he smiled and nodded his head.

“Ah~” Midnight moaned. “God of the night!”

My eye twitched and I smacked my hands on the desk. “Stop trying to seduce my child, he’s way out of your league!”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, hmm?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Anyone would be overjoyed to have all of this!”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Yeah, totally, because raisins are so attractive, ya know.”

“You little -!” She pulled me into a headlock, my face buried between her two melons. Jesus fuck, I’d hate to see the doctor bill for her back pain…

I waved my hands frantically, unable to see or breathe, until my hand connected with her face. I gave it a hard shove, taking in a gulp of air. “I need to fucking breathe to live, you know! This is sexual harassment!”

“Oh, please harass me, mommy.”

“Shut the fuck up, grape, no one asked you!”

She smirked. “According to your match results against Honenuki, you can hold your breath for fifty-five seconds.”

“That is irrelevant information! I don’t want my tombstone to read, ‘Death by tits‘!”

“That would be so amazing,” Mineta’s drool plopped onto the desk as he blatantly stared at Midnight’s boobs.

My lip curled back in disgust. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, your tombstone is gonna read, ‘Burnt so bad there was no fucking body‘!”

He humphed before hopping down and heading to the podium which he was too fucking small to see over. “I’m the Fresh-Picked Hero: Grape Juice!!”

“Very catch,” Midnight nodded her head.

Mountain was next – I also need to learn his name, but he doesn’t speak, does he? He nervously held up his board and it read, ‘Petting Hero: Anima‘.

“Yup! All about it!”

Katsuki finally stood up, his aura still seething as his vermillion eyes locked with mine. “King Explosion Murder!”

“I’m gonna say that one’s a little too violent.”

“Hah?! What do you mean?!”

“You could be ‘Explosion Boy’!” Kirishima suggested.

“Or ‘TacoQueen’,” I smirked.

“Both of you, shut up!” He snapped. “Why don’t we go outside and I’ll show you exactly why ‘Murder’ should be in my name!!” He grumbled under his breath, sitting back in his seat and angrily erasing the name.

Ochaco went next. “This is the name I thought of – Uravity!”

“I just love that,” Midnight smiled warmly, pressing her hands together against her cheek.

“Good job, Ocha!” I grinned, sending her a thumbs up as she returned to her desk. She smiled back.

“To be honest, choosing names is going faster than I thought it would.” Midnight commented, stretching her arms above her head. “All we have left is young Bakugo and Winchester, who need to rethink theirs, and~ Iida. Oh yes, and Midoriya, too.”

I grunted, leaning back in my chair and holding up the board.

Her eye twitched. “‘Taco’ has nothing to do with your quirk, Winchester.”

“It’s part of who I am. It’s my soul.”

“Denied!”

“Goddamn it,” I scowled, furiously wiping the ink away from the board.

Iida stood up and approached the front. Like Todoroki, he only wrote down his first name, but that isn’t what made me take pause. No, it was the look on his face and the aura filled with sadness and anger that hovered around him so thickly. Maybe I should attempt talking to him? I doubt he’d open up to me, though, he hates me.

“You’re using your real name, too?” Midnight asked with disappointment lacing her tone.

He didn’t reply.

She shrugged as he returned to his seat. “Well Midoriya, are you ready?”

“Oh, yes.” Zuku shot up, approaching the front. I wonder what he chose. I bet five bucks he chose some kind of homage to Toshi. I swear if he wrote All Might Jr… He showed the board, surprising everyone with what he had written. Fuck, I just lost five bucks… to myself. Score.

“Really, Midoriya?” Mineta questioned, not sounding impressed. Like, bitch, your name is Grape Juice.

“You sure about that?” Kaminari asked.

Kirishima added with concern, “Yeah, remember that could be your name forever.”

“Right…” Zuku lowered his head in thought. “I used to hate it, but then something changed. I guess… someone taught me that it could have a different meaning… and that had a huge impact on how I felt. So now I really like it! Deku… that has to be my code name.”

“Umm, Winchester, your eyes are leaking…” Todoroki commented.

“My baby cinnabon is growing up, guys.” I sobbed, clutching onto the back of Momo’s shirt. She chuckled, creating a handkerchief from her hand and giving it to me. “Thank you, Momo.”

“Of course.”

“You’re so weird,” Todoroki mumbled, turning his head away.

Katsuki huffed as he stomped to the front again. “Lord Explosion Murder!”

“Winchester already tried that,” Midnight sighed. “And it’s basically the same thing as your last one.”

“No, she didn’t have an ‘E’ in ‘Explosion’! It’s totally different!” He protested.

“I mean, the boy got a point,” I added, grinning when she shot me a look.

She smacked her forehead. “The two of you are completely hopeless. Just use your real names!”

I shrugged and Katsuki grumbled under his breath, sitting back down.

Aizawa heaved a tired sigh as he pulled himself to his feet. “Now that everyone’s decided on their hero names, we can go back to talking about your internships. They last for one week. As for who you’ll be working with, those of you who are on the board will choose from among your offers. Everyone else will have a different list.” He held up a stack of papers, but the words were too small for me to see from the back of the feckin’ room. “You have a lot to think about. There are around forty agencies across the country who have agreed to take on interns from your class. Each agency has a different specialty that its heroes focus on. Keep that in mind.”

Forty agencies?? And those are only the ones willing to put up with us… Holy salsa dancing Satan, how many agencies are there in this damn country? Forty seems a bit excessive.

“Imagine that you were thirteen.” Midnight held her finger up. “You would want to choose a place that focuses on rescuing people, not fighting villains. Understand?”

“Think carefully before you decide,” Aizawa concluded.

“Yes, sir!”

“Turn in your choices before the weekend.”

“We’ve only got two days?!” Kirishima cried out in surprise.

“Yeah, so you should start now.” Aizawa and Midnight headed out the door. “You’re dismissed.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I frowned at the list of offers that had been placed on my desk, scratching my cheek. That’s great and all, but the problem is that I don’t know a single thing about any of these fucks because I ain’t from this world. Oh wait, there’s Endeavor. Like hell I’mma choose flame fuck. I guess I could ask Zuku. He’s a walking talking encyclopedia of hero knowledge. Hmm, yeah, I’ll just make him choose someone for me. Problem solved!

“So guys~ Have you decided what pro agency you wanna go for?” Ashido asked.

“Mt. Lady’s my top choice!” Mineta answered immediately.

“Mineta, are you thinking something perverted?” Tsu inquired.

“Possibly!”

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. Jokes on him, that bitch is gonna eat him alive and then spit him back up as a glorified slave. Though, knowing that freak, he’d probably enjoy it.

“You made it pretty far in the tournament,” Ojiro commented toward Ashido. “It’s weird you didn’t get any offers.”

“I know~!” she cried, throwing her body over the desk.

“Hey, Deku, who’s on your list?” Ochaco approached the greenette and sweatdropped at the mumbling mess that is Zuku the cinnabon. “There he goes again…”

He snapped out of his trance at her words. “Huh? Oh, sorry, what’d you guys say?”

“You’re really thinking hard about this, aren’t you?” Tsu asked.

“It’ll all work out.” Ochaco smiled. “I’ve already settled on my pick!”

“Already?”

“What agency?”

“The one that the Battle Hero: Gunhead runs!”

“Huh? Gunhead’s a big brawler, though.” Zuku commented in surprise. “Are you sure that’s where you want to intern, Uraraka?”

“Yep! He sent me an offer!”

“Woah, really? But I thought you were trying to be a hero kinda like Thirteen, more into rescuing than fighting.”

“Ultimately, that’s the plan, but I’ve been thinking ever since the festival… well, at least ever since I faced off against Bakugo. The stronger I am, the more possibilities I’ll have! Plus, learning from a battle hero will give me a different perspective, right?”

I clicked my tongue and shook my head. Too fucking precious man. I sighed, letting my head fall onto the desk for the umpteenth time today.

“Are you okay, Winchester?” Momo turned in her chair, voice full of concern.

“I need food,” I groaned. “And my brain may be slightly melted, I’m not sure.”

She chuckled and stood up. “Let’s go to the cafeteria, then.”

“Sure~” I pulled myself up, following the black-haired girl from the room.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

▸ Forward

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[caffeineivore]

For RaeRae

This is for @antivanonmytongue as the start of a cheer-up-emo project, as it were. 

Title: Bourbon

Author: Thalia

Rating: PG/PG13

'Ship: R/J for RaeRae!

Notes: This is dedicated to our RaeRae because we love her and she is going through hell. Stay strong, lovey! There may or may not be a homage to living in a bar...

As for the fic itself, it does not belong to any ficverse I have. Also, there is a town called Brave, Pennsylvania. However, there is probably not a bar called Hope's Landing in said town. I don't know, have never been there XD!

Thanks much to @antivanruffles for the help with plotting and stuff!!

*-*

It's a slow Sunday on a windy autumn day at Hope's Landing, and so when she walks into the place, looking a bit lost and forlorn underneath the bravado of a stubborn chin and a cherry-red designer trench coat and perfectly applied makeup, she stands out like a flame in the darkness. A dive bar in the tiny town of Brave, Pennsylvania, is definitely not the natural milieu for a young woman such as her, and Jesse Wilson pauses in between polishing a stack of rocks glasses and stares, just for a minute.

She walks in slowly, taking in the scratched and faded green baize of the pool tables in the back, the jukebox in the corner, the dark wood of the bar scarred and grooved from countless glasses rolling towards countless hands. Hair the glossy black of fresh ink spills down her back straight as rain. Manicured red nails clutch a buttery oversized leather handbag with a white-knuckled grip. The black stiletto heels she wears click on the worn floorboards, the sound over-loud in the bar's quiet. She selects a stool at the very far end of the bar and perches on it, and Jesse makes his way over with a faintly curious smile.

“What can I get for you?”

At a closer distance, her eyes are fabulous, a dark blue-violet like a twilight sky. “Maker's Mark, neat.”

He asks for ID, and she pulls out a New York license. The address is uptown Manhattan. “Raeanne Haley. Nice to meet you. My name is Jesse Wilson.”

Her hand is small and delicate and warm, almost swallowed by his, but she nods in thanks when he places the drink in front of her.

“You're far from home.”

“It's about a three hour drive,” she replies, and there's a veiled hint of escape written all over her features. Jesse, to whom Hope's Landing has been home for almost as long as he can remember, is good at getting a read on people, but Raeanne Haley is a very complex book open only a crack and written in very small letters that can't be deciphered at a glance. He's patient, though, and leaves her to her bourbon and thoughts.

The door to the bar opens to reveal a familiar diminutive figure. Earl Flynn is spry for his eighty-plus years, and moves to the bar only after he makes the rounds with all the regulars. He'd once upon a time fought alongside Jesse's grandfather in World War II, part of the same squadron, and he still wears his tags even now, over an ancient Steelers shirt. He accepts a beer from Jesse with a gracious smile and sidles over to the mysterious Raeanne Haley.

“What's a nice girl like you doing at a dump like this, then?” The question would have been rude on a lot of levels coming from anyone else than Earl, but the girl Raeanne does not seem offended, and returns his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“Resting, for the moment.”

“Well, this place on a Sunday surely is restful,” Earl tells her, even as he lifts his beer in a toast. “Now, it's almost too quiet. Not like a Friday or Saturday night, though. But our Jesse can deal with the riff-raff, so don't you worry.”

Raeanne nods and slowly sips her whiskey, and Earl keeps up a steady stream of conversation about the football game playing on the television screen, the prospect of taking his grandkids trick-or-treating on Halloween, coming up later that month, and how long the fine weather would last before it would take a turn for the worse.

“... And we should have some music in here, shouldn't we?” Earl stands and makes his way to the jukebox. “None of these crotchety fellas know how to entertain a lady. Not used to having one hereabouts.” With a wink which must have been rakish once upon a time and still full of charm, he grins at Raeanne, then feeds coins into the machine. Even as low guitar notes come on, Earl calls out for Jesse quite a bit louder than the music.

“Jesse, why don't you have a dance floor in here? Maybe we can get some more customers that way. Especially pretty ladies like her. What do you think?”

The song that Earl selected is 'Lady in Red' by Chris DeBurgh, and the old man couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Jesse glances at Raeanne Haley in her red trench coat, and smiles wryly. “I don't think that pretty ladies like places such as these, for the most part.”

“Well, you could always change her mind. Come on, come on,” Earl is not to be deterred once he is dedicated to a set path, and apparently his mind is made up. “There's nobody here to bother you. Walter and Frank and Barry don't need anything, and neither do I. You should dance with the girl.”

Jesse glances at Raeanne, who has set down her half-finished whiskey, and even as she stands, he comes out from behind the bar. “He's harmless,” he finds himself telling her, even as she lays her hand in his, impulsiveness warring with what seems to be innate aloofness on her beautiful face. “You don’t have to. But I hope you don't mind.”

She doesn’t seem to, and when he puts his other hand on her waist and pulls her in just a little bit closer, the top of her head reaches his lips. He only has to bend his head a little bit to whisper so that no one else can hear them.

“What brings you here to Brave, Pennsylvania?”

“Oh, just… stopping for a bit,” she answers softly. Her lips curve up in a tremulous smile as those amethyst eyes meet his blue ones. “I’m on an impromptu road trip. My best friend from college lives out in LA. I could just fly, of course, but I hate both LaGuardia and JFK, and… this way I can take my time.” Maybe the whiskey has relaxed her a little, or maybe it was Earl’s somewhat one-sided conversation. “I paid a cabbie a good amount of cash to just drive… drive until I told him to stop. And here I am.”

“You told him to stop here?” Earl, the sly bastard, has another slow song playing even as the first one draws to a close. But Raeanne doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. She’s soft in his arms and smells faintly like expensive perfume.

“I liked the name. Hope’s Landing.” She ducks her head and her hair brushes his jaw. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“This was my grandfather’s bar, back in the day,” Jesse tells her to the background music of Elvis crooning ‘Love Me Tender’. “Hope was his mother’s name. He named it after her because she was not really a showy type of woman. Homey, I guess. Sort of like he wanted this place to be.” Jesse smiles wryly as their eyes meet. “This is definitely not a showy type of bar, I’ll say that much. Nothing like New York City.”

“New York is overrated,” Raeanne huffs out a breath. “I’m escaping, if we’re being completely honest. Mina’s okay with putting me up indefinitely in LA; I’ll probably have my stuff shipped there soon. I just needed a change.”

Jesse wonders for a second if Mina in LA is Mina Averill, the rising supermodel and actress, then dismisses the notion as preposterous. “Well, you are well and truly not in New York City any more, Dorothy,” he says gently. “I’m not quite sure what the exact population of this town is, but I’m also quite sure that the population of Manhattan itself is greater.”

“Yeah, and when everyone you know is either a lawyer or a politician or a Wall Street exec or some horrible combination of the three…” Raeanne wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head as Elvis finishes and Sinatra takes his place. “I usually stick to wine. I’m not this chatty as a rule.”

“Maybe you just needed to talk,” Jesse says, and then pulls back enough to look her in the eye. “But if you don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, I could probably make you a sandwich or something.”

“Yes, you go do that, Jesse,” Earl chimes in, as though sensing that the dancing has come to a close, and winks again at Raeanne. “Our Jesse is a good boy. His grandfather and I were friends since we were young. Charlie might have passed five years ago, God rest his soul, but he made sure that our Jesse was raised right.”

Jesse leaves the old man to extol his virtues and takes the stairs in the back of the bar up to the apartment on the second floor. Hope’s Landing doesn’t boast a kitchen or serve food beyond beer nuts and pretzels, but he lives right above it, and while turkey and swiss on rye is probably not typical fare for one such as Raeanne Haley, he returns with the sandwich shortly.

“Thank you.” She accepts it, seeming to know that it’s the exception rather than the rule, and gives him a real smile before tucking in. She’s dainty in that ladylike way while eating, but doesn’t seem to care about crumbs or the fact that she’s only got beverage napkins to wipe her mouth and hands.

The night draws on; more regulars mosey on in, including a pair of ancient, tattooed bikers who offer to teach Raeanne how to play pool. She declines, graciously, but seems to have relaxed as the time draws on. In any case, she watches the game with interest, and when the shorter, skinnier biker wins, claps politely amidst the raucous cheers of the rest of them. She’s still there, unaccountably, her whiskey long-gone and her plate empty, when the clock strikes midnight and the lights come on.

“We close early on Sundays,” Jesse tells her as he finishes cashing out. Under the bright lights, she’s even lovelier, with pale skin and flawless cheekbones. She pays for her drink with a black American Express and signs the slip with flowing, finishing-school script. He doesn’t charge her for the sandwich, but even after the last stragglers make their way towards the door, she remains seated, and he cocks his head to the side. “Do you… do you have a place to stay for the night?”

She shrugs, pulls out a cell phone. “I could Uber it to the closest hotel, I guess. I’m sorry. I was having fun.”

And all of the sudden he feels like he’s on the precipice of something-- something a lot bigger and more important than small talk with a pretty stranger on a random Sunday night. He swallows the surge of nerves and clears his throat. “Well, and please don’t take this in a creepy way, but… you could crash here if you want. I live upstairs. There’s a spare room.”

She stares at him for a moment without speaking, so he hurries on. “You don’t have to, of course. I’m not sure if Uber is available out here, to be honest with you. But if you’d like, I could probably also give you a ride somewhere if you have a place in mind.”

And then she smiles. “You sure I could just crash upstairs? You barely know me.”

“Yeah, and you barely know me. But… yeah, I’m sure. I don’t mind. I just have one question.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Do you like cats?”

*~*

Jesse’s apartment is accessible through the back of the bar, up a flight of stairs, and it is a tidy, open-plan space with two bedrooms, one of which seems to be used as an office with a futon. A small-ish tabby cat darts out from under the coffee table and heads straight for Raeanne’s legs, winding circles around her ankles and staring up with wide, green-and-gold eyes.

“That’s Jim Beam, or JB for short,” Jesse tells Raeanne with a chuckle even as she stoops down to pet the cat. “He’s usually not this friendly. I found him a few months ago as a kitten, hiding out the rain under an empty Jim Beam carton out by the dumpster, hence his name.” Jim Beam apparently finds Raeanne to his liking, because in very short order, he is butting his head against her hand and purring. Raeanne takes a seat on the sofa and the cat hops into her lap, curling up in a ball and blinking slowly in an attitude of contentment, and Jesse grins at her. “He likes you. Anyway, do you need anything? Water? A tour? A t-shirt to sleep in? All of the above?”

She finds herself agreeing to ‘all of the above’, and smiles to herself when she sees the bread bag on the kitchen counter, left untied from when he’d made her that sandwich. Jesse pulls out the futon in the office, but insists that she takes his room instead, fetching fresh sheets and pillows out of a small linen closet and a plain white t-shirt out of the dresser drawer. Jim Beam follows Raeanne into every room, then hops onto the easy chair in Jesse’s bedroom, curling his tail around his feet.

“Shower’s through that door down the hall. And you can probably kick that cat out of that chair to put your stuff,” Jesse says as he efficiently changes the bed-linens. Raeanne exchanges a glance with Jim Beam, and sets her handbag on the bureau instead. She walks up to Jesse just as he finishes straightening up the sheets.

“You don’t have to do any of this for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a smile. “But, I also know not to subject a lady to a futon.”

That’s not at all what she’s referring to and she’s sure he knows it, but something in his dark blue gaze causes her to acquiesce. She stands on tiptoe, and the jaw that comes in contact with her lips is warm and scratchy with stubble.

“Well, thanks. And good night.”

He lays his hand on her shoulder for a moment, nods, and quietly walks out. Raeanne quickly gets ready for bed and curls up underneath the blankets. The sheets smell like him-- plain soap and detergent, no overpriced cologne, and the pillows are soft. This was not quite what she’d planned when she left New York, but… a smile crosses her face and she stares up at the ceiling and says nothing.

Halfway through the night, Raeanne wakes up briefly to Jim Beam hopping on the bed and curling up on the pillow next to hers. She sleepily runs her fingers over the cat’s soft fur, and lets the purring lull her back to the best sleep she’s had in months.

*~*

Raeanne wakes the next morning to the smells of coffee and bacon and the sound of Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones playing faintly on the radio. Jim Beam meows at her from by the bedroom door, and she follows the cat to the kitchen, padding in barefooted and still wearing the borrowed t-shirt. Jesse’s back is turned towards her as he flips a piece of bacon in the skillet, but he turns with a smile before she even says a word.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she replies, and at his gesture, helps herself. Within a few moments, they’re seated across from each other at the cheap dinette set and eating scrambled eggs and bacon as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim Beam cannily positions himself at the optimal spot to beg from both of them, and Raeanne is sure that between herself and Jesse, the cat gets away with a good two slices of bacon. Raeanne eats her fill and watches Jesse from underneath her lashes. His hair shines golden in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, and when he smiles, he has a single dimple in his left cheek. She, on the other hand, looks vastly different wearing no makeup and his t-shirt than her norm, and yet, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Want me to do the dishes?” She gathers her plate and mug and walks over towards the kitchen sink. Certainly it is not a task that she has ever needed to tackle. But even-- or perhaps especially-- a Manhattan socialite knows that something cannot come from nothing.

Jesse says nothing, but before she can reach for the sponge, gently takes both of her hands in his, and pulls her away. His fingers are callused and rough against her manicured ones, and he doesn’t let her go even when they’re a few feet away from the sink. She finds herself staring up at him in wonder and a little bit of consternation.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The smile warms his whole face, including his ocean blue eyes. “Because you need it.”

Raeanne’s next breath hitches in her throat, and she stares down at her bare feet for a moment because the kindness radiating from his whole being is warm and almost unbearable, like being a shade too close to a hearth fire. Her toenails match her fingernails exactly, and she takes a deep breath before glancing up again. “Why do you say that?”

“I just know.” A wry, slightly cheeky smile crosses his face. It’s not stubbly like last night, but he still smells like plain soap and detergent with a hint of coffee thrown in now. “You don’t owe me anything, Raeanne.”

Her name sounds smooth and low on his tongue, and when she frowns at what he says, he chuckles. “Well. I wouldn’t say no to another dance. But don’t tell Earl, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” she answers, and even as Queen’s ‘Someone To Love’ starts playing on the radio, she lets him draw her close. Without her heels, he sort of dwarfs her, and in this tiny, sun-lit kitchen, it’s even closer and more intimate than last night downstairs at the bar. But Raeanne lets her eyes fall closed as they sway infinitesimally to the rhythm, and her face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. Underneath her lips, his pulse isn’t completely steady, and that gives her courage.

“Jesse?” Her voice is muffled against soft cotton and warm skin. “How long can I stay?”

The hand at her waist pulls her just a little closer, and his breath stirs tendrils of her hair. “How long do you want to stay?”

She draws back just enough to look up into his face, and lets herself wonder, only for a moment, why it seems so familiar-- why everything from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab until now seems like destiny knocking. But she still manages a quip. “Until Big Bill and Marty teach me how to shoot pool, maybe.”

“Mmm, and are you a quick study?”

She’s close enough to all but count individual eyelashes, close enough to taste that he drinks his coffee black, just like her, but leans in even closer. Suddenly, she knows that she’s not going to LA after all, though Mina would probably squeal over it later, much later, on the phone once she got through the army of assistants and minions. Raeanne smiles, and answers his question just before she lets her lips brush his as though coming home at last.

“Yeah.”

[cloakedsparrow]

Recommended if…

You’re a fan of Jason Fabok’s art.

You want to see what Bruce and Thomas would say to one another, given the chance.

Overall:

While the story has great art, intense action, and a very poignant and thought-provoking speech delivered by Thomas Wayne…it’s ultimately irrelevant to the larger story being told.  I hate to use the word “filler” because it has such negative connotations, and because the content is actually worthwhile in and of itself, but it does end up feeling like filler since it’s so disconnected and unrelated to the rest of the story.  But really, that’s my only major complaint about this issue.  If this scene had found a better way to integrate itself into the story, or another story for that matter, I’d be quite pleased with it.  But I can’t ignore the fact that it adds little to nothing to the story of “The Button”.

Here we are with part 3 of “The Button”, a continuation of the story that began 11 months ago in DC Universe: Rebirth #1.  We’ve already seen an epic battle between Batman and Eobard Thawne in the pages of Batman #21, and Batman and The Flash traveling across the boundaries of time and space to discover the secrets behind the button in Flash #21. Now, Bruce is brought face to face with his father, the Thomas Wayne from the Flashpoint continuum.  Does Bruce’s father know the secret to the button, or is this merely a sidestep on their way to discovering the truth…

Much in the same way that Flash #21 filled us in on all the details we needed to know in order to follow the story being told, Batman #22 does the same, giving us pertinent details from “Flashpoint”.  But whereas the journey taken by Flash and Batman from last issue was relevant to the overall point of this arc, this story seems largely tertiary to that mission.  That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the ideas presented in this story, but the content is ultimately irrelevant to the overall mission that our heroes set out on.  It’s the kind of thing that, if filmed for a movie, would be left on the cutting room floor to make more time for the “A” plot.  Sure, it would show up in the deleted scenes on the DVD, but it doesn’t really matter to the larger story being told.  And that’s really my biggest take away from this issue.  Cool and poignant, but ultimately irrelevant.

This story also pays homage to the Nolan trilogy.  During the course of the story, Dr. Wayne recounts rescuing Bruce from his fall into the caves beneath Wayne Manor.  But that content isn’t original to “Batman Begins”.  They included that in the film because it was already an element from the comics.  If it had been nothing more than another cave rescue scene, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.  However…the fact that Dr. Wayne tells Bruce that even though Waynes fall, they always rise, it was definitely an homage to the Nolan Trilogy (for me in any case).  In connecting that scene from the first movie with the title of the third movie, I felt that the writers were trying to create something new while simultaneously using existing material that would resonate with a broader audience.

But there was something from this story that reminded me of “The Dark Knight Rises” even more so than the cave rescue scene and the nod to the 3rd title.  Personally, I though the idea of Bruce running off to Europe to live out his days having brunch with Selina Kyle was super weak.  When I saw the movie for the first time, due to spoilers, I knew that Marion Cotillard was playing Talia.  When her and Bruce had a sex scene, I thought I knew the direction the movie was headed in.  Bruce ends up being exiled to that pit for months.  I was certain he was going to return to Gotham and Talia was going to have had his son.  To me, that was a perfect reason for Bruce to retire.  He would have been able to become the father to his son, that he himself had lost.  So, when I saw Thomas Wayne say this:

It basically mirrored the idea that I expected to present itself at the end of “The Dark Knight Rises”.  Granted, Bruce didn’t retire in the comics after learning he had a son, but to me, there is a big difference between being given a baby that you are then responsible for and being told you have a 10 year old son you were never even aware of. In any case, this little speech is the greatest thing to come out of this issue.  And it really made me think.  Not only about Bruce’s continued war against crime, but…where is Damian?  I understood that when Bruce “died”, there was no longer any reason for Damian to be in Gotham.  Therefore, I had an acceptable reason for Damian’s worldwide gallivanting.  But at this point, why isn’t a 13 year old boy with his father?

If Damian is really so important to Bruce, why isn’t he around.  I realize that perhaps the writers don’t want to be burdened with fitting Damian into every story, but I find it immensely annoying how limited his presence is.  With characters like Dick, he went off to college.  Or with Jason and Tim, sometimes they wouldn’t patrol with Bruce because it was a school night.  And Tim even had more of a reason later on not to be around as much because he didn’t live with Bruce anymore once his father came out of a coma.  I guess what I am saying is that there are a lot of excuses I am willing to accept as to why Robin isn’t around, but at the moment, I don’t really have a valid one.

It’s also weird to think that the Robins were kind of Bruce’s way of replacing the family that he lost.  But now, Bruce has an actual blood relative and doesn’t spend nearly enough time with him.  Bruce is like a man that donates his free time to community service, helping a bunch of people he doesn’t even know, instead of spending time with the family he actually has.  And who really needs him.  Kinda makes me angry.

I understand that a lot of what I went over in this review isn’t directly connected to the material present.  Much of what I had to say was about the ideas that it indirectly called to mind.  But to me, what a story makes you think about is as valid a reason to enjoy it as what is actually presents to you on the page.

Art for this issue is once again brought to us by Jason Fabok, and really, I don’t feel like I need to say anymore.  It’s Jason Fabok.  The guy can do no wrong.  I could drone on and on about how awesome Fabok’s art is, but at this point, I’m not sure who I need to convince of that.

Odds and Ends:

I know that in this story there is an entity out there doing all this, but when I read this passage, I couldn’t help but get all meta with it.  WE are what holds the DC Universe together.  These past events happened.  We read about them.  They are in our memories.  Telling me that things happened in a way different than I remember them is no different to me than someone trying to tell me I celebrated my 12th birthday in London when I know I didn’t.  Because these stories are in our consciousness, they are “real”.  And as long as there are people out there who remember them, they will stay that way.

That’s interesting.  The way he is asking, it’s implied that Bruce’s cave DOES have that stuff.  Wonder why he didn’t use any of it against Eobard.  I had considered this during part one, but I ultimately decided Bruce didn’t have the time necessary to done his anti-Flash suit.  But now that they are mentioning this, he surely had time to hit a button.

I know that your average Atlantean and Amazonian warriors aren’t as powerful as Wonder Woman or Aquaman, but aren’t they still physically superior to human beings?  Am I mistaken in thinking this?  I mean, they are superhuman, right?  If so, it seemed to me they were defeated a little easily.

Aside from the (very valid) point made in this review, there is something else that I really dislike about the way Damian’s existence has been approached/treated in DC. That’s the emphasis on him being Bruce’s son as if he’s his only child when Bruce already had four children he raised or partially raised, whom he adopted and treated as his own even before they were legally his.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Cassandra were Bruce’s children. Admittedly, Bruce never seemed as close with Cassandra, but there was still a bond there and with Cassandra, Tim & Dick as well. Alfred was like a stern but caring and favored uncle who raised Bruce after his parents passed (and helped raise Bruce’s kids as well). Barbara and Stephanie were like nieces Bruce was fond of and tried to help out where he could without overstepping his grounds. Before New52, there were moments that addressed this.

More than once, Dick simply called Bruce ‘dad’ when referring to him while talking to Tim and he spoke of how much he loved Bruce on more than one occasion. Bruce also referred to Dick as his son on more than one occasion. Dick once referred to Alfred as ‘the guy who’s been like a father to me’ while speaking directly to Alfred and on another occasion, told a co-worker that Alfred was like his mom. Tim outright called Dick his brother, treated Cassandra completely like a sister, talked (to Dick) about missing Alfred when he was away and actually took on Bruce’s name (he even corrected Damian when the little shit kept calling him ‘Drake’) in addition to having normal, father-son discussions with Bruce. Tim went through hell to get Bruce back when everyone else thought he was dead.

Suddenly Bruce finds out he has another child, this one biological, and the story is rewritten so that none of his other kids are that important anymore. Damian tried to kill Tim, verbally attacked him every chance he got, and it just sort of...went away? DC even had Dick -the kid who used to bring up Bruce having been the man who raised him in several emotional, family drama type arguments- call Damian Bruce’s real son in a recent issue of Nightwing.

A friend of mine who was adopted actually stopped reading DC because all of this bothered her too much. I stopped reading for most of New52 because I didn’t enjoy the new dynamics between the Bat Family members and the altered, weaker (IMO) history between them. One of the things I’ve enjoyed about Rebirth thus far is that those relationships seem to be rebuilding and there’s a sense of history to the characters again.

I would love it if DC used the merging timeline/memories bit of Rebirth to address even some of the issues mentioned here, but I know that isn’t likely.