#i like the explanation of the idea behind her look — how the elements of fashion are born through nature (represented by clouds and water)

[cherylblossom]

Rachel Zegler at the 2024 Met Gala: "Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion" (6th May 2024)

[pocketramblr]

im going to be so fucking predictable right now but, for a prompt... how about some momnight

 I'm going to do my Very Best at this though I am very unpracticed with writing her so here we go!

---

"Alright, class. Today we're supposed to do a lesson that follows up on the interviews you did yesterday with Midnight and Mt. Lady. Which means I'm not teaching."

With that, Aizawa-sensei flopped to the ground. The thud was only slightly cushioned by the sleeping bag around him. A few students winced.

"Exactly!" Midnight said, shoving open the door. "This time, we'll be practicing a little more with cameras and a little less with talking."

Oh? The students all leaned in, curious and excited.

"We'll be practicing photo shoots! Come to studio 1-4, come on." She stepped to the side as the class got excited, and just waved Aoyama out the door when he jumped to go ask her a million questions, sparkling.

Toru was excited too, though she took more time to stand than the others. By the time she had, Yaomomo had already dragged the reluctant Jiro out of the room, and all that remained were Bakugo and Koda.

"Not going to be the last one there, I hope, Bakugo?" Midnight asked, tone of voice edging into a tease.

Bakugo grumbled about it being stupid, but he did hurry more out the door.

"And you, Koda? Nothing to be scared about, the camera doesn't bite." But their teachers sure might, if they dawdled- or interrupted anymore of Aizawa's extended naptime.

"Right!" Toru agreed, skipping to the back of the room to reach for the boy's arm. "Come on, it'll be a fun lesson! Better than a pop quiz, and maybe you'll even get to do a cute picture, like holding a bunny!"

Koda stared at her sleeve for a long moment, then finally nodded.

When they passed Midnight at the door, Toru looked up and realized the woman's smile had slipped a little; she looked thoughtful, brow furrowed behind her glasses.

The smile came back quickly though, as she tugged the door closed behind them and hurried them to the studio where the class was waiting for them.

Haya-senpai was also waiting for them, apparently. The cool girl stood in front of a group of third years by the side wall of the room, where several desks and mirrors and lights had been shoved in a row. The rest of the room was cleared out, backdrops and green screens angled around with a few stools and props.

"Alright, class 1a, before we get ready for your first shoot, there are some things to know." Midnight closed the door behind her. "You can take notes on your phone, if you want. There are several different kinds of photoshoots. What ones can you think of?"

"Ooh!" Mina waved her hand and was called on. "There's magazine photoshoots, and if you're lucky you'll be on the front page!"

"Certainly, magazine shoots. What else- Yaoyorozu?"

"Advertisements, with products?"

"Very good, you've done some of that already, haven't you? Alright, what other kinds?"

Toru waved her arm, humming so she'd be more noticed. Midnight crooked her finger at her. "Makeup? Well I guess that could be a product too, but there's also fashion shoots."

"Right on, Hagakure."

The class was quiet for a few moments, and Midnight nodded. "There's other kinds too- a headshot shoot, some hero agencies will require them for an application or their site. Portraits, lifestyle, sports, glamor, portfolio- the point is, there’s different types, and different points to each of them.”

Tsuyu raised a hand, and got a nod. “Midnight, all the different types, but don’t they boil down to either work use- like the headshots- or publicity for everything else?”

“That’s not a bad way of looking at it, Asui,” The teacher tapper her cheek as she paused, “But there’s more than that. You could also be doing it for benefit of others, either like a charity calendar photos, or perhaps even as a favor for a friend if one of them asks for a photo op.”

“And if,” Bakugo spoke up, apparently at the end of his patience for waiting for an explanation, “we don’t care about that crap? Publicity? If we haven’t got any friends who just want to take pictures of us?”

Midnight’s smile stretched, just a little, like a smirk. “Not a bad question. Anyone else think they have an answer?”

No one spoke, looking at each other, then Iida raised his hand.

“Midnight-sensei! Regardless of wanting to do publicity or charity or not, an agency may require to and all parts of a hero career should be done as exactly as one can, whether or not you want to-”

Midnight coughed. “Not bad, Iida, but not what I was thinking of. Bakugo, everyone, consider it like this. Once you become a hero- before that, even- you are going to have publicity. You are going to have paparazzi. Your photos are going to end up in ragmags no matter what you do.” She emphasized those words with a tap from her whip to her palm. “But, you can decide how you present yourself in other media. Sure, you can go way underground like Eraser. Or, you can take control of your representation. Choose your own photographers, magazines, products, vlogs, anything. That’s why you have to learn how to do these photoshoots and other media courses.” She clapped her hands, and the third years jumped. “So, we start with makeup.”

The older students waved some of her classmates forward, and Toru pushed Koda forward so he’d sit.

She found herself watching them get makeup put on, holding Iida’s glasses for him while Haya mused with his hair. Next to him, a senior was marking lines under Uraraka’s eyes to make the lashes pop.

“That looks really cute!”

“Thanks!”

“Do you mind me using a bit more foundation here?” Another senior said, poking at Midoriya. “It’s not quite even, but some of your freckles are showing through still.”

“Uhh,” Midori said, eloquently. 

The older student raised his eyebrow. 

“Um, actually, its,”

“It’s what, Midoriya?” Midnight asked, stepping from out of nowhere to peer over his shoulder at his mirror.

“It’s fine!” The makeup didn’t completely hide how red his face went.

Their teacher met his gaze in the reflection, clicking her tongue. “Come on, what did I say the point of the lesson was?”

“Um, control?” Midoriya asked, then went “Oh.”

Midnight smiled, straightening back up.

“I’d like my freckles to be- to not be covered up. Please.” Midoriya was still red, but the senior just shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll darken them with this then instead, so they actually show well under the lights and all that.”

He nodded, relaxing back in his seat, and Midnight squeezed his shoulder before moving on, nodding at Iida before looking at her.

“Hagakure, you haven’t gotten someone to start makeup yet?”

Toru shook her head- and shoulders. “No, Sensei. It’s not like I’ll show up on camera anyway, so.” She kept her voice cheerful, but her smile faltered halfway through.

It was fun to watch everyone else get dolled up and decorated... but would probably be fun if she could join them too.

Midnight stared at her, and she couldn’t read the expression before the teacher shook her head. “No, no. You’ll still have to participate and I have an idea!” She took Toru’s hand, then led her to the seat next to Uraraka.

Toru couldn’t keep the startled giggle from bubbling up as she sat.

“Midoriya,” Midnight said, riffling through the makeup on the desk, “You heard Hagakure. What do you think she could do in a photoshoot like this?”

“Hm.” Midoriya considered it, but when he answered he sounded much more confident than he had earlier. “Well, she’s invisible, but anything on her wouldn’t be. You could play with elements like dust or sparkles to suggest shape in an interesting way- oh, if you don’t mind being in your hero suit, that is.”

Midnight hummed an affirmation. “There’s a lot you and your team could do with that, and body paint is a fun medium to work with.” She paused, then leveled an eyeshadow brush at Toru like it was her whip. “Only when you’re eighteen, though. What do you think, Uraraka?”

“You could use your quirk, you know, to shine?” The brunette waved a hand. “Lighting up in different places to outline you, maybe, it’d look really cool if you had a space-y dress or something with it.”

“Oooh,” Toru had to admit that would be fun. It’d need a dark background and probably a camera without a flash or something, but it would be a picture of her, using her own quirk.

“Or like, even a space suit or something alien!”

“As long as I don’t upstage Mina!”

Midnight decided on something, then turned back with a nod, eyes sparkling. “Those are good ideas. Now, I’m going to try something with eyeshadow on you. Tell me when your eyes are closed.”

Toru closed her eyes as asked. “They are now, Midnight.”

If the point of this lesson was control, she wasn’t quite sure that this counted since she was just letting someone else do it, but Toru didn’t mind. She had a couple new ideas bouncing around for real photoshoots, in the future, and she really wanted to see what her teacher came up with.

She’d been right, this was fun.

It tickled a little, when Midnight traced eyeliner all on the sides of her face, but Toru managed to keep her face still enough. Then came brushes and colors she couldn’t see, shapes she could feel but not recognize.

Finally, the touches to her face stopped and she heard the brush clatter on the table.

“You can open your eyes now.” Midnight said, moving out of the way between the chair and the mirror. 

Toru gasped, then stood so she could lean closer to her reflection.

Her teacher had painted elaborate designs over both her eyes, branching out like butterfly wings. They shimmered with many neutral tones, light and brown and pink between the black lines. A few sparkles were touched heavier on the ends, and overall they looked beautiful.

“Oh! Guys, look!” Toru turned, and Uraraka gasped too, clapping.

“Those look so pretty!”

“Right? Thank you so much, Midnight-sensei!”

The hero laughed, waving a hand. “You’re very welcome. You’ll have to work with the photographer to decide how to model it on your own though. Speaking of...” She checked the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes left! Get to pictures then washing off.”

She walked off down the row again, checking on the other students, though not before she squeezed Toru’s shoulder for a second when she passed.

Toru was beaming as she asked for a senior with a camera to work with her, and she ended up with a picture of herself winking- one eye open to show the full butterfly, the other closed to show the colors swirled on the eyelid too. 

It looked pretty, and it looked fun. It felt like a perfect picture.

[mittensmorgul]

Hi, I have a question, and I hope it would be interesting for you too... Could we talk about angel's wings and feathers?..

I always thought that angel's wings were a part of their true form, a kind of energy which we can only see as a shadows or electric sparks or ash or something like this.

And I didn't think that it could be a real wings with feathers as bird's. Until, while rewatch, I've noticed that angel's feather were mentioned in SPN at least twice (maybe you've noticed more?):

1) In 8.12 when Henry Winchester time travels he uses an angel feather in spell. And then Dean tells that Henry stole an angel feather from the trunk of the Impala. So feathers are reall??? Why did the Winchestets keep the feather in the trunk of the Impala and where they get it? (ok, maybe they found it in the bunker)

2) In 12.13 Sam uses a white feather in spell returning Gavin back in time (we know this spell needs an angel feather)

So now we can see how the real angel feather looks like???

Does that mean that the angel's wings can be presented in physical world like a real wings with feathers and this is not fanfiction? I like this idea so much.

I think that the creators of the show didn't let us to see it, as many other great things, that is sad...

I would really like to know your thoughts about this.

(Sorry for my bad english, it is not my native language...)

Hi there! First off, your English is fine! (lol it’s my native language, and I just typed it “Inglish” by accident, so you’re already doing better than I am :’D)

ETA: DON’T REBLOGGY THIS YET. I forgotted something that @thayerkerbasy just reminded me of, and I’m editing this post... brb... okay NOW YOU CAN REBLOGGY!)

As far as I know, those are the only times in canon we ever see or hear mention of an angel feather, and both times it’s for the same exact spell. They reference that it’s Henry’s spell when they use it again in 12.13, but make no mention in dialogue of it being an angel feather. Yet Sam had a whole jar of fluffy little pin feathers, so the assumption is that they’d been collecting them for a while (unless those were either found in the Men of Letters’ spell ingredient stockpile when they moved into the bunker, or otherwise given to them by Cas at some point).

It’s weird, because they seem like a very limited commodity, especially after the angels fell and their wings all burned up. Even after Cas got his original grace back, his wings never seemingly recovered. When we did finally see his wing prints in 12.23, they were still... not healthy... So my thinking is that any spell that would require them will become impossible to cast when their current supply runs out. All the other angels-- at the end of the series-- were either dead or locked in Heaven with their broken wings. We never learned any of their fates. Maybe they were all rendered obsolete under the Heaven Remodel?

A little behind the scenes from the early days of SPN as a bonus, since it’s tangentially relevant:

When they were filming the very early episodes of SPN, they had a lot of choices to make about what to show us based on what their budget would allow them to portray. Think of an episode like Wendigo, 1.02. One thing I see people say often was that it was a shame we didn’t see more of the monster, but only saw like... bushes shaking, or a vague form moving through the underbrush, or a blur. They made a stylistic choice right there to keep it within budget.

The options they faced were showing us a “dude in a rubber mask” type monster and showing it more, versus one really terrifying shot of a Proper Monster™ dying in spectacular fashion. Rather than go full-on cheesemonster, they chose to leave most of it up to our imaginations, giving us glimpses or hints of the monster.

They went back and forth on this a bit over the years, attempting to show us more on occasion, but most of those times the audience reaction has been varying degrees of wtf... Think about some of the scenes where they attempted to give us more than a glimpse at the supernatural, or a blood splatter, or whatever. It didn’t always work well. Think: the wire fight from 13.23...

I mean, it took us until 11.14 to ever see an angel “flap away,” when we saw Casifer zap Dean off the exploding submarine.

For the most part, I appreciate the fact that they understood the limitations of their own budget and didn’t give angels cheap little wings just to be able to show them on camera. Over time, only being able to see them as shadows, or as char after the angel died, became part of the lore of the show.

I blame Adam Glass for writing that spell, because he probably thought it sounded cool or whatever, that it was effectively a throwaway line because no other spell they’ve ever used has required an angel feather as an ingredient, and in story it was only linked into this larger Men of Letters Legacy plot that in retrospect feels like Chuck tying up loose ends and putting previously “deactivated” plotlines back into play.

I do find it kind of interesting that both iterations of this spell (the second resurrected by Bucklemming) were both tied to Abaddon. Henry’s spell in 8.12 brought her into the story from the past, she eventually travelled to the much further distant past to bring Gavin into the present (presumably with her own power alone, no angel feather required), and then after she was killed, they used the spell to return Gavin to his own time. So in a a way, the spell was part of a closed narrative loop, never to be referred to again.

Kinda wild that we’d never heard of angel feathers being a thing for spells until we learn that Dean apparently had some just stashed in the trunk, though... :’D

As for how corporeal angel feathers are/were, they exist in the earthly plane enough to leave char marks when they burn, when an angel is killed, so they must always have had the potential to manifest physically. I can’t imagine they ever would’ve had a budget to show us anything more than what we usually saw, though. It did give them a LOT of flexibility over how exactly they presented them to us when they DID show us. And I can’t even imagine the suffering Misha would’ve endured as an actor spending all those years wearing some weird wing harness rig. It would’ve been... impractical. And the CGI the show could’ve afforded-- especially in earlier days-- would’ve been... bad...

But what they were able to show us? Was often awesome. Remember when Raphael showed off his wings in 5.03? LIGHTNING!

And when we finally did see actual corporeal-appearing wings in 8.23... it was Dramatique™

And for More CGI Is Sometimes A Bad Thing Science, please have the attempt at Michael’s “true form” from 14.01:

It’s kinda a super-letdown after AU!Michael’s previous shadow wing displays from 13.01, but more specifically from 13.22:

those... were... badass... 

Even the pre-wire-fight wing shadows on Dean were badass:

But if they’d tried to show us more of them, to make them move through action scenes for example, it would’ve been... bad...

So what we’re left with is the knowledge that there is some sort of corporeal element to wings that we simply can’t see most of the time, but clearly angels have the ability to show or hide them at will, even from other angels. Could it be an act of will on the part of the angel that manifests a bit of their grace in the form of a physical feather? Honestly, that’s the theory I’ve personally adopted toward canon. In fanfic, I’ve read tons of various headcanons about what angel wings are and how they function-- everything from “a manifestation of their true form” to “angels share a lot of traits with birds” to “an extension of their grace,” and everything in between.

I personally, in canon, like to think of it as akin to how they’ve used angel grace for other spells. I mean, when we recall that angels haven’t been on Earth much for the last few thousand years (aside from at least a couple of known incidents where angels interfered with humanity, like Ishim and Company in 12.10, for example, and the presumptive extension that the Men of Letters knew of the existence of angels and likely summoned one up a time or two the same way Lily Sunder had, giving one explanation for how Henry Winchester knew of this spell and had an angel feather to use for it, but also recontextualized when Lily Sunder taught us that humans can use their own souls to power spells in the same way angels used their grace... which sort of makes the notion of needing an angel feather AND his own soul to charge that particular spell in 8.12 a bit redundant unless Lily’s knowledge of angelic magic was more advanced than Henry’s... hrmpf.... so much tangent... back to the point)...

We did eventually learn of other spells that required an angel’s actual grace, not concentrated in the form of a feather. The Angel Fall Spell in 8.23 being the prime example. Metatron took ALL of Cas’s grace for that one, even if he didn’t use all of it for the spell and left a “fragment” (Metatron described it as “not a lot, but enough.”). 

ETA: HECK. I have 9.03 on the tv right now and it’s distractedly made me disgusted enough to have forgotten something that Thayer just reminded me of: Lucifer’s “fossilized feather” in 12.07. It held enough grace to restore and heal him after Rowena’s spell in 12.03 had degraded him. Which really only adds to the theory that “feathers” are simply bits of grace that have been rendered solid somehow, but that can be transformed back into grace as needed.

And then there was the Rift Spell for travelling to alternate universes that required archangel grace, as well as the time travel/ward breaking spell that Sam found in 11.14 that ALSO required archangel grace specifically. Would these spells have worked with an archangel “feather?” Possibly, if material feathers are somehow just crystalized bits of grace, but since we never got a full explanation in canon, and never even really saw corporeal feathery wings that dropped feathers or could be plucked, and never even had mention of corporeal feathers outside of their use in this single spell, it’s really up to our own interpretation. And I kind of like it that way, because that way we get to have fun little discussions like this one. :D

I know this isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s how it all makes sense to me, in the hand-wavey sort of way that all of canon works. :’D

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 16

Description:

Notes: WC: 4.5k

+

The next day, you packed up and headed off on the road again. Ahk once again returned to periodically checking the map, as you had no guide except the river Euphrates and the lush greenery that bordered it. The trees and bushes allowed for a little more shade than the vacant valley did, something you made sure to appreciate, as well as the presence of drinkable water that flowed so near and readily. Yet even now you could see the river was at a relative low point––rings of water levels built up darkened sediment near the shore, and there were many visible rings descending down into the riverbed.

Only your strained breaths were audible from either of you despite the birds chirping overhead. A long night's sleep was nice, but it wasn't enough, and Ahk surmised that it would take a long while of resting till he'd be prepared to truly 'get going' again. Fortunately, he actually knew where you were going now––he found the map, pulled it out, and traced along the Euphrates down to the city of Babylon.

Ahkmen heard about Babylon in his classes, as well as from a few dinners his father hosted. He'd actually met some of the city officials, a fact he stewed over for a while, testing the bitterness of having to hide from people, and from his identity, once more.

As always, you were interested in what was to come; with what you could discover in a corner of the world you'd never been to. Ahk reminded you with a chuckle that you probably had been there before when you were first emigrating to Egypt. You responded that you didn't remember it.

"Let's see," Ahk hummed as he thought, staring at the ground attempting to remember what his teacher, Setet, taught him. "It's not actually called Babylon anymore, but the change is recent, so not everyone's been updated."

"So what is the name now?"

"Karanduniash. But it's interesting, how this came to be," he said with a grin he couldn't stop from spreading. You began to smile as well as you noted his fluster.

"Tell me about it, Aganu," you said, knowing you were allowing him to indulge in a little history.

"So... the original name was Babylon, in the Mesopotamian land at first. Then there was a King––Hammurabi, from the, uh.. Assyrian, or... no, Amorite land. Under his rule Babylon was built into a city that rivalled Nippur and eventually surpassed it in size and strength. Hammurabi was... an incredible King," he looked upwards, "and a bad man."

"I think that it is what you need, to be a good King. Not care for others," you said in a quieter tone.

"Perhaps so," he said, trying not to think about his father. "But nonetheless, under his rule, the whole of south Mesopotamia came under his rule."

"Where is the map?"

"Oh, here," he said as he pulled it from one of the side pockets, handing it to you. You jogged up the thin path to walk at his side, jostled slightly by your heavy bags as you stretched open the papyrus, displaying it for both you and him.

"So... here," you said, pointing to the southeastern land, separated from Africa by a strait.

"Yes. It's quite a lot of land, actually," he said before you rolled the map back up. "Anyway, Babylon has more recently come under rule of the Kassites. I've no idea where they're from so no need to ask. What I do know is that Babylon is still being fought over by the Kassites, Hittites, and Elamites, but all we really need to be worried about are the Elamites."

"Why? They are bad people?"

"Not inherently, but I don't trust their armies," he said, recalling several lessons about the sacking and raids of Mesopotamian cities by Elamites, and the torturous art that had come out of those tragedies.

"Ah, like Egypt," you then responded.

He wasn't sure why, but he detested your answer. Not that he could refute it very much––his father took rule over a vast amount of southern Canaan, and he didn't exactly do it politely.

"These lands have always been fought over," he said.

"It is dry and hot here," you said flatly, earning a chuckle from Ahk.

"Yes, and fertile, and beautiful. I have seen men lust over everything from women to... wine, and their cities, looking for those features," he said, carefully watching your thoughtful expression.

"I hate that," you said after a moment's silence.

"Understandable."

"I hate this world. I want to be... years and years from now, th.." you stopped for a moment, attempting to remember the word, ".. thousand! Thousand years, things will be good."

"I'd like to think that," he said, chuckling. "My father... lives in an old world. Sometimes I don't think he even knows other people aren't just empty vessels that relate to him. I think that's part of our problem, in this world. A lack of empathy."

"Many of the people we see are very kind," you said. He froze for a moment as he thought over his response.

"... I guess you're right," he said. "Maybe it's only rich people then."

You belted out a laugh, keeling over partway in a fashion that had Sephys meowing loudly at you in worry. She attempted to climb up onto your back only to fall off when you stood up straight. That only spurred you on more, till you were wheezing, and Ahk was laughing without even knowing it.

"She cares about you," he laughed as you trekked on.

"She put her claws in me!"

In the night you repeated your setup of camp, now settled into a routine that could pass by without words. You both gathered wood, and while you lit the fire, Ahk waded out into the river in hopes of finding fish. Once he caught one, you would cook it and he would set out the blankets and tarps to shelter you from any elements.

This particular evening was darker than usual, as the moon had disappeared and abandoned the stars. You gazed up, your neck kinked painfully but your eyes unable to tear away from the display spanning across the dome of the earth. Silence deafened the land with nothing but the steady, almost slow flow of the river near to you. Lightning bugs drifted about just as the stars did, but remained quiet and placid, only moving greatly when you disturbed them.

Distracted, you raised your hand upwards, waving it through a particularly large swarm of them that lazily drifted away as you moved. You giggled, catching Ahk's eye in time to see him slip in the water.

"I like this, here," you said as your hand fell into your lap.

"You want to stay here?" He asked, pulling himself out of the water with his makeshift spear in hand.

"Not for all time, you know that," you tutted.

"I do. I just want you to be closer to my home. It'll make it easier to see you."

You froze, but Ahk, involved in his fish-hunting, didn't notice your stunned silence.

"You are.. not staying with me?"

He looked up and his heart was instantly crushed by the weight of your worried brow. Freezing doom spread over him as he was overtaken with the thought, go back, go back, go back.

"Uh... well," he stuttered as he backpedalled, "I didn't... think you.. wanted me to?"

Nice cover, dumbass, he thought, bitter at his own lies. He despised lying to you, an ironic fact considering how much he always lied to you.

"Why do you think that??" You said in a voice that trembled, approaching him with the most heart-wrenching eyes he'd ever seen you bear. You took his hands and held them to your chest. "I want you near me. Always."

He stared at where your skin met, short-circuiting from your sudden earnestness. In truth he knew he needed to go back to Egypt. He longed too terribly for his home to never return, and that meant leaving you behind in wherever you decided to stay, a reality he had come to terms with after long days spent travelling. Staring into your eyes now, though, he knew abandoning you would be near impossible. Not just because his chest would ache in longing for you; you would hunt him down and beat an explanation out of him.

"Really?" He managed to choke out.

"Yes. I think you do know that," you said with a small, playful glare.

"Maybe," he mumbled.

"Get your fish, Aganu," you said, returning to the fire.

He nodded, wading back out into the river with his spear in hand. It took a little while, but by the time he caught a sizable enough fish, the fire was at a perfect point, the flames low but hotter than even bonfires. You roasted his catch slowly, once again tantalizing all three of you––you, Ahk, and the cat––back towards the fire.

You ate in silence, enjoying the crackling fire and the soft river that accompanied it. You finished first, and when you did, you cast the bones aside and reached for the wooden lute that got you through the Shamiyah desert. Soft notes joined the water and fire, matching the strange rhythm of the sizzling wood and ash. Ahk slowed his chewing to hear a little better, and eventually his food fell from his attention, which was becoming rapidly interested in you. It reflected an overall change in himself over the last several months––not that he noticed, since he thought he was always this smitten, but it was there with or without his acknowledgement.

The following day was filled with the monotonous footsteps sagging along the earth as you walked, heading towards the first signs of civilization since Mari. It was only in the day after that, and rather early in the morning, that you found the city towering above the flat landscape, Babylonian marvels of architecture jutting out into the clear sky. There were no walls surrounding the city itself, but a wall was visible surrounding what appeared to be either a palace or a temple, though you couldn't tell from your distance.

"That is Babylon?" You asked, sudden excitement speeding your gait.

"No, we haven't passed Rapiqum yet, so that must be Rapiqum," he said as he recalled a small, marked city on the map.

"Rapiqum?" You repeated. "You did not say on it."

"Not much to say. Invaded by Hammurabi a while ago and now it's part of Babylonia," he said, sighing.

As you got closer, the river got wider, and you both soon realized that Rapiqum was on the eastern bank––not the western, which was where you had been walking for the past couple days. You let out a long, exasperated sigh, your shoulders slouching as you paused in the middle of your step.

"How do we get it with this river?" You asked in a whine.

"... carefully?" He tried hesitantly, earning a small slap on his shoulder.

"We can not get boat in Rapiqum if we do not get boat to get TO Rapiqum," you said slowly, spinning around in slow circles as you searched for any huts or buildings on your side of the river.

"No shit," he muttered beneath his breath. "We can try and go back to a narrower part of the river and wade across."

"The water is too – too high," you said, motioning with your hand that the water level would come up to your chest.

"Right. Or, we could try and build a raft out of reeds and such," he suggested.

"We need more than what is here," you said, and you were also right on that, as there was only a small grove of reed plants in an outlet of the river.

Both of you stood for a moment, scratching your heads and tapping your chins in hopes of generating a better idea. There were few resources, most of them already culled by the nearby city's inhabitants, and most of them likely struggling from the apparent drought.

"Shit. I have an idea," he said, interrupting the silence. You looked up from staring at the ground.

"What is it?" You asked.

An hour and lots of reorganizing of your bags later, you were seated upon his shoulders, carrying one of your packs with Sephys inside. Her claws dug into your shoulder but you dare not move, too frightened of causing Ahk to slip in the water. It would do you no good to be bruised and for all of your belongings to be soaking wet. Even more precarious were the rocks he crossed––muddy, slippery, or overgrown with slick algae. The rocks shuffled around with the gentle current, so Ahk had to avoid tripping over those as well.

"Is this real as a good idea?" You asked, your voice wavering when he stumbled partway.

"I never said it was good, I just said it was an idea," he chuckled nervously.

Despite the rocks, the tide, and their waged war against Ahk's balance, he managed to get you to the other side and bowed his head to let you off. You nearly fell onto the ground, but you picked yourself up quickly as Sephys ran off.

"You are okay?" You asked, kneeling down as the shoreline was much higher than the water itself.

"Yes, I'm alright," he said with a dismissive hand. "Just need to get the other bags now."

He sighed, allowing himself a second's peaceful rest before he straightened again.

"Go Ahk!" You cheered him on, bringing a momentary laugh to him.

Three trips later and both of you were sitting on the dry, eastern bank, your legs held to your chest and Ahk's dangling so his toes just barely skimmed the water. He was still breathing heavily, surrounded by the bags he hauled across the river. Sweat formed on his brow, just enough of a sheen to cool him down in the noon sunshine beating down upon the land. He lay back, his hands behind his head, and his eyes closed in blissful rest.

Winds blew that carried the scent of flowers, twisting into and playing with the unruly curls upon his head. His hair hadn't grown an extraordinary amount, but it was certainly visible in matted, overgrown locks. Oh, well––just another piece of memory to connect to the blisters on his hands and feet.

"I am hungry," you stated, turning from the river to him. "We can go to the city now?"

"Alright," he said, but he didn't move. You waited for a minute before tiring of his game.

"Aganu!"

You kicked him in the shin––more of a push, really––and he let out an undignified yelp, scrambling to sit up.

"You are so mean," he gasped.

"Come, come," you said with a grin, tugging at his ankles.

He tried to shake his way out of your grasp, laughing when you pulled at him, crawling in between his legs and setting yourself on his hips, trapping him against the ground. It was then he halted his struggle, breath growing suddenly short as you smiled wickedly above him.

You fake-punched his chest, lightly pounding your fists onto either of his pecs.

"Get up, get up, get up," you said, and he shook his head against the grass.

"This is your method of getting me up? By pinning me to the ground?" He chuckled, turning away as he was unable to meet your eye any longer.

"You are a strong man," you said, still rapping your knuckles on his chest. "You can get up with me."

"Can I?"

He sat up, almost bonking his nose with yours in an act that burst both of you into giggles. Giddiness swarmed all round his head, blurring his racing heartbeat and the heat in his face.

"You are getting up now?" You asked when you both calmed down.

"If you get off me," he said.

You promptly did so, and the two of you threw your packs back over your shoulders, and marched off towards Rapiqum.

Since you had to go upstream in order to cross the river, you now had a good length of time before you would make it to the city. It was still visible in the flat, barren lands, acting as a beacon of hospitality the likes of which you hadn't seen since departing Jericho. Although, now it seemed less grand to you than it would've had you come out of the desert straight to see Rapiqum. You had water, you had a decent amount of food in your stomach, and neither of you had any outlying wounds.

"Now, we're in Babylonia, don't forget. Don't be surprised by the amount of people you see, and especially if they're racist," he noted, growing a little quieter as you reached the outskirts of the city, where the first distant homes were set up alongside soldier's barracks.

"Racist?" You repeated with a confused look.

"It's... confusing, but no one really likes each other. Babylonians don't like the Hittites, Kassites don't really like the Hittites, the Hittites hate the Babylonians, and.. you know. Everyone," he rambled on with vague hand gestures.

"And.. what do they think in Egyptians?" You asked slowly.

"I can't imagine they like us much either. I mean – me. I don't think they'd like me if they found out my ethnicity. Or you. Good thing we're wearing desert clothes," he said, looking you up in down in the scraps of cloth you wore to protect yourself from the heat and the sand. He was in a similar state.

"Yes," you said, but the look of worry remained, and didn't cease for a long while.

Streets formed in the rocky earth, leading into the city in convoluted pathways that whirled around homes and businesses. You and Ahk soon found yourselves amidst crowds that lined every street, most everyone standing as though they were in line––and, as you came to find out, they were.

Glancing to each other with questioning faces, you silently agreed to follow to wherever the people were lining up from, which led you first to the wall that encircled the largest building in the city. It must've been a temple that actually accepted the prayers of the commonfolk, or a palace home in which an overseer ruled the city from. The only gate in the wall was guarded by tall soldiers, beside whom stood a smaller man, bent over a large book enclosed with leather pages. He was muttering a recitation to the crowd piled into the gate opening.

"Come along," Ahk whispered, helping you pass in front of him with a hand on your back. He stared for a second longer before he followed after you.

The other side of the city was entirely empty. A couple stray dogs wandered around the abandoned streets, upon which empty carts and half-rotten bits of food lay on the sides, forgotten and left to rot. Several of the houses had sizable crates leaned against the other walls, most likely used by someone without a home.

Your pace slowed till you walked slowly down the streets, pressed into each other as your eyes flickered back and forth at the ruin. Ahkmen had never seen a city so quiet, and it struck a nerve in him, causing him to wring his hands.

Inside, some of the structures had bits of furniture and food––mostly dried fruits, some nuts, and every now and then part of a loaf of bread. You and Ahkmen both lit up at the sign of bread, but neither of you indulged. Something wasn't quite right, and there was some sort of answer within the long line of people streaming into the walled fortress. Ahk earned your confirmation before he set off back towards the other side of the city, your hand in his, and concentrated eyes searching the tops of roofs he passed.

When he found a building tall enough, he climbed the rungs of the shabby, wooden ladder, helping you up before he headed for the next ladder leading to the next highest roof. Long, wooden poles built into the building's roof aided in getting him up, and soon the both of you were peering over the encircling wall.

From your spot you could see the entrance from the other side, where the back of the scribe still recited verses to the citizens who watched on with blank, tired faces. The group in front of the listeners was walking forward, entering the large building where you could no longer see them.

"Should we try and get into the temple?" Ahk asked, gnawing on his bottom lip.

"It is if we want to know what is going here, or if we want to take their food and go," you said, turning your head from the walls to him.

"Yeah," he sighed. He waited a moment before he said, "do you want to know?"

You nodded almost sheepishly. A slow grin spread across his face and he chuckled, nodding as he moved from his knees to his feet.

"Very well then," he said, pulling you up, "let's get ourselves in, shall we?"

He gestured to the ladders and you giddily jumped your way down, landing on solid ground far faster than Ahkmen did. You both hurried over to the line, where you were promptly told by both guards and citizens that you had to go to the back, with no exceptions. Shrugging, you decided the wait couldn't be too bad, and two hours later, you were finally in the next group.

The sun had nearly set by then, and you could swear the bags on your shoulders were bruising you with their weight. You stepped towards the guards, preparing yourselves for the long spiel (that was apparently necessary), before the guards asked you a question that Ahkmen didn't quite hear correctly.

"I said, what sector do you live in," he said when Ahk asked him to repeat himself.

There was only one problem, Ahk realized, standing between him and understanding the guard. Ahkmen didn't speak the language the man was using.

"Uh..." Ahk cast a terrified glance to you, hoping that your tongue would work better than his numb one could. The guards were huge. He could hide him and his bags in one of their shadows.

"Um.. sector... 1..?" You tried, attempting your best at a casual expression that looked more like you were in immense pain.

"... you live in the temple?" The guard asked, raising a single brow.

Since when do they know Akkadian? Ahk thought, fear dripping like ice down his spine.

"Yes, we.. are here for cleaning," you said.

"Ah," the guard said, recognition in his eyes. "Go around the back. That's where the kitchens are."

You bowed and offered a small thanks, though you only half understood what he last said. While you might've known a passable amount of Akkadian to get by, you were by no means fluent, and had a hard time understanding people. Your heart thumped painfully in its' cavity as you wandered into the walled temple, scurrying around to the back like you weren't supposed to be there.

Well, technically you weren't supposed to be there, but you were assured that if they did put you to cleaning, you'd be able to get done whatever needed to be done. Ahkmen on the other hand was less confident in himself, and paled sickly when you came to the small door leading into the plain, sandstone temple, where remnants of paint coated the walls, bleached by the sun.

The inside was dark––dark enough that cleaners weren't especially necessary, since you could barely see the floor, much less the tiny specks of dirt and sand trailed in by visitors. Tall, thin poles led up to platforms that burnt tiny fires that illuminated, above all else, the ceiling, and the ornate paintings of the night sky that had yet to fade. Ahkmen stared up in awe, having to tear himself away when you moved quickly on. Rapiqum wasn't noted on most maps––it was a relatively small town, so the massive temple grew to greater suspicion in Ahk's mind, and he payed closer attention to the minute details he could see in the dim lighting.

Most of the paintings, while intricate, were shoddily made with lines that were almost never kept straight. It seemed more to be the work of a single man over many, many years, rather than the collective artworks a government could scrounge from its' more artistic citizens. The complicated halls which led to dead ends, small empty rooms, and occasionally right ways, eventually brought you to the center room where people from outside were filing in and out at an even pace.

While the hallways were lit by torches or bits of burning incense, this cathedral was lit by the light of sunset streaming through high-up windows. Beams of yellow and orange light streamed in, reflecting on the dust and smoke crowding the air, swirling round the rising curls of incense smoke.

You and Ahk hid behind the archway, watching someone obscured from view speaking to the citizens. His voice was low and frail, scratching against Ahk's ear as he rambled on in a similar fashion that the scribe at the gate did. The next group of people watched him in silence, and at the end of the long spiel––of course in Akkadian, which neither of you knew well enough to translate––the people formed another line that led up to the man. One by one they earned something and eagerly left, looking human for the first time. The old man must be handing something out, but from your nearby angle, you couldn't even see his face.

Ahkmen silently motioned for you to follow him. You did so, and he led you through the hallways encircling the center of the temple. Even the slowest drawn breaths sounded in echoes around you, an effect that left the old man's voice reverberating like ripples in water, repeating after itself in canon.

His face was slowly revealed the nearer you got to the temple's entrance, exposing first his raised hands, moving to a book not all unlike the one the scribe at the gates had, and eventually the the ashen face of an elder who looked already past death. Without even thinking, Ahk shot his hand up to cover your mouth when you began to breathe too heavily in the overwhelming shadows of the arches. He then pulled the both of you away from the arches, pressing your back against the furthest wall absorbed entirely in the dark.

Swallowing through a tight throat, he pressed his chest to yours, allowing his face to slot next to yours. He felt your breath catch, and felt how it released with nothing more than a warm shhh in your ear.

"What is he giving them," he whispered, barely audible even in his own head.

"Bowls... from a well," you breathed out. "Water."

His brow furrowed.

Water?

[djarinispunk]

Beautiful, Dirty, Rich - Loki Laufeyson Mafia AU

Chapter Two - The Meeting Place

After your brunch with your father (which also constituted as a verbal beating) you were seriously doubting your prior statement about not drinking. Sure, it would just give your dad more ammunition if you made a fool of yourself, but you were so far past the point of caring that the threat didn't bother you.

You closed the door to your apartment, resisting the urge to slide down against it and wallow in your sadness. However, the sight of Sophia's head sticking out from behind your fridge made you second guess your options.

Noticing your dejected expression, Sophia gave you a sympathetic pout, "That bad huh?"

You sighed, shrugging your coat off, taking a spot on your sofa, Sophia hot on your tail. "I don't know what was worse, when we were silent or when we were having a verbal sparring match." You rubbed your temples, "Oh! And he didn't ask about Paris once."

"I wish I could say I'm surprised, but we are talking about the same man who literally never remembers your birthday," Sophia smirked slightly, however it contorted to a grimace when she saw you narrowing your eyes at her. "Not helping, noted."

You made a noise which was somewhere between a sigh and a groan, "I hate him." you let the statement hang in the air, Sophia was used to your rants about your father at this point. Her father was in a similar position to your own, albeit further down the mafia ladder, so she understood.

"Tonight, we are going to look hot, we are going to get drunk, and we are going to get fucked. Seriously."

Sophia smiled at your words, "I like the sound of that." she paused for a second, "Is that a really a good idea though?"

"Probably not" You huffed, "I mean there's a sick part of me that wants to embarrass my father just for fun, but that means I also make an ass of myself just by association."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Sophia added, to which you gave her a side a thump with your leg.

I mean you try and steal a Basquiat painting from a Mafia wedding when your high one time.

"Whatever, I'll just have to see how it goes." you shrugged checking your phone quickly, "It's already five now.

"In that case, I'll get the wine."

By the time seven rolled around you were fairly tipsy, and you and Sophia were staring intently at yourselves in your hallway mirror. You turned in your gown, admiring the way it clung to your curves and hugged your cleavage nicely — you felt good, and looked even better.

"If there aren't any hot people there tonight, I will be taking you home." Sophia joked as she lay her head on your shoulder. You laughed, looking at the two of you in your reflection.

"I'm sure Charlie will be there, wouldn't be the first time this week you've slid into his bed."

Sophia's mouth gaped in shock before she slapped your arm, "You're a bitch. And I hate you." Her face contradicted her words as she fought back a laugh. Your laughter died when you heard your phone buzz from your clutch.

"Driver's here."

As far as Mafia's went, Asgard Industries was the one in New York with the most notoriety by far. The chain itself branched off all across America and as top secret as it was, more often than not your lifestyle would be branded across the Media as one of the most dangerous organisations in the world.

At times however, it didn't even feel like you were part of one of the most illegal chains in the world, purely due to the sheer elegance of it all.

The ballroom for tonight was no exception, high ceilings decked out in the finest decor. In your tipsy state, you kept your head facing up, staring as the dazzling light projections burst into kaleidoscopes of colour. Your mouth was agape in awe. Did it make you a bad person to love this side of the Mafia?

Probably.

You and Sophia had separated only ten minutes ago. She insisted she wanted to find her father but soon, whilst on your wander, you caught her and Charlie hand in hand, walking towards the bathroom. You fought the urge to cheer at her, but knowing it would dampen their moment you bit your tongue.

Now you were left to your own devices. You hadn't seen your father yet, thank god. You were trying to prolong that meeting for as long as possible.

You were now roaming one of the buildings corridors — flask in hand. You tried to ignore the creeping feeling of loneliness as you patrolled the marble floors. You could hear the party in the next room. You knew if you wanted you could be in there, socialising and whatnot.

So why was it that you were here, sinking to the floor in defeat as you guzzled the remainder of your vodka?

You cursed yourself for being so pathetic, you could have everything you wanted at your finger tips, so why did you feel so hollow?

Of course, it was at this point in your little pity party that you heard footsteps coming from around the corner. Despite how unladylike you appeared, you couldn't bring yourself to care, remaining slumped down against the wall like a drunk.

You didn't even open your eyes when you heard the footsteps stop in front of you.

"Do I need to call security?"

The voice, deep and clear rang in your ears. Slowly you opened your eyes. The man before you was nothing short of a Greek God; thick black hair falling in waves around his shoulder like Hades. His hair sat on a hardened face, chiselled in a way that would make even Prometheus envious.

And his eyes, you couldn't even tell what shade they're were from your position on the floor. From what you could see however, his eyes were swirls of deep emerald embedded in a lake of blue.

He was beautiful.

And you were...on the floor.

His face only hardened at your words, looking down at you he spoke, "Do you have no respect for your superiors?"

Your mouth dropped momentarily at the sheer audacity of the man. You weren't sure who he thought he was, but he sure as hell wasn't gaining any of your respect.

Pushing yourself from the floor, you stood toe to toe with the man, his steely expression never changing as you looked up at him.

"Excuse me?" you asked, bewildered at his statement.

He offered no explanation, only moved slightly to the right, separating the two of you.

He smirked briefly, the expression quickly morphing into a more unfriendly one. "You're excused."

You were left to watch as the man walked away from you, his shoes tapping against the marble as he left. You were speechless, what an asshole.

After having a few minutes to collect yourself and the shock of being talked to like dirt, you decided to try and find Sophia. That was, if her and Charlie were done with their bathroom rendezvous.

You entered the ballroom once again, eyes darting around the room in search of Sophia. It was useless, the room was packed. Defeated, you decided to cut your losses, you’d find her eventually.

“Drink, Miss?” a bartender holding a tray of champagne approached you. You nodded with a small smile, downing one flute and setting it down, before reaching for a second.

“Thank you.” you smiled, the alcohol leaving a warmth to you. The bartender, slightly unnerved by your display gave you a tight smile as they walked away.

Drink in hand, you crossed the room, sighing relief when you caught sight of Sophia and Charlie bickering at each other. Alas, some normalcy amongst the weirdness of the night. You began to make your way over to the pair when you heard your name being called form behind you. Groaning, you span on your heels.

“Dad.” you put on your fakest smile as you approached him. The two of you had unknowingly practiced this facade for years now. Act like a loving father in public, then treat you like a ghost the moment the two of you were alone.

“Hello darling” he gave you a forced smile as he embraced you in a hug, pecking your cheeks.

The man to his left said your name in greeting, holding a hand to you, “I’ve heard a lot about you dear. You’ve just come back from Paris, is that correct?”

It was rare to see him at a function, usually the higher the authority in the Mafia meant it would be too dangerous to be seen in public. Although, due to the party being for his son, you guessed he made an exception.

“Correct.” you chose to keep your answers short, you knew your place.

As old-fashioned as it was, the women of the Mafia were treated as property; you were either a trophy wife or a trophy wife in the making.

“Business or pleasure?” he asked with a snide grin, sending chills up your spine.

“Business, I was studying abroad.”

“How interesting.” all his words were slimy, the words slipping from his tongue with a certain element of venom, regardless of how mundane the conversation was. “My son has also been travelling, I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you.”

He didn’t give you chance to respond before you saw him turn to something, beckoning them over with his hand.

And low and fucking behold. You saw who starts to walk towards him. The guy from earlier — no, the asshole from earlier.

“This is my son, Loki.”

[pl-panda]

Damienette arranged marriage: Part 8

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Damienette arranged marriage: part 8

NEXT

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“Children. Chloe wanted to say something to all of you.” The teacher started.

“Yes. I wanted to apologize for my utterly ridiculous behavior in the past and hope that you will give me chance to earn forgiveness from the better part of you.” Chloe stated nonchalantly.

----------

The class exploded into murmurs. Chloe was standing there. It was probably the first time Marinette saw her actually uncomfortable. The blonde was often irritated, tense or even uneasy, but not in this way. She was looking ashamed, but not with her actions. Both damian and Marinette were quite good at reading people and they could tell that Chloe was sincere in her apology.

Alya finally broke from her murmuring with Lila, stood up and looked at the blonde. “How can we know you actually changed. For all we know this might just be some scheme of yours to get Ladybug to trust you again and give you a Miraculous back!” She accused her.

“Yeah! You were always just mean and self-centered. Why would you want to change now?!” Kim shouted.

“You are just sad that Sabrina finally decided not to stick with you!” Rose also joined this

“I can’t believe I stuck with you for so long!” Sabrina huffed and turned away not to look at Chloe.

The blonde looked distraught at the class. She knew that just by apologizing she would achieve little, but Chloe hoped that at least they would not shun her completely. The last few weeks were hard. Now not even Adrien talked to her anymore. A single tear formed in her eye.

“Don’t try playing on our emotions witch!” Alya shouted with anger. “We are all past your lies and manipulation!”

“I estimate ninety percent chance that this is all a plot.” Max stated calmly. 

Lila didn’t say anything aloud, but she was smiling in a twisted way that could be even called evil. She only watched as Chloe was slowly being torn apart by the class. Soon Hawkmoth would get a very strong Akuma.

“You were never even my friend!” Sabrina shouted.

“We don’t want you here!”

“Go to New York and stop bothering us!”

“You are just sad, pathetic bitch!” Alya fumed with anger. How dare Chloe try to manipulate them into liking her again.

Tears streamed down Chloe’s cheeks. She collapsed onto the floor and sobbed. Marinette decided that this was enough. She jumped from her place and walked in front of the class. “What is wrong with you?! Don’t you see you are hurting her!?”

“Shut up bully! You are even worse than her!” Kim didn’t care what the blunette said. 

“Yeah! The two of you are worth one another! Both of you should get lost!” Rose was also not holding back with insults

“No.” Alya said. “Marinette is worse. At least Chloe doesn’t try to sleep with random guy just to get Adrien’s attent…” She didn’t finish when a metal pen suddenly embed itself right in front of her at least an inch deep in the desk.

“That’s enough from you.” Damian growled. He then walked down with hand twitching. Probably the most irritating thing was that the teacher watched this whole scene and didn’t bother to react.

Marinette kneeled next to Chloe. “Don’t worry about them. They are not worth getting akumatized for. Listen to me Chloe. Everything’s all right. I… I forgive you. I saw that this was sincere.” 

The blonde looked up, still having tears in her eyes. “Dupain-Cheng? But… But I was the worst to you...”

“But you try to change. And…” Marinette felt something wet hit the back of her head. She touched it and realized that someone spit at her. 

Damian’s eyes were cold fury. He was so focused on the scene in front of him that he stopped paying attention to the class. He slowly turned to them. A silent anger burned in his eyes. Most people in the class flinched and some tried to sink in their chair. Juleka looked particularly guilty Damian noticed. But Alya and Lila were completely unfazed by him.

“tt. I will say it once, and very slowly so your collective one brain cell understands it. I do not care about any one of you morons. I do not want to make friends with anyone of you because you are not worth it. The only person in this whole class that so far I consider valuable is Marinette, which she proved this very moment. So I will make it crystal clear. Back. Off.” He growled.

“You are protecting two biggest bullis and dare talk to us about worthiness?” Alya refused to shut up, which in other situation would be a risk to her health, but by sheer stroke of luck Damian ignored her and instead turned to Marinette.

The blunette helped Chloe up. “I don’t think she is emotional state to participate in the lesson right now Madame Bustier. Can I walk her out?”

“If you believe that’s best for her.” The teacher stated with a smile. Damian held the urge to growl again. Instead, he just followed Marinette. “And where are you going, young man?”

“I need to make a call to my brother.” Damian stated. Luckily, he was here under fake name so they had no idea who his brother was. Teacher didn’t say anything.

-------

Outside of the class Chloe hugged Marinette tightly, crying yet another river of tears. “Thank you Dupain-Cheng. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“I-it’s okay Chloe. I couldn’t just let them talk to you like that.” 

Damian watched the whole situation with awe. He was focused on planning ways to slaughter the class and make it look like unfortunate accident, but Marinette instead chose to comfort the victim. She did not care about what they said even when they spat on her and insulted her instead. Justice, not Vengeance. Even after five years he had trouble with comprehending this idea. But Marinette lived by it. Right in front of his eyes she comforted someone who bullied her for better part of her life. Damian too knew that this apology was genuine, but he would not be able to forgive so easily. It was almost naive from Marinette to do so.

“I… I don’t think I want to return there. At least not today.” Chloe stated. She slowly calmed down. “They were ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous!” Marinette smiled at Chloe’s catchphrase. 

Damian pulled his phone and called someone nicknamed ‘replacement’. After three rings there was an answer.

“What do you want Demon Spawn?” Tim sounded at the other side.

“Call the school and tell them that three students are to be excused for today. We had a situation here. Explain later. Got to go.” Before Drake had a chance to ask for explanation, Damian hanged up and quickly texted him the names.

“Uh… I think that’s not how it works. Besides, I left my things in class…” Marinette stated unsure.

“It will work.” Damian said firmly. “Now let’s go. I will get your things.” He walked inside the class and Marinette heard some shouts from the inside, but Damian walked outside with a grin. 

“You didn’t hurt anyone?” she asked him pretty unsure.

“Believe me I wanted.” He simply stated and handed her the backpack. 

“Who is your friend Dupain-Cheng?” Chloe asked. Marinette smiled with relief. The blonde was already feeling better apparently. 

“This is Damian… Grayson. From yesterday, remember?”

“I wasn’t in class yesterday.” Chloe stated. “I was… never mind.” She stated and started to walk outside. “Uh… Would you like to go with me Dupain-Cheng?”

“Okay. Honestly… I don’t want to go back there either.” The bluenette stated. “And for their own goods it’s best if Damian don’t go in there alone.” She smiled at the boy.

“I swear. I was gone for one day and you got yourself a boyfriend. Only you Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe grabbed Marinette and dragged her with her out of the school. 

“tt.” Damian followed them quickly before he lost them.

-------

They arrived at the Hotel  Le Grand Paris in record time. It wasn’t even noon. 

“Uh… Chloe? Do you have any plan whatsoever?” Marinette finally asked. She stayed silent for the way, instead just switching between sending Damian an apologetic glares and watching Chloe ramble about their class. She knew that the blonde needed to talk all the emotions out. 

“Of course I have a plan. I want to introduce you to my mother properly. Then we can go to my room and I can do something with your clothes… For a fashion designer you dress ridiculous. Utterly Ridiculous!” Marinette had to admit she was not really a fashion icon that day. Her outfit was completely mismatched. She just took first things that she managed to grab and put them on in the rush. She took a second look at her clothes and gave her a sheepish smile. 

“I kinda maybe might have slightly almost overslept.”

“Scratch that. We are going to my room first. I think we wear more or less the same size.” Chloe stated and dragged the bluenette to the elevator. Damian for the whole trip just walked behind them and let two girls solve it between themselves. He decided it was best if he just didn’t intervene. It was… interesting thing to watch. Chloe pretty much ‘adopted’ the girl. And Damian knew better than to step into this situation. Call it personal experience. 

They got into her room and Chloe locked the doors.

“Okay. Now you explain to me Dupain-Cheng how did you manage to get a mysterious Damian Wayne, the damned ‘Ice Prince’ of Gotham,  to act like a lost puppy toward you.”

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[xsparklingravenx]

crystalize

Title: crystalize

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Childe, Zhongli

Rating: T

Word Count: 4126

Summary: When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred. For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa.

Or, Zhongli stumbles across Childe and is asked to dinner, all while Childe plans on stealing an unsuspecting Archon's gnosis.

AO3

Across the inky canvas of Teyvat’s evening sky, stars glittered like wishes, the night holding them captive for itself. From the balcony of one of Liyue Harbour’s many inns, a man held onto the railing with knuckles white, regarding them with a careless look that belied the truth held within.

The evening breeze teased past locks of wavy hair, toying with the end of a distressed scarf. It was cooler than during the day, but the city itself was no less bustling, moving about below him as if he wasn’t there. Couples linked themselves arm-in-arm to visit attractive restaurants while sailors made their way to taverns, all while merchants finally packed up their wares to return home for the day, perhaps to partners or children, or to empty rooms that were little more than a place to stay. The world went on, unaware it was being watched.

The man felt a little like one of the stars in that moment, though less powerful. Not in the common sense of the word—he was plenty strong—but more in the metaphysical sense. Unlike those stars, he held no kind of ability to grant a wish within him, but he was an observer from further up, something a little more, a Delusion slung around his head in the form of a mask and a night sky to return to when all was over.

Although Snezhnaya would not welcome him home until his mission was complete.

Not far from the inn, the man could see the Wangshen Funeral Parlour, and it was there that his thoughts drifted away from him, an idle smile playing upon his lips. His target resided there most days, going about his business, his work, making his contracts and assisting the people of Liyue throughout some of their hardest times. Zhongli, or, so he said his name was, but the man knew better.

Dark hair, twisting into that thin pony-tail of his. Amber eyes that only legends spoke of. Broad shoulders and always delectably dressed, with a voice so deep that the man on the balcony could only imagine that hearing it was what drowning felt like. He’d never been afraid of water; it was difficult to be, when it bent and broke at his command.

“Childe?”

The voice made the man jolt, hands falling away from the balcony railing, which was unusual for him because he was so rarely ever startled. So deep in his thoughts that he’d conjured a fantasy? Hardly. He was not that careless. No, instead, when he looked down, he found the object of his wayward musings standing beneath him, still dressed to the nines as he always was, those amber eyes he'd been imagining peering up at him curiously.

The name juddered harshly against his psyche, because for a moment, it was not the right one.

“That is you, isn’t it?” said Zhongli, impatient for an answer even though he must have known that he was correct. If there was enough lamplight for the man on the balcony to see him clearly, then there was enough for Zhongli to see him back. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were staying so close by.”

The man, whose name was not truly Childe, made it so it was. He grinned down at him. “That’s ‘cause I’m always full of surprises. What’s up? So eager to see me that you had to come say hi?”

The edges of Zhongli’s lips quirked up near imperceptibly, but it was a smile all the same. “I was just passing through on my way back to my abode, and thought I would give a quick greeting. Though, I will admit, I do feel guilty for drawing you from your thoughts. I don’t imagine you spend a great deal of time in your head, do you?”

Childe barked a laugh before staggering back from the railing with a look of mock offence, one hand covering his heart. “Ouch! Kind of rude, don’t you think? You wound me!”

Zhongli blinked languidly up at him. “Oh. Then I must apologise. I didn’t mean any offence.”

It was difficult to tell if he was joking. Framed in both the silver tones of the starlight and the warm tones of Liyue’s streetlamps, Childe raked his eyes over his form, black and gold and elegant. He was a god in human disguise, something far more than him, and yet someone he'd come to enjoy the presence of regardless. This was the man who he had to break and bend like the water he enjoyed, and yet, here he was, having fun while wearing the skin of the person he knew he could never be.

Leaning back over the railing, Childe said, “Yeah, I know you didn’t. Are you just going home, or do you want to do something fun before you get there?”

“Something fun?” Zhongli said it slowly, as if he was deliberating it. “And what is fun to you, Childe? You wish to break into a hilichurl’s camp for target practice? Or is a theatre play more your fare? I’ll be truthful, I’m not certain.”

Shooting at hilichurl’s did sound entertaining, especially when he thought of fighting at Zhongli’s side, covering his spear with his bow, learning the ins and outs of his style while searching for the weak points. Then again, he had a feeling that Zhongli would prefer something less violent. He enjoyed history, given his encyclopaedic knowledge of Liyue’s past, and he enjoyed talking about it, given his inability to not drop his explanations on anyone who so much as expressed an interest in it. Something quieter would be to his tastes, of that he was sure.

“So, that’s a yes?” Childe asked.

“To?”

“Doing something with me.”

“Ah.” Zhongli smiled again, so nearly invisible yet still there. “So you want to surprise me? Then yes. I’ve nowhere to be, not tonight, so why not spend it in the presence of a friend?”

Friend. Childe grinned, dipping back into his room for his coin purse before returning to the balcony once more. He’d spent more than enough time with Zhongli by now to know how lackadaisical he was when it came to Mora, so it was better to come prepared than be caught short. He was well-stocked, the Fatui’s coffers helping immensely with his (many) expenditures.

“Hey, Zhongli.” He tossed the small bag once into the air before letting it land in his waiting palm. “Catch me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he leapt over the balcony’s edge, delighting in how Zhongli started forward as if he really was going to humour Childe’s request. Still, the fall was not great—he’d traversed Liyue’s cliffsides and mountains enough by now to know when something was too much for him. He landed in a crouch before him, half bow, half flourish, and remained there a moment before straightening to his full height.

“Shame,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “You nearly made it.”

Zhongli raised his brow. “Indeed, although I fear that if I had tried to catch you, you would have bowled us both over.”

“Would that really have been so bad?” Childe asked. “To fall with me, I mean.”

Zhongli considered this a moment, the way he always tended to do, giving Childe’s inane questions more thought than they deserved. The Tsaritsa was not so patient, but he pushed her out of her mind almost as quickly as she entered it.

“Perhaps not,” he answered finally. “So, might I ask, where do you intend for us to go?”

Childe hummed, and then set off ahead of him, linking his hands behind his back as he took large strides. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

***

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

It was common knowledge throughout Teyvat, elemental compositions were taught to every child at the same time they were taught to read, and so all knew. To be caught in a rainstorm when a frozen slime dared approach was sure to spell death, and so travellers oft sought shelter when clouds covered the sky, not so foolish to afford such a fate.

For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa. Water was such a malleable element; it could be burned and turned to vapour. It could be caught up in Ameno’s gusts and wielded as a weapon. Electro used it for its own, turning it into a catalyst of death, and beneath Cryo’s touch, it was shaped into something unbreakable and immovable.

Maybe he had been weak once, a time long ago before the Tsaritsa put her hands on him and fashioned him into the frozen thing he was now. It was not worth remembering. He knelt before her and took her orders, and the ice that surrounded his heart helped him in carrying them out. To spy, to interrogate, to kill—that was the life he had chosen in standing at her side, and so, it was the life he had to live out.

“You wear your masks so easily, Tartaglia,” La Signora commented once, just before they left on their concurrent assignments. He was to leave for Liyue to track down the Geo Archon, while she was destined for Mondstadt and its deity of Ameno. “Why, I often find myself wondering if I’m ever looking at the truth.”

She was as frozen as the Tsaritsa, wielding her frost like gloves as her fingers caressed his face, tipping his chin so he would look up into her eyes of ice. Body frozen beneath her touch, he made himself grin, though he was hardly entertained by her display of dominance.

“Says you, when you’ve always got your face half-covered,” he replied, reaching up to grasp her wrist, fingers tight against her pale skin. “What secrets are you hiding, La Signora? Care to spill?”

“Deflecting? How childish a move.” La Signora chuckled, her fingers still about his face, freezing impressions left behind as she used her fingertip to trace his skin. “Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. No light left in there at all. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were little more than a living corpse, something brought back from the dead.”

“Still alive, sorry to say,” Tartaglia said, finally pulling her hand from his face. When he let go, she sneered at him, a delightful expression on her haughty face. “You came to find me here for a reason, and somehow I don’t think it was to insult me, so why not say what you came to say?”

Haughty and cold, a favourite of the Tsaritsa, La Signora couldn’t resist her biting words and frozen tones. He already knew why she was before him. She was an extension of their Cryo Archon, a god's words often sitting on her poison tongue.

She reached out again, though this time she touched not his face, but the real, physical mask that sat on the side of his head. There was power in that mask, Electro sparks sealed within it, Electro sparks that would take control and use his Hydro vision for its own should he choose to wear it. Her smile was a bladed thing, and she said, “I trust you’re showing me your true face now, right, Tartaglia?”

He smiled. It was easy enough to put one on his face. “Naturally.”

“You understand how important this mission is, do you not?” La Signora said, still caressing the mask. “And you understand what it is you will face? The Geo Archon will not show himself so easily to someone as tricky and deceptive as yourself, Tartaglia, and there will be no help from the other Harbingers either. You are on your own, little boy, and your punishment will not be kind, should you fail.”

She pulled back from him and walked away, each footstep crashing hard against the stone floor of the Fatui’s base. Tartaglia watched her go, still feeling her ice in his soul. It had not been this way, once. He had not been Fatui, and he had not been a Harbinger. He had not been shackled to this destiny, and he had not enjoyed his fate.

But now? He had been shaped to someone else’s will, taken beneath someone’s wing, given a place to belong and a position that required only his best. He was Fatui. He was a Harbinger. He was shackled to his destiny, and yet he did enjoy it.

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

When Tartaglia encountered the Tsaritsa, he’d been made hers.

***

On their way through the streets, not long after he’d begun leading the way, Childe did what he was best at. He overstepped ordinary boundaries, slowing down to let Zhongli catch up with him, and then linking his arm with his.

Zhongli didn’t seem all that surprised at the action, but he did look over. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something out,” Childe replied with a grin, testing him by pulling a little. Zhongli let him, but didn’t allow him to go free entirely. “Yeah, this is fun. Now it really seems like a night out, huh?”

He was mostly teasing, even if there was a small, fragmented part of him where the Tsaritsa’s ice hadn’t touched that wanted Zhongli to agree. The stars still watched them overhead, still caught up in the night sky’s hold, yet he felt freer than usual beneath their gaze.

“I don’t usually see friends this close,” Zhongli observed. “I’m certain this is something that lovers do.”

“Is it, now?” Childe asked, deliberately playing ignorant. Zhongli must have realised that, given his tone, yet still he let it pass, and still, he didn’t move away. Perfect. This was how one got close to a mark—he had to make their relationship, whether that was friendship or something more, as legitimate as he could. It was swapping masks for masks, looking for quirks and delights, picking apart at the person he was to betray to find out what made them tick. It wasn’t real, and it never would be, but it had to feel that way, to both him, and the mark too.

“Something tells me,” Zhongli said, all smooth tones and raised brows, “that you’re intending for this to look that way.”

With a chuckle, Childe leaned into him, still leading the way to the destination in mind. “Is that a problem?”

Zhongli was quiet a moment, once again deliberating, taking Childe seriously when he really didn’t have to. “No. No problem at all.”

Childe ignored how his heart skipped over a beat, glancing up at the curve of Zhongli’s jaw, at the glittering amber of his eyes. A thought came to him then, one he really shouldn’t have been entertaining, and he said, as a way of leading onto the topic he desired, “You know, I’ve always thought that your eyes look pretty…well. Bright.”

“Please, save me your comparisons to Cor Lapis, or what have you. I can assure you, I’ve heard it all before.”

“So modest!” Childe snickered, shaking his head. “Wasn’t intending on it. They sure are something though. What about me? What would you compare mine too?”

“If I’d known you’d asked me to go out just so you could fish for compliments, I would have driven a harder bargain initially,” Zhongli said. “You can pay for the food tonight, if that’s acceptable.”

“I was gonna pay for it anyway. You think I’d trust you to bring your own bag of Mora?” Childe shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m waiting.”

La Signora’s words resided in his ears, echoed sounds that he was ashamed to say had cut a little too deeply. Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. How part of him wished to rip hers from her sockets for saying such a thing.

Zhongli thought on it long enough that Childe thought he wasn’t to get an answer, but eventually, he spoke. “There are pools in the mountains here, Childe, where fish swim beneath the surface, that shimmer delightfully in the sunlight. When the sun shines here in Liyue, your eyes look remarkably the same, although there are no fish, I’m pleased to say. That would be quite odd.”

It was a thoughtful answer. Painfully so. Struck silent, Childe could do nothing but ruminate on it, on how it contrasted with La Signora’s frozen insult, how it clashed with the ice about his heart.

“Thanks,” he whispered after a moment, a little touched, perhaps, enough to quieten his inner-voice that always pushed him to make light of a situation. Shining lights ahead alerted him that they were nearing their destination, a restaurant that served Snezhnayan cuisine. “Hey, we’re here. Check out this place, you’re going to try something new!”

“New?” Zhongli snorted. “Childe, if you think this is new, then you’re quite mistaken. I once shared meals with a friend from Snezhnaya quite a few many years ago—”

“And I’m sure that was great and all, but I bet it’s changed since then.” Childe was well aware of what he was speaking of, even if Zhongli didn’t realise that. “Now this is my treat, so I’m ordering.”

Zhongli hummed, one hand at his chin in thought. “Do you really think we’ll get a table without a reservation?”

Childe dragged him forward. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Now, let’s go!”

***

In reality, it was all a ruse.

Encountering Zhongli tonight was a happy accident, but the invitation to the restaurant was nothing more than an attempt to get him to let his guard down. When dinner was done, Childe planned to get him alone in some quiet area of town, reach his hand beneath skin, and rip out the thing that made him more than mortal.

For Zhongli was Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon, and Childe was the eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, and he’d been sent to retrieve his gnosis.

The table had been easy, once Childe had replaced his mask with that of Tartaglia and spoken to the owner in his Snezhnayan tongue. As fortune would have it, the owner was Snezhnaya born and bred, and he had much love for his motherland. Perhaps more than Childe did.

“Your grasp of language is impressive, Childe,” Zhongli said once they were seated and champagne was poured before them. He picked up his glass and swirled the liquid within, gazing into it. “You never fail to surprise me. It’s perhaps my favourite thing about you.”

Unbeknownst to him, his words, though coated in honey, were like a dagger to the ribs. I’ll be surprising you even more, once this is through, thought Tartaglia, but it was Childe who said, “Oh? That’s a loaded statement. Okay, so tell me, what else do you like?”

“And you say I’m immodest!” Zhongli sipped at his drink and laughed around it. “I enjoy your company, though, if I must say something. And your bag of Mora. It's always at hand to assist me in a pinch.”

“That’s a joke, right? It’d better be a joke.” Childe reached forward, though he didn’t grab for his own glass of champagne. Instead, he went for the water beside it. Alcohol would distort his mind and muddy his aim when he went for the gnosis. “C’mon, you can’t just like me for my Mora, right?”

“It was a joke,” Zhongli clarified, taking another sip, and Childe couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he was enjoying one of his home’s beverages. He’d have to order vodka next time—

No. Not next time, because it wouldn’t come to be.

“Regardless, if you’re that desperate for another compliment…” Zhongli carried on as if Childe’s mind wasn’t running away with itself. “The colour of your hair is rather delicate, even if I can’t tell precisely which colour it is. In some lights, I daresay it’s more the colour of Cor Lapis than even my eyes. In other, it resembles more earthen stone.”

Despite having not taken a sip of alcohol, Childe felt warm, his cheeks heated. “Wow, you really lay it on thick, don’t you? Stone, though? Got to say, don’t think I’ve ever really been compared with Geo structures before.”

“Understandably. It seems we are often drawn to the colours and concepts that our Visions invite.” Zhongli glanced up. “Might I ask what food we are to sample tonight?”

“You can wait and see on that too,” Childe said, leaning back in his seat, and before long they were greeted by a waiter holding red soups in large bowls. Zhongli tilted his head as his was placed before him, and Childe rose to answer his question before he even asked it. “It’s called Borscht. This looks pretty good, actually. Thick and stodgy.”

Zhongli, eager to sample it, took his spoon and went for it. He remained quiet for a moment while he experienced the flavour, and then said, “Hm. Rather sour.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what to expect. It’s good though!” Childe took his own mouthful, and then another sip of water. “Oh, yeah, this is how it should be. Real sour. But good. What do you think?”

Zhongli went in for another spoonful, which was promising. “Unusual, but something I could get used to. A little bit like you, I suppose.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, promise,” Childe laughed, making himself slow down as he ate, not wanting this moment to be over too quickly. The end of the evening would bring the end to this thing he’d been building here in Liyue, and there was no need to rush it. Zhongli would be merry by the end of it, and Childe would finish it there, before escaping into the night, never to be seen by him again. Quick. Easy. A soulless end to a not-so-soulless mission. He’d return to the Tsaritsa and let her put her hands on him again, refreeze his heart and mould himself back to her will.

And so the meal carried on, their chatter a murmur against the warm buzz of the restaurant, another pair amidst many.

***

The stars still glittered when Childe led Zhongli from the establishment, his head clear despite how his heart beat hard in his chest. The moon hung between them, a silver curve nestled amongst a thousand lights, the only witness of what was to pass.

“I should return home,” Zhongli said, not muzzy in the slightest despite how much he’d drank. He’d made work of the entire bottle, Childe’s share and his own, and then he’d gone on for another, apparently not caring for the dent it made in Childe’s bag of Mora. “As pleasant as the night has been, I do have work in the morning. The funeral parlour will not excuse lateness, not even from me.”

“Hold on,” Childe said, linking their arms anew, pulling him around the side of the building. “You’re gonna leave, just like that? C’mon, don’t I warrant a couple more minutes?”

It was dark, behind the restaurant, cool and shadowed, the moonlight not quite reaching. Childe shuddered, uncharacteristically cold, and Zhongli frowned. “Everything alright there, Childe?”

“Just fine,” Childe replied, pulling away and turning to face him. Zhongli peered at him with a bemused expression. “Stop looking at me like that. Hey, listen, close your eyes for me, just a sec.”

Zhongli considered his request as he did everything else, slowly and thoughtfully, but he complied. Easier than expected, Tartaglia thought, but Childe’s heart smashed into his ribs with renewed anger. There was no coming back from this. This was the end of his mission.

He pressed his hand to Zhongli’s chest, pushing aside his jacket, and Zhongli tensed beneath his touch. He could feel him breathing, chest moving, and how odd it was, for something so godly to draw breath. It was human. Just like him. Just like anyone.

He curled his fingers, ready to dive beneath-and Childe, inexplicably, hesitated.

“Do it,” whispered Zhongli, cracking one eye open, a glint of amber in the dark “if you can.”

It was a dare. Or was it a challenge? Childe’s voice broke in his throat as he closed in, as he felt Geo crash against him, warm and inviting. This was his mission, he told himself. This was what the Tsaritsa wanted. This was his role as a Harbinger.

Yet he did not reach beneath skin. Instead, he reached up, and pressed his lips to Zhongli’s in a kiss.

Another night, Tartaglia told himself.

When Geo met Hydro, Crystalize occurred. A crystal that provided a safeguard, a defensive property, something to keep a person safe.

When Childe���s touch met with Zhongli’s, the ice about his heart melted away, replaced with a shield for the future.

[goreprofonde]

Aaron Rodgers - Climax

“Life is a collective impossibility.”

There were so many languages. Aramaic, Phoenician, Etruscan, Tamil, Moabite, Umbrian. Too many languages. From where did they all come? It was a puzzlement, especially if you believed—and if you were authoring the Pentateuch you no doubt did—that all these speakers were branches of a single family tree. Why would Noah’s descendants, leaving the Ark to replenish the Earth, differ so greatly from one another? You needed an etiology, you did. If you were Greek, you might blame Hermes. If you were Bantu, you might blame a famine-induced madness. But if you were writing the Book of Genesis, you might blame, well, God.

The story of the Tower of Babel from Genesis 11 is short—very short. You’ve probably heard it, or at least something like its broadest outlines. In only nine verses no longer than your average nursery rhyme, the postdiluvian people (speaking but one language) decide in their arrogance to build a tower to reach the heavens; the Lord sees it and is displeased; and so the Lord confuses their language and scatters them about the globe. Short, sweet, and to the point: Pride goeth before the globe-scattering fall.

Or at least that is the traditional interpretation. And it’s not an unreasonable one—what few dots there are seem to connect in a pretty straight line, and old-timey Yahweh was quite prone to smiting, having just exited his “drown them all” Great Flood phase. Like so many ancient stories, it easily calcifies into something abstract and removed from the specifics of the story itself. But actually reading the nine relevant verses is quite a time—especially when read from the perspective of an acolyte of God fashioning an explanation for the world’s diversity of languages. For the Lord did not just punish the people for their hubris; he did so out of fear that their unity of language and of purpose would make them his rivals (“and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do”). And the Lord did not choose just any punishment; he chose exactly the thing that the people most feared (“and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth” / “and from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth”). Taken together, it paints an astonishingly bleak picture—humanity, its highest goals easily scuttled by outside forces, overseen by a vengeful, jealous God more interested in chaos and the psychological scars of a self-fulfilling prophecy than in peace or understanding. (And all this from Moses, one of God’s chief troubadours! Imagine the story a naysayer might have told.)

It’s hard not to think of the Tower of Babel in the wake of Climax, Gaspar Noé’s latest boundary-pushing entry in his own foreboding corner of the cinéma du corps/New French Extremity. Noé is not shy about citing his idols and reference points generally, from Godard to Kubrick to Lynch, nor has he been subtle about the influences on Climax—in addition to referencing the Tower of Babel, Shivers, and The Towering Inferno (among others) in interviews, Noé has helpfully laid out a wealth of data points surrounding the monitor on which he displays his dance troupe’s introductory interviews. Among the citations: Argento’s Suspiria; Fassbinder’s Querelle; Żuławski’s Possession; Pasolini’s Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom; and Buñuel’s Un Chien Andalou, not to mention various books like Taxi Driver and How to Succeed at Suicide. The ways in which these influences play out are sometimes obvious (e.g., Selva’s (Sofia Boutella) agonized, writhing convulsion in the hallway explicitly recalls Isabelle Adjani’s subway paroxysm in Possession), sometimes less so (e.g., Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis, which—according to Noé, the little stinker—appears because “I like the title and I like the book...because it’s so cruel”). There is no Holy Bible propped up against Noé’s mid-1990s tube TV, but the idea of a vengeful and jealous overseer disrupting an attempt at something greater is central to Climax. As he did in Irréversible, Noé realizes that hell, unbearable as it can be, is only made more hellish by the possibility of heaven.

Climax begins (like Irréversible) with the ending. Lou (Souheila Yacoub), covered in blood, is seen from overhead stumbling through the snow before collapsing. Something terrible has obviously happened to her (this is Noé, after all), but unlike Irréversible, which unfurls a fully backward chronology, this prologue is only a brief flash-forward. After the credits play, Climax introduces us to its large cast via the aforementioned interviews, quickly sketching its players’ backgrounds, interests, and fears as the dancers—applying to be part of some sort of international touring group—discuss sex and drugs and other points of interest to the bohemian twentysomething circa 1996. From there, Climax moves to an abandoned school on the outskirts of Paris where the group is rehearsing, and it is at this point that Noé provides his greatest shock of all: joy. As the dancers krump and vogue and contort in what can only be called harmonious dissonance, Noé’s unbroken take evokes the bygone MGM musical of Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly, celebrating the amazing things a body in motion can do not by simulating that motion through quick-hitting edits but through the camera’s unblinking gaze.

Of course, Climax’s version of the cinematic dance number has a decidedly modern bent not incidental to its overarching themes. The participants in manager Emmanuelle’s (Claude Gajan Maull) group are not performing in the classical Astaire-and-Rogers style, nor do they look like the cast of Singin’ in the Rain. Instead, they are diverse in almost every way—nationally, ethnically, sexually, socioeconomically. What they have in common—in addition to youth—is an affinity for creative movement and a desire/belief (perhaps born of naïveté) that through their collective efforts they can make the world a better place. Climax early on declares that it is a French film and proud of it and a large sequined French flag hangs behind the dancers, framing their efforts. For a time, it seems as though these young performers, accepting of all comers and overflowing with joie de vivre, might represent a new, aspirational future for France, free of the petty jealousies and insecurities and bigotries that define (and mar) life as we know it.

But Noé is not one for uplift, and as the prophetic prologue cautions, this jubilant beginning must come to an end. After their astonishing first dance—several of the most infectious minutes one is likely to see onscreen—the performers become revelers, celebrating their upcoming tour with food and merriment and sangria. That sangria happens to be laced with LSD—something neither the dancers nor we yet know, though some pointed shots of the punch bowl and the too-frequent mentions of its contents suggest trouble—and will soon cause this utopian mini-society to erupt into death and madness. But the eruption is that of a festering boil. Cleverly, Noé follows the initial dance with a series of conversations among the participants, mostly broken off in pairs. While further fleshing out their characters and deepening certain audience connections (and introducing Tito (Vince Galliot Cumant), Emmanuelle’s young son who, being a child in a Noé film, cannot possibly meet a good end), these interactions also reveal the lie behind the seeming idyll we have just witnessed. Sexual gamesmanship, misogyny, mutual distrust, power dynamics, a general unease—even before the drugged wine has taken hold, no amount of common bond or feel-good sentiments can fully inoculate against the crassness and misanthropy of the human condition. Vive la France—unless that French flag plays less than wholesomely to some of the carousers whose skin color may have left them disadvantaged under its auspices. God is with us—unless God, wary of his waning primacy and unwilling to go down without a fight, has been against us all along.

From there, Noé gifts us one additional extended dance sequence—this time shot from above, like a devilish cousin to Busby Berkeley’s showstoppers—but the additional knowledge we have gained makes the number play very differently than its predecessor. It is still exuberant, still exciting, still full of technical and physical marvels, but there is a sense of disquiet coursing through it, of tenuous allegiances and bids for attention. The playful back-and-forth of the first dance feels slightly more strained; the seemingly effortless flow of before is supplemented with an element of jockeying and competition. All these workers building a tower, but unsure about one another’s methods or their mutual destination.

Being a Noé film, it is no surprise that from there Climax descends into recriminations and mutilation, child endangerment and incest, and ultimately into a crimson-lit nightmare resulting in death. Noé’s superb camerawork—always a hallmark—not only complements the dancing beautifully (one truly wishes that he, along with Edgar Wright, would make an out-and-out musical, though for Noé that would almost certainly have to be Sweeney Todd), it also brings to life the increasingly fragile (and ultimately disintegrated) mental states of his crew of revelers. While Selva is probably the closest thing Climax has to a protagonist as the camera follows her back and forth from the common space to the dorm rooms the group has been occupying, no one seems fully safe/sane—not Selva, as she comes undone in front of some nature-backdrop wallpaper; not Lou or Omar (Adrien Sissoko), who abstain from the sangria for personal reasons that end up visiting upon them violence (whether Western culture dislikes a Muslim or a sexually active woman more is a question Climax does not definitively resolve); not even Daddy (Kiddy Smile), as he good-naturedly DJs the proceedings. That Climax employs so much improvisation is nothing short of miraculous, given how intricately some of Noé’s long takes appear to be choreographed. But beyond mere showmanship (of his own or his performers), these extended sequences give Climax the disorienting effect of feeling both dreamlike (or, perhaps more accurately, nightmarish) and realistic. Real life does not employ the careful and selective cutting of a movie, unfolding as its own long take, yet the memories thereof are fragmented in a subconscious act of self-editing, making Noé’s aesthetic appropriately both distancing and suffocating.

This visual evocation of an unyielding descent into hell is complemented perfectly by Noé and Ken Yasumoto’s sound design. The music that previously served as an enthusiastic soundscape turns menacing and relentless, with the percussive beats and throbbing bass driving the drug-addled action perpetually forward, stymieing any possible reflective moment. Yet that merciless music is preferable to the screams and groans it sometimes drowns out—cries that are themselves preferable, in the case of Tito, to a sudden silence that is deafening in its horrific implications. Even the comparatively hospitable environs of the sleeping quarters see Dom (Mounia Nassangar) attacking Lou and Taylor (Taylor Kastle) taking advantage of his sister, Gazelle (Giselle Palmer). As the sangria brings out the group’s (somewhat) latent paranoia and aggression and worst impulses, a downward spiral is inevitable; once gravity takes hold, escape velocity becomes nearly impossible to achieve.

Unlike Irréversible, Noé does not end Climax on a tragic but perversely bittersweet note; instead, he ends it with a possible explanation for the madness that disquietingly suggests that the madness was unavoidable. The perpetrator’s outsider status implies the doomed nature of group activity. The lies told in the instigator’s interview speak to the inefficacy of preparatory efforts. Most upsettingly, the culprit’s name, drawn from Greek mythology and literally meaning “breath of life,” points back to God and the Tower of Babel. The people banded together in an attempt to do something great, something just within reach. But God wouldn’t have it. So he scrambled the synapses a bit—a different language here, a chemically disrupted neuro-receptor there—and voilà, his supremacy was re-established. But to what end? “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair,” said a king of kings, until nothing beside remained. Pride goeth before the fall; when the proud one is divine, the fall leads all the way to hell.

[manuscripts-dontburn]

Carrie

Author: Stephen King

First published: 1974

Pages: 171

Rating: ★★★☆☆

How long did it take: 1 day

A good entertainment to cleanse my palette.... Might check out more King books eventually.

The Price Guide to the Occult

Author: Leslye Walton

First published: 2018

Pages: 288

Rating: ★★★☆☆

How long did it take: 3 days

First of all, there should be a MASSIVE trigger warning for self-harm and parental abuse. Second of all, this is one of those books that simply needed more meat and more time. The premise is interesting, the writing beautiful, but all the gore and horror in it would have benefitted greatly from a more complex world. Many key scenes and situations were explained in a hurry and left one unsatisfied. And saying all that, just because a book is centred around a teen girl should not make it a YA. Because this is not.

My Grandmother Sends Her Regards and Apologises

Author: Fredrik Backman

First published: 2013

Pages: 342

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

How long did it take: 4 days

Look, I completely understand why this book is so praised by many people. I could pinpoint the many places in it which probably resonate with others. But for whatever reason, I was bored for most of it. I had to force myself to continue reading and that is never good. This was just not for me.

The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky

Author: Mackenzi Lee

First published: 2019

Pages: 128

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 1 day

This was just friggin stinking cute. Cannot wait for another book in this series.

Medieval Bodies: Life, Death and Art in the Middle Ages

Author: Jack Hartnell

First published: 2019

Pages: 352

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 11 days

Very accessible to anyone, with or without a knowledge of medieval times. I enjoyed the way the book was structured according to various body parts, which then were used as a base for a discussion of other topics relevant to life in the Middle Ages. It is not just medicine, but also sexuality, travelling, fashion and other themes. I would have liked the book to be much more lengthy, to be honest, because I simply found it fascinating. My favourite part? Probably the ode to the vagina and the explanation of the penis trees. I am just a lowly human with a dirty mind after all!

The Raven Boys

Author: Maggie Stiefvater

First published: 2012

Pages: 409

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 5 days

I had so much fun reading this! It was like The Secret History by Donna Tart, except less on crack and with magic. What I appreciated were the were very real conflicts dealing with social class, the clear individuality of each character, the fact that going to class and striving for good marks is actually a significant factor for these kids and also a twist I did not see coming. Intrigued. Will definitely read the rest of the series.

The Gloaming

Author: Kirsty Logan

First published: 2018

Pages: 320

Rating: ★★★☆☆

How long did it take: 8 days

First of all, I have to say that the cover and Kirsty´s previous books made me expect something completely else than I was given. So here goes for everybody else: this is NOT a book about mermaids and it is NOT in any way related to The Gracekeepers. It is a story about FAMILY and the weight of OBLIGATION in contrast to personal WANTS as well as searching for the meaning of HOME. Sprinkled with just a tiny magical element. The writing is gorgeous and the atmosphere utterly melancholy. So why didn't I love it more? Partly because of my misplaced expectations, but that I could probably overlook. However, this story is so slow that even halfway through the book I still had a feeling it hasn't started yet. It also took a little while to get used to the format in which the timelines skip here and there and everywhere. In the end, it all does click together and it did leave me thinking about the book though. To steal the very last line: perhaps that's all we can ask.

Every Heart a Doorway

Author: Seanan McGuire

First published: 2016

Pages: 168

Rating: ★★★☆☆

How long did it take: 1 day

I truly appreciate the idea as well as inclusivity of this book, at the same time I have to say that if anything, I felt it was unfinished. It felt like a first or second draft, just capturing the basic skeleton (pun intended) of the story before the author would return it and actually put meat on it (he he he). Why should I care for characters I know nothing about and met them yesterday? The language was felt adequate yet fairly unimpressive. And in what reality people have such a lacklustre reaction to brutal murder? This book feels like an opportunity not taken and it is a real pity. Because the premise and even the plot had so much potential.

Zinky Boys: Soviet Voices from the Afghanistan War

Author: Svetlana Alexievich

First published: 1989

Pages: 224

Rating: ★★★★★

How long did it take: 5 days

This was an absolutely brutal read. A perfect gallery of human voices and the differences of their experience of the same events. Just really brutal.

Mermaid Moon

Author: Susann Cokal

First published: 2020

Pages: 496

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

How long did it take: 3 days

I am SO disappointed but I guess it serves me right since this one was a complete cover buy. Unfortunately, the gorgeousness of the book (including UNDER the cover) is not matched by the content. I had expected a melancholy fairytale since after all this is supposed to be a sort of retelling of the Little Mermaid. And the premise itself sounded promising too. A young mermaid comes on land to find her long lost human mother, but unexpected happenings surrounding our main protagonist inspires some pretty strong feelings in a humble and religious community. Sadly the story is told in a way which makes me wonder for whom it was intended. Most of the book reads like the most boring and basic teenage romance (including instalove and a love triangle), but then there are really unnecessary descriptions of interspecies mating techniques. The structure of the story is very sloppy. I feel the 2 stars are more than generous.

Hitler's Forgotten Children: The Shocking True Story of the Nazi Kidnapping Conspiracy

Author: Ingrid Von Oelhafen

First published: 2015

Pages: 256

Rating: ★★★☆☆

How long did it take: 3 days

I was misled by the title of the book. I went into it expecting a study of Lebensborn (which was not a completely unknown thing to me) which would explore the reasons of its birth (pun not intended), people behind it, more information on the people who ran it, exploration of the routine and of course personal stories of its children. In a concise but rather short and watered-down way, I got all of those, however, it did not offer me any real depth of information. So what this book actually is? It is a personal memoir of a lady who had battled all of her life with the question of identity and origins and found in her later years that she was actually a Lebensborn baby. We get to know her difficulties over searching for information and eventually finding her origins. On one hand, the story is interesting and the writing very accessible, on the other hand, I found it somewhat unengaging and, as previously noted, not too informative for someone like me, who already possesses some knowledge of the matter, both because I have studied history and because the Nazis stealing children has always been a big topic in my country, Czechoslovakia back then since it happened here too. .

The Home For Unwanted Girls

Author: Joanna Goodman

First published: 2018

Pages: 364

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 3 days

A touching tale about complicated family matters and relationships in the context of 1950s Canada. I really enjoyed it and it earns bonus points for teaching me something new in terms of history. Definitely would recommend if you like books like Before We Were Yours.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Other Stories

Author: Robert Louis Stevenson

First published: 1886

Pages: 256

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 9 days

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this collection of short stories. True, I did not much care about one and felt a bit disappointed by another (The Suicide Club which had a phenomenal premise but fell short on excitement or satisfying finish), but overall I was quite intrigued and amused.

The Prince and the Dressmaker

Author: Jen Wang

First published: 2018

Pages: 277

Rating: ★★★★☆

How long did it take: 1 day

Oh my gosh this was SO PURE and THAT FINALE actually had me in stitches!!!!

[uman143]

Dream Journal 5

7/28/20

It has been awhile since my last Dream Journal post.  In general I don’t use tumblr much anymore, sad but that’s what happens.  But when I remembered this dream a few minutes after getting out of bed in the morning, I knew I’d have to write a post about it if I could remember enough.  In my spare time at work I jotted down everything I could recall, about two strange folks I just call...

“The Sisters”

- There was stuff before the part I really remember of this dream, but I don’t really recall it and it’s not that important.  It took place on a series of raised platforms similar to one of the trading posts you find on planets in No Man’s Sky.  I have no idea what was going on there, there were a group of us, one of them was an online friend I’ve never met in real life and never dreamed about before. - So, on one of the lower platforms of this place, only a few feet up off the ground, there was a staircase that went from the floor of the platform, down INTO the barren ground, in continued, into darkness.  I went down these stairs and had the feeling I was going down a long way.  At the bottom is a long, long hallway, itself probably inspired by the long underground hallway level in No More Heroes (not the last video game inspiration in this dream either). - I must have gone down this hallway for a long time, but in the dream my point of view just zoomed down the stairs, zoomed down the hallway, quickly.  It’s very very dim.  As I reach the end it slows down, though.  Things get brighter as the end of the hallway begins to come into focus.

- Something I distinctly remember about this is that the end of the hallway, despite getting brighter, was still very blurry until I got close, like even though I was the person that was there looking at this, there was something obscuring my vision.  I could make out that there were two people sitting at a table, but only when I was a few feet away could I actually make them out in detail. - There were two women sitting at a very simple table, like the cheapest card table you could buy from anywhere.  They were dressed nicely in old-fashioned clothing, like something from the 1800s.  They had nicely done hair, but not much makeup on.  Their faces were pale, but not lifeless.  They were both looking straight at me, with their hands flat on the table.  I could tell that they were related, and I got the impression that they looked somehow young and old at the same time. - We must have talked but I honestly don’t remember what we talked about.  Thinking on it later, I think they must have had high-class sounding Kentuckyian or Cajun accents.  I think the one on the left was much more talkative, the right sister did not talk much if at all.  Their personalities were cold but they were not devoid of personality.  It’s hard for me to tell how much of this is actually from the dream, and how much is me sort of adding it in mentally later. - There are a couple more things I distinctly remember about my interaction with The Sisters.  About two thirds of the wall behind where they sat at the end of this hallway was just that, a concrete wall.  There may have been some storage shelves there, with random unimportant things on them.  But the right third of the wall was an opening where the hallway continued into complete darkness.  This logically must have been where The Sisters came from.  This sub-hallway was only narrow enough for one person at a time, it was pretty creepy. - The second thing I remember was that at the end of this interaction, I got up from my chair across from them, and walked around the table on the left side of it.  I bent down, bending past the left sister, and the right sister, the non-talkative one, gave me a kiss on the cheek.  It felt like a cross between letting your grandma kiss you when you don’t really want her to, and kissing the ring of the mob boss, like something ceremonial. - That was all I remember of my actual contact with them.  But I also remember what must have been a return to that place, though I don’t know when I left or came back.  I remember that at the other end of the hallway where the stairway ended, where there wasn’t anything before, there was now, next to the bottom fo the staircase, an alcove that led to a back area with a sort of workshop desk with tools and things on it.  To the left of this desk was a metal door similar to the one seen in the mine area of Resident Evil 7.  I never opened that door, but I did take a small Japanese-style saw from it that I later used, though its handle had broken off, to cut a rope that lowered a ladder on one of the upper platforms. - I also remembered seeing a cavern that seemed to be in between the stairway and the hallway.  Even though I just said that the end of the stairway went straight into the hallway, now with this alcove - this is a dream, it doesn’t make sense.  This cavern was big and high, and must have been lit from above somehow, it was not lit by torches.  The stairs ended on a stone floor that went into a stone bridge over a chasm.  Across this pit was a raised platform with two ramps leading up to it on either side, carved into the stone - think something similar in construction to the crystal cave from season 3 of Attack On Titan.  In front of the ramps, on the sides of the platforms, were two huge statues of women.  I think they were robed.  Logically, these would probably be The Sisters, but I don’t know.  On the platform itself, there were other statues, people-sized or smaller, surrounding a circular area a couple inches deep into the ground, that may have been filled with a very small amount of water.  I don’t really remember what these statues were, but I think one of them was a mother holding a baby.  This was obviously an altar of some sort. - That, really, is all I remember.

- So, this dream fascinated me because all the elements combined to make these two people (?) and the place they inhabited just incredibly mysterious, scary, and intriguing.  There are several things that are probably only there because, you know, it’s a dream, but that thinking about it logically, could have some sort of explanation:  - The Sisters’ hallway being blurry until you get close to them, plus them seeming both young and old at once, might make you think they have powers over illusion or perception.  Once I received the kiss from them, I could then see parts of their domain I wasn’t able to before - once again, that is not necessarily what actually happened in this dream, but if you were to look at it like a story that DOES have logic behind it, that’s what you would think was the reason I could see these new places. - It’s also just the perfect mix between creepy and just weird for my tastes.  It doesn’t verge into full-on creepypasta or SCP territory, The Sisters’ appearance in antique clothes in this weird bright hallway at this cheap table could even be seen as somewhat humorous.  If I were to see a place and characters like this on TV, I think I myself would be impressed with how it skirted that line of being creepy without seeming like something that’s been done in this age where there’s a million spooky stories out there.  - But speaking of things that have been done...There’s one very clear inspiration for The Sisters themselves that I haven’t mentioned until now: The vampire witches from the trailer for as-yet-unreleased Resident Evil Village (RE8).  They also dress in old fashioned clothing, and while you can’t really infer from the dream what The Sisters might be, I feel like they have elements of vampires (stealing life force with a kiss?) and witches.  There is absolutely inspiration there, but - as if I need to defend my own dream from accusations of plagarism - I think it’s original enough.

[eyreguide]

7 Unusual Jane Eyre Adaptation Choices

Here again, is a deep dive into Jane Eyre adaptations with a look at unusual adaptation choices.  This was a little difficult for me to differentiate from my previous posts on the Top 10 Invented Scenes and the Top 8 Worst Adaptation Choices, but this time, I’m thinking of choices that really belie the intent of the original story or choices that you don’t see in the other adaptations.  Unique ideas that perhaps don’t ruin the narrative (so they aren’t one of the worst adaptation choices) or choices that surprise me by their inclusion.  I’m listing my choices in chronological order:

1934 - Adele is Rochester’s niece

Continuing with their attempts to do away with the moral issues of Rochester, the 1934 adaptation makes it clear that little Adele is Mr. Rochester’s niece.  Celine Varens is neatly erased, and Mr. Rochester comes off as a kind, doting uncle.  In terms of adaptation, this is a very succinct way to explain Adele, and I’m a little surprised that this hasn’t been used again - even though it is entirely wrong.  

1957 - Mr. Mason is shown to the guests to have been attacked

For dramatic purposes, this is a fantastic change to the story - instead of having Mr. Mason attacked behind closed doors, he makes his way downstairs to the house party and falls down with blood on him and a knife in his hand.  Mr. Rochester’s explanation?  “It’s only an accident.”  Sure.  This adds to the general hilarity of this adaptation though, which has quite a few questionable adaptation choices.

1971 - Uncle John visits Jane at Lowood

I’ve only recently started watching this Spanish adaptation of Jane Eyre from 1971 (episodes are released every Tuesday on this site), and seeing this particular scene is what gave me the idea for this post.  The show is in Spanish with no subtitles but given something that happens in the first episode, and this scene where Jane refers to the man pictured as “Tio John”, I’m pretty sure this is her Uncle John come to visit her at Lowood.  How this ultimately works out in the rest of the adaptation remains to be seen.  (Will Uncle John reappear again to help Jane out?). But in this scene, it appears that Uncle John would like to take young Jane in, but he doesn’t quite have the finances for it.  It’s a weird choice, and definitely something that has probably never been done.

1973 - Mr. Reed’s ghost 

The red room scene showcases young Jane’s fears as she dwells on her place in the Reed household.  Her sudden, irrational fear of her Uncle Reed coming to “help” her does not bring her peace, and this adaptation further heightens her fear, by having an “imagined” Uncle Reed appear to young Jane in reflection.   This isn’t completely unique as this happens again in the 2006 miniseries (in a much creepier fashion) but I find this an interesting adaptation choice, since there are not many overtly supernatural elements in the story (there’s usually a rational explanation), and I find that including this glimpse of Uncle Reed to be very creepy.

1996 - Grace Poole is killed by Bertha

This is the most disturbing adaptation choice on this list.  Grace Poole attempts to get to Bertha while Thornfield is on fire, and Bertha pushes Grace through a stair railing where she falls to her death.  It adds to viewing Bertha as someone who definitely needs psychiatric help, but it is an adaptation choice that feels very unnecessary.

2006 - The audience glimpses Jane’s inner world

I remember when I first watched the 2006 miniseries, I was afraid I was watching the wrong program.  It begins with the sandy desert and a young Jane in an eye-catching red headscarf which showcases the inner world Jane retreats too while reading a book at Gateshead.  It’s inventive, surprising and a lovely visual for Jane’s state of mind.  

2011 - The story begins in the middle

When I first heard that this adaptation would begin with Jane leaving Thornfield, I wasn’t quite sure if that was a good approach, but after watching the film, I was reassured.  It’s a GREAT choice, as it solves the problem of introducing new, important characters in the third act of a film.  And the way the film moves from Jane’s past to her current situation with the Rivers family heightens the drama and the emotion of what she has experienced.  Such a unique idea, and I love it!

[aurantia-ignis]

omg i love what you wrote for hop and bede for the character memes! can i ask for leon?

Thank you, I’m glad you enjoy my musings on character writing! That said... Ohhhh boy. I have... a lot of personal thoughts about Leon...

First impression

I cannot stand his dressing he is a fashion disaster. Also he looks like he’s going to be an antagonist in the end ;D

Impression now

He is the dorkiest dork and he’s hilarious and he’s definitely an archetype that I usually quite enjoy except.... His character execution really didn’t reach its full potential ;w; He’s a good man, and a fun character, but omg if only he became an antagonist and developed from there and then rejoined the ranks of the good guys in the end ;w; Failing that, at least let him have a clearer focus on his existing character writing!

Favorite moment

Each time he gets lost. 8′D

Idea for a story

LEON’S PAST WITH SONIA. The game literally said that Leon and Sonia USED TO BE RIVALS.... and then we were never told WHY they stopped being rivals. Which is a huge, huge pity. :’(

Unpopular opinion

I’m assuming this is probably what you came for so. Buckle in!

Leon’s character in the original canon plays a few important roles in the storyline:

- He endorses Hop and player character, and as Champion, is supposed to be seen as the Strongest Person in Galar. His goals, therefore, is to protect Galar (by solving ‘disasters’ himself, blocking the player character from doing so for gameplay purposes) and by supporting new young trainers (although that’s a little ruined by him saying ‘you should get stronger so I can BEAT YOU DOWN AND BECOME EVEN MORE STRONG MYSELF’ like wow the script makes him kinda asshole sometimes haha).

- As said strongest person in Galar, Rose is intending to use him to control Eternatus. After hearing about Rose’s plan, Leon refuses him, but despite Rose harping on it, Leon doesn’t seem to worry about it, and seems to think that just cause he said No to Rose, he can just continue with his champion duties.

- After Eternatus, he’s still considered the strongest in Galar, and is the final goal that Player Character has to defeat.

- He sets up the Battle Tower after he ceases to be champion

Technically, there isn’t anything particularly wrong with the way he was written. However, based on what we were given, his narrative could have been far stronger for himself and for the plot, as well as to further the narratives of Hop and the player character. Leon is already a character with flaws; if he had been written with those flaws as key parts of his personality, he could be much more interesting and complex as a character.

Pulling away slightly from Leon (but it’s still relevant, I promise), one of the biggest elements shown in Galar is ‘pride’. Chairman Rose’s arrogance in his own beliefs was what led him to think he could make that huge decision for all of Galar. Though it’s not outright stated, but there’s a possibility that the truth behind Zacian and Zamazenta was hidden by prideful humans because they wanted to be the heroes of legend (see Sordward and Shielbert, who are also slaves to pride). The entire concept of Dynamax itself is very flawed (won’t go into details here because it’s another huge can of worms on its own) and happened because of human pride; Zacian and Zamazenta, Galar’s guardian spirits, literally hate dynamax. 

And Leon, of course, is often displaying a great deal of pride in his Undefeatable prowess. Imagine if Leon’s entire character arc had been based on pride.

- Leon is proud of his strength. He has good intentions; his goal is to protect Galar as its champion, while supporting his brother and player character and other trainers in their pokemon journey

- Because of his pride, Leon is confident that he can handle the dynamaxing problems that pop up. He assures the player character that everything will be okay, so that player and Hop can continue safely on their journey. He’s protecting them from unnecessary problems.

- When Rose tells him about Galar’s problems, and says that “You, as the champion, can save Galar by catching and controlling Eternatus!” Leon brushes him off because the concept sounds too far-fetched.

- After Rose puts his plan into motion, awakening Eternatus from its slumber, Leon is annoyed at Rose, but figures that he can defeat Eternatus and solve everything. Hop and player character, who have seen Sonia’s research on the darkest day, are worried that Eternatus would be difficult to handle. Leon, however, is confident that he can manage fine. He goes up against Eternatus, instead of attempting to evacuate everyone from Wyndon. Hop and Player character rush off to Zacian and Zamazenta to try and solve the issue.

- Eternatus proves to be too much for Leon to handle, and he realises just how wrong he has been when the dynamax issue is getting out of hand. He regrets not trusting Hop and Player, instead believing that he is the only powerful one who can deal with all the problems.

- Leon gets knocked out, Hop and player solve Eternatus. Having been knocked down a few pegs, Leon acknowledges that player is strong and smart and their decision to go to Zacian and Zamazenta was the right thing to do. However, he still wants to face Player in the final match despite his injuries, clinging to the idea that he’s still the strongest champion. 

- Player defeats Leon, and he finally understands that it’s never about being Unbeatable, because the generations that come after them will always be improving too. He starts up the battle tower to support the trainers, and continue training himself as well, to get battle and re-fight Player (and other trainers).

In this scenario, his pride would also be an explanation of how Leon became so engrossed in chasing championhood that he left Sonia (and his family) behind. Seeing Hop and player supporting each other reminds him that there’s more than one kind of strength. 

Leon would have been great as a powerful, well-intentioned character who made a whole bunch of mistakes, and had to deal with the consequences, but came out of everything wiser and happier than before. ;w; 

Favorite relationship

I really, really seeing him with Sonia! As friends, and also rivals... Think of how Sonia realised halfway through her journey that she wasn’t really interested in pursuing the gym challenge, especially when her best friend was moving on way ahead of her and never looking back. Sonia has her own character arc (also woefully did not achieve its full potential in terms of clarity sobs) in the story surrounding the lore of the wolves and the Darkest Day, and it would have been great if she’d found out a little about (or suspected) what Rose was intending to do, and tried to speak to Leon about it. The game shows us that they do smile at each other and care for each other (Leon likes Sonia’s curry!!), after all. 

Also, one of the most endearing parts about Leon is his goofiness and his lack of a sense of direction, so it’s super fun to see his dynamic with Sonia as she goes ‘ugh are you lost again???!’ This is actually one of my personal favourite ships HAHA

Favorite headcanon

He hated being distant from Sonia, but didn’t know how else to go about solving it, so he just. Didn’t. And he just decided to make do with the casual civility they share, without any of the true camaraderie they used to have. So when he finally got the chance to make up with her he was all YES I GOT MY BEST FRIEND BACK :DDDD and didn’t realise that the reason he so enjoys spending time with Sonia is more than platonic.... ;D

[ruoyeming]

My Fav Books, another chaotic list

Another quarantine review fest! I know I ranked my top anime but this is seriously too hard so I’m just going to list them to avoid hours of debate. Enjoy!

1) The Skulduggery Pleasant series

This whopper of a series (now at 15 books jesus christ I didn’t know there were that many I’ve only read about twelve) has a special place in my heart. I was FULLY obsessed with it throughout my tween - and teen - years, and for a reason. This shit just butters my bread like nothing else. The story follows a young girl Valkyrie Cain (who eventually becomes a young woman through the series) and her partner in crime, a fashionable living skeleton called Skulduggery Pleasant. They’re MAGICAL DETECTIVES!!!! Bitch!!! They use elemental magic - water, earth, fire, air - to fight off magic-wielding bad guys and look good doing it. The duo is hilarious and seriously shaped my sense of humour, the dry wit and comedic writing style stuck with me and influenced my own writing style to this day! As the series progresses we get a massive cast of characters but to me they’re all memorable, likable (mostly) and well-developed so that’s not an issue. I have no fukcing clue how Derek Landy comes up with his stories because every book in the series has an absolutely wild (yet unique) plot with its own twists and turns. It gets REALLY dark and depressing at times, gory, brutal etc etc especially in the later books I have no idea why this is labeled as a kids series.

10/10 for badassery, humour, and MAD codependency issues

2) The Feverwake series

This bitch is one hell of a YA series. It’s actually only a 2 book-series which is rare, but that’s not the only thing that sets it apart from other creations of its genre. It’s hard to explain the setup without waffling so I’ll just quote the blurb of the first book: “In the former United States, sixteen-year-old Noam Álvaro wakes up in a hospital bed, the sole survivor of the viral magic that killed his family and made him a technopath. His ability to control technology attracts the attention of the minister of defense and thrusts him into the magical elite of the nation of Carolinia.

The son of undocumented immigrants, Noam has spent his life fighting for the rights of refugees fleeing magical outbreaks—refugees Carolinia routinely deports with vicious efficiency. Sensing a way to make change, Noam accepts the minister’s offer to teach him the science behind his magic, secretly planning to use it against the government. But then he meets the minister’s son—cruel, dangerous, and achingly beautiful—and the way forward becomes less clear.”

As you can tell from this, the series is heavy on its politics but in a grounded, realistic and relevant way which is different to many other YA series. Marxist theory is brought up, and you can make some pretty strong links between the books and real events. The magic also has a semi-scientific explanation which is cool and adds to the realness. Anyways this series is action packed and full of twists, plus there’s a bisexual main character and queer romance at the core!! Wig!!! Very good for moral debate - how far is it acceptable to go to protect the oppressed before you become one of the oppressors? Dark and exciting series.

10/10 queer representation and political themes.

3) Spin the Dawn

It’s probably obvious that I’m biased towards YA books but they’re just so exciting and cool! Anyways this is about a girl living in a kind of alternate universe ancient China where magic exists. Maia Tamarin is a skilled seamstress who dreams of being the Imperial Tailor, a position that can only be held by a man. She poses as her brother to go to the royal palace and enter a competition full of skilled tailors, all vying for the role of imperial tailor. She also meets Edan; a mysterious, annoying, but SEXY mage who seems to know her secret identity? Oho? IMO this would be an elevated book if Edan had been a girl but that’s just me being gay. As the final challenge Maia is tasked with making 3 dresses from the sun, moon, and stars - a mission that takes her to the ends of the world in search of these magical materials (obvs Edan goes with her and they kiss kiss fall in love). It’s a fairly classic YA plot and characters but the combination of Project Runway, Mulan, and kind of Lord of the Rings(??) vibes makes for a very entertaining read. It’s also really fun to imagine what the clothes look like, plus the romance between Maia and Edan is very cute. Second book is yet to be published but sounds lit.

10/10 magic fashion and romance (despite its heterosexuality)

4) Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

Usually I steer clear of angsty gay stories because I’ve consumed too much of the depressing narrative which is all about suffering because of being gay, but fuuuuuuck this book is like the definition of bittersweet. Mostly bitter to be fair but it has a happy ending which was lovely after the emotional torment of the book. It’s about two teen boys - Aristotle is angry and repressed, Dante is eccentric but kind, and the two eventually form a strong friendship after meeting at the local pool. It’s kind of obvious that Ari is in denial about a few things, which leads to some real sad boi hours. There’s also a devastating moment around halfway (not sure) through with a car accident which makes the whole thing 10x heavier. Despite all this, the book has its sweet moments - parents play a big role, but not in the way they usually do in queer stories - and like I said the ending is the bandage for your broken heart. I’m not sure what it is about the writing style, maybe the way it just cuts between scenes randomly or perhaps the way the dialogue and actions are so realistic, but it’s so different to any other book I’ve read that it’s stayed in my mind for a while after reading it.

10/10 really good philosophy plus supportive parents

5) The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue

Okay if this was a ranked list, this bad boy would be on its way to the top spot. It’s got everything: historical setting, gays, pirates, alchemy, humour, adventure, angst, character development, and some healthy second-hand embarrassment. It’s not complicated or philosophical but reading this book all in one go is like taking five shots and diving into a pool. It’s exciting and witty, but deals with darker themes like child abuse too. One of the MCs also has a disability and doesn’t treat it as something to be cured, which is a lesson our protagonist has to learn. Speaking of protagonists, Henry ‘Monty’ Montague is a great main character. He’s obnoxious, oblivious, and hedonistic yet quick-witted and passionate, and he has a good heart. Sometimes you just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him for being such an ignorant idiot, but throughout the book he grows and learns to open his mind more (as well as becoming more humble). He’s a great example of a flawed yet likable main character. He is also a bisexual icon.

Oof forgot to even talk about the story. Monty embarks on a tour of Europe, usually taken by lads his age to get all cultured before they settle down and inherit the family company or whatever. With him are his younger sister Felicity, a girl with a brilliant mind for science who isn’t taken seriously by anyone because of her gender, and the lovely Percy, Monty’s lifelong best friend (and crush). Monty ends up stealing a very valuable object that turns the Tour into a manhunt across Europe, and drags the trio into a big ol’ conspiracy involving something that may or may not be the philosopher’s stone????

Issues of race, gender, and disability in historical context are really well done, and it’s an absolute banger of a book.

10/10 very exciting adventure, plus GREAT GAY ROMANCE

6) Heaven Official’s Blessing

HOOOOOO BOY. This is probably my absolute fave on this list. It’s a webnovel (originally Chinese but the full translation is online). Set in ancient china in the cultivation world (difficult as shit to explain if ur not into all of that but I’ll try), basically there’s three realms - the heavenly realm, the human/mortal realm, and the ghostly realm. If a mortal reaches a certain point (good deeds, power etc), they ascend to become a god - or if they fall far enough, they become a ghost. 

I’ll just quote the author’s description again cause I don’t have the brain cells required:

 “Eight hundred years ago, Xie Lian was the Crown Prince of the Xian Le kingdom. He was loved by his citizens and was considered the darling of the world. He ascended to the Heavens at a young age; however, due to unfortunate circumstances, was quickly banished back to the mortal realm. Years later, he ascends again–only to be banished again a few minutes after his ascension. Now, eight hundred years later, Xie Lian ascends to the Heavens for the third time as the laughing stock among all three realms. On his first task as a god thrice ascended, he meets a mysterious demon who rules the ghosts and terrifies the Heavens, yet, unbeknownst to Xie Lian, this demon king has been paying attention to him for a very, very long time.”

It’s hard to describe the enormity of this story and all the emotions it encapsulates, you really have to read it for yourself. But bitch the undying, pure, Hozier-devotion-level LOVE is by far my favourite part of this story. If you’re looking for an epic, god-tier gay romance, then this is it baby!! This story has comedy, action, and downright harrowingly depressing moments, but throughout is this achingly beautiful love between fallen god and last believer.

I don’t wanna give too much away cause there are some big ol’ plot reveals, but oooh this shit made me cry. The protagonist is MY FAVOURITE EVER I didn’t think it was possible to like a protag so much!! He’s legit my fave character! At first he seems oblivious and carefree but he’s just doing his goddamn best after all he’s been through and he’s so fukcing kind and just wants to help everyone for fuckcs sake excuse me I need to go have a breakdown.

Okay I’m back, anyway there’s a great cast of characters, even the background characters are all incredibly memorable and all given their time to shine and develop. My faves include Quan Yizhen, a rowdy himbo who just wants to fight, and Shi Qing Xuan, a friendly genderfluid god who controls the wind. Read this shit I’m not joking it’ll change your life. 

10/10 for everything

[woman-loving]

some thoughts on femininity

I start off with a long quote, so the whole thing is going under a cut.

There is a scene in the film The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, where the heroine’s mentor Effie Trinket is learning to adapt to her new life in the revolutionary compound of District 13. Previously an inhabitant of the wealthy Capitol area, Trinket has been forced to leave behind her old excessive style in favour of a grey jumpsuit, a uniform worn throughout the District. Cleaned of makeup and without her frilly dresses, Trinket retains only a set of bangles which she still wears and often touches wistfully. Her fellow District 13 comrades find Trinket’s attachment to these objects absurd, and she is met with derision. This response from her revolutionary companions calls to mind Germaine Greer’s assertion that “the women who dare not go outside without their fake eyelashes are in serious psychic trouble” (1970, 325). That Trinket’s affection for feminine accoutrements makes her the focus of ridicule illustrates an important conundrum. It begs the question: should we laugh and pity the Trinkets of the world “who dare not go outside” without their feminine accessories? Are Trinket’s bracelets symbolic manacles? Or should we sit awhile, and wonder why these attachments might remain in the face of strong suggestions from others that liberation can be found in throwing such objects away? This leads to the central question: how can we consider femininity in a way that best attends to people’s experiences of, and attachment to, feminine styles?

Looking to both popular and scholarly feminist commentary over history we see that feminine styles of the body are often not merely understood as the effect of an oppressive gender system, but rather are seen to perpetuate and maintain this system. So the dominant theory goes: if a woman fails to reject those bodily expectations of the gender regime, she is part of the problem. I do not wish to deny that there are norms and expectations that shape the way that we are expected to appear and present ourselves in the world. Indeed, at times this regime is a punishing one. Women are expected to put an enormous amount of energy and money into their appearance, in order to be understood as “respectable”, “beautiful”, and “sexy”. The effort required to produce feminine aesthetics is increasingly being discussed in terms of labour (Baker 2016, 52). Furthermore,successfully achieving various looks for different contexts is no easy task. To wholeheartedly celebrate the various aspects of appearance which often constitute what is recognised as “feminine” – including makeup, clothing, hairstyling, and so on – would be to deny the daily experiences of women who are compelled to conform to particular styles in both the private and the public sphere.

For these reasons, I do not wish to celebrate femininity as something that should be seen as necessarily empowering nor inherently “good”. However, I do seek to intervene in the idea that political transformation can or should be affected at the level of appearance and identity. That is to say, I argue that femininity is not necessarily disempowering, nor inherently “bad”. Those aspects of feminine styling that may for some people feel cruel or laboursome may at other times or for other people be a source of pleasure or, indeed, may be central to their sense of identity and belonging. [...]

That gender expectations are contextual and change over history and location also reveals that it is not the specific elements of what we designate as “feminine” in appearance that are innately problematic, but rather what is arduous is being compelled to conform to expectations. While women of one era might define long dresses as oppressive, another might see miniskirts in the same way depending on the specifics of the disciplinary regime at the time. Another clear example of this is currently the colour pink, which is discussed in some detail in chapter two : pink is not inherently bad, but functions today as a symbol of girlhood. While many reject pink for the gender normativity it represents, at times the debate gets mired in making pink the problem rather than seeing the real issue as the system that merely encourages the use of pink as a signifier. [...]

--Hannah McCann, Queering Femininity: Sexuality, Feminism, and the Politics of Presentation, 2018

This is an excerpt from the introduction of a book that I was looking through, just because I was hoping it would annoy me into writing something. I have a bit of a bias against using "femininity" as a category of analysis; I fear that people are going to use this concept imprecisely, leaving it vague and relying on unspoken, preexisting connections between femininity, womanhood, and female to suggest its meaning. However, I haven't actually read much theorization on femininity or femme-ness, so I don't know for sure what this book is going to argue; I read another theoretical article on femme just before this and it seemed to be going in some interesting directions (building off other queer and feminist theorizing). But still I want to share some of the thoughts and concerns I have going into this topic, acknowledging that other people may very well be saying the same sort of thing, and that this isn't original to me.

First of all, I want to give my own, very rough working explanation of "femininity" (or at least one angle of it), which would go something like this: femininity names the quality of womanliness, or the range of physical characteristics, styles, mannerisms, interests, work, etc that are imagined to be the natural expression of womanhood. In other words, "femininity" and womanhood are tied together through an essentialist logic, one which also locates womanhood and its expression (femininity) in "the female body." (I will use "the female body" here to indicate another construction.) The reference point for all this that I'm thinking about here is specifically Western European constructions of womanhood, femininity, and the female body, and how these are constructed through race, class, ability, sexuality, and other factors.

While we've come to speak about femininity as something independent from being woman or "female"--as that which has simply been "traditionally associated" with women--I think this is the logic behind that "association." To be feminine is to be "womanly." One concern I have with using "femininity" as a analytic category is that... so long as the reference point for understanding the meaning of "feminine" is an essentialist logic of womanhood, we risk carrying over this logic uncritically, and reproducing it even where we claim to have severed it off. How can we talk about both "womanliness" as an independent expression that can be found in people of any gender and also "women" as a group that can have a full range of possible expressions? 

Going back to my explanation of femininity and the broader gender logic of which its a part, another point that needs to be made is that... while ideal (meaning: white, middle-class, able-bodied, cis) women and womanliness are seen as fundamentally distinct from men and manliness, these categories are not as separate in this scheme as would appear. These values of male-man-manly and female-woman-womanly interpenetrate one another and can be quite mobile. Womanly characteristics can be found in a man; male traits identified on the female body. This mobility actually helps preserve the underlying essentialist logic. For example, we might understand a brave woman as expressing a manly characteristic, rather than questioning the notion that bravery is fundamentally male (and therefore an aberration in women) or that the real, essential man is brave. (This is touched on a little bit here, too.)

Moving on.

So, we have this introduction that starts out with considering the reception of Effie in The Hunger Games, and what Effie misses when she's in District 13, and what she's sneered at for being attached to, is identified as "femininity."

It's been a lot time since I read or watched The Hunger Games, but surely it would be accurate to say that what Effie is missing is a particular style, particular accouterments, a fashion; these are what the author here identifies as "femininity." And that's not wrong, exactly, but there are other ways of naming this. Lemme turn to a quote I saved from another book I read:

In spite of their differences in education, wealth, and social standing, most of the [Victorian] bourgeoisie resembled one another in dress, habits of speech, and deportment. Bourgeois men dressed somberly, in dark colors, avoiding any outward signs of luxury. Their clothing fit closely and lacked decoration—a symbolic adjustment to the machine age, in which elaborate dress hampered activity. It also reflected a conscious attempt to emphasize achievement-oriented attitudes, and new standards for what constituted honorable manhood. Through dress and other fashionable tastes, middle classes distinguished themselves from what they viewed as a decadent and effeminate nobility.

Bourgeois conventions regarding women’s dress were the opposite of men’s, further reinforcing gender distinctions—women’s clothing became the material symbol of male success. Extravagant amounts of colorful fabrics used to fashion huge, beribboned hoop dresses reflected the newfound wealth of the middle classes and confirmed their view of women as ornaments whose lives were to be limited to the home and made easier by servants.

--Western Civilization: Beyond Boundaries, Thomas F. X. Noble, et al., 6th ed., 2010

Ok, now this is where all my thoughts start to get scrambled together. Let's see in what order all my points will wind up.

So what appears to be happening here is the emergence of two fashion genres (to use a term from the previous femme article I read) within the white Victorian bourgeoisie. (Is that the same thing as middle class?) And these are shaped to express one of two sets of contradictory values held by the bourgeoisie. And while it's reasonable to assume that bourgeois women would also hold and reproduce these values, I expect that these social trends were largely shaped by white bourgeois men, and that both sets of values reflected their own interests. In other words, it's not that bourgeois men held one set of values and bourgeois women the other, and each were allowed to develop fashions as suited their own (singular) preferences. Rather, bourgeois men valued both somberness and display of wealth through luxury, and wished to express both, and resolved this contradiction by externalizing one of these value sets onto women. They were able to have their cake and eat it too: they could express esteemed middle-class values as a part of their manhood, while also getting the benefits of the values they decried: extravagance, excess, luxury, ornamentation--all foisted onto women, whose fashions were imagined as deriving from an essential womanly disposition that naturally gravitated to such qualities. I.e. women's femininity.

AND LEAST THAT'S HOW I'M READING THIS. I haven't looked into the development of these fashions beyond the quote from the book. So, if that's correct.

The use of The Hunger Games to illustrate the reception to women's attachment to "feminine" styles is odd, because the fashions of the Capitol must also be sharped by class values. Popular fashion in the Capitol appears to be characterized by exaggeration, excess, and flamboyance, a display of luxury which resonates with what the Capitol represents in the series.

HOWEVER. The Capitol does not seem to have markedly distinct genres of fashion for men and women. Let me qualify that. Just looking at these pictures, the few men who appear are less... excessive, but still notably flamboyant. (Two more examples.) It's been quite a while since I read the books or watched the movies, so I don't remember exactly how gender appeared to be constructed in the Capitol. But I'd posit that the difference in degree of excess between men and women here results from the fact that these fashions are built on the base of real-world fashions, where those for men and women have had different trajectories. Perhaps we could say, though, that the same basic concept lies behind all fashion in the Capitol, and imagine that the spirit behind Suzanne Collins' vision of the Capitol might be more "ideally" represented by a world where the forms of Capitol fashion were not gender-specific.

In that case, extravagant fashion is not specifically womanly. It might make more sense to speak of Effie not as missing the accouterments of "femininity," but more specifically the accouterments of a fashion characterized by exaggeration, excessive ornamentation, or however we might describe it. These fashions might be intimately tied to her identity and sense of embodiment, without primarily being understood as an expression of a uniquely womanly quality. Where, then, does the concept of "femininity" fit into it?

Moving on from The Hunger Games, the suggestion I'd like to make is that, rather than using a vague notion of "femininity," we attempt to be more precise in naming the contents of "femininity." By utilizing categories like "extravagance" or "flamboyance" (or perhaps other, better terms), we can uproot the characteristics that make up "femininity" from their presumed location in womanly nature. We can connect them as well to “manly” expressions of these same qualities, and perhaps note a range of similarities and differences in how they are socially received depending on the gender, race, class, etc of the subject in which they appear. This is not to say that we should ignore how certain things are gendered, or how people do in fact adopt certain styles as a way to express or embody their gender. This can/should still be part of the analysis. But expanding the repertoire of categories used to name what we mean by "femininity" might help us avoid over-determining the significance of gender, which can be a pitfall when the subjects under consideration are viewed as markedly gendered. (I complained about an example of this.)

(I suppose I'm basically describing a method of analysis that evacuates the category of femininity. I remember once, in a discussion of Buddhism, the concept of non-self (anatta) was illustrated by saying "a flower is made up entirely of non-flower parts." In this case, "femininity" or womanliness is made up entirely non-woman(ly) parts. So what are those parts?)

I also want to comment on something McCann said in the last paragraph of that first quote. She said that the elements designated as "feminine" are not innately problematic, but become so when they are compelled to be adopted. I’d agree that it’s a problem when these elements are compulsory (especially if they tend to require greater time, labor, expense, and self-monitoring to embody). However, the contents of "femininity" may in fact be problematic within the social context in which they are developed. Returning to that second quote, the ornateness of bourgeois women's fashion was problematic in its own right because it contradicted another, more centrally affirmed set of bourgeois values.

Now, I'm not sure what is the best way to name the characteristics that are identified as "feminine," but one common complaint against certain "feminine" clothing or processes is that they are impractical and unnecessary. And when women specifically are compelled to adopt styles that are impractical for a wider range of situations, it makes sense to complain about that. However, what may be needed to defuse tensions around "femininity" is not just a rethinking of the meaning or value of womanhood (e.g. what women "should" look like), but also a rethinking of the value of “impracticality.” A rethinking of forms of expression (and the labor they entail) that serve no purpose other than meeting an aesthetic or bodily goal, one which may be attained at the expense of practicality, efficiency, or frugality.

At the same time, even here we can't look at this question outside the interlocking context of sexism, misogyny, racism, classism, et al, since these determine which forms of expression that might in fact be impractical (toward a certain goal) actually get identified as impractical or unnecessary. It just goes to show how multiple approaches are needed, since these phenomena are complex.

Fin.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar’s Royal Roots

Once more, hear me out with this one folks:

Playing off of ideas from the Marvellous Land of Oz, in that story, Princess Ozma was the daughter of King Pastoria of Oz who was given to the witch of the north Mombi by the Wizard of Oz. As the daughter of the former king, Ozma was the heir to the throne of Oz but Mombi transformed Ozma into a boy named Tip and raised her as her slave with Tip having no recollection of being a girl.

It was Glinda the Good Witch of the North that forced Mombi to reverse her spell, transforming Tip back into Ozma so that she may be crowned the rightful ruler of Oz.

From some of the musings and Pinehead headcanons I’ve shared, you guys can probably tell that this squiggle meister is an advocate for seeing more elements of the Wizard of Oz stories incorporated into RWBY’s narrative, particularly for Oscar’s side of things. That being said, I was thinking I could use these same story points from the Marvellous Land of Oz story to help forge another new Pinehead headcanon for Oscar.

Last time; I addressed ideas for Oscar’s parentage, I shared a theory that Oscar's mother could possibly be a General in the Atlesian Army. You can read the full post right here.  Consider this an expansion of said theory.

What if…Oscar’s mother or at least one of his parents will draw inspiration from King Pastoria from the Marvellous Land of Oz? Imagine if…Oscar Pine, similar to Princess Ozma, is of royalty or at least the closest thing to royalty by Remnant standards.

Right now, the closest thing to monarchs in RWBY are the members of the ruling council for each respective kingdoms. In Vale, we caught a glimpse of the Vale Council during the events of V2. The Council consisted of three members. So let's say it's the same for Atlas. Three seats on the Atlesian Council.

We know General Ironwood holds two of these seats, as mentioned in V4. So let's say, whoever has the final seat is the Head of Atlesian Council as its First Chair.

For the sake of this theory, I'm going to refer to this character as Head Councilman Pastoria since I'm basing them off of their Oz counterpart.

Councilman Pastoria is currently the key 'ruler' of Atlas Kingdom as the head of its leading council. However Pastoria has a secret.

Long before being appointed as the Head of the Atlesian Council, Pastoria was part of the Atlesian military. That’s how they became affiliated with Ironwood.

I like the idea of Pastoria being the child of whoever was the head chairman of the Atlas Council who eventually retired from the council or passed away with Pastoria inheriting the position. I like the idea of Pastoria, being the child of a council leader, being groomed from childbirth to be involved in the politics and government of Atlas but still making the affirmed decision to join the military. Because despite being born into politics, Pastoria still desired a life outside of such the lifestyle they were bred in, you understand.

I even like the thought of Pastoria seeing the military as a way of forming their own identity since them being the child of a politician came with its fair share of responsibilities and burdens. Pastoria was constantly compared to their councilman father and held under a microscope to be judged by everyone for every action they made which wasn’t in accord with what their father wanted for them. Basically Pastoria’s was constantly told that their actions reflected heavily on, not just his father and the Council but also the People of Atlas. It was a rather suffocating type of life. All the more reason why Pastoria desired to depart from it and saw the military as their ticket out in a sense.

So Pastoria became a solider and a very good one to be precise. After all, they were the child of the Head Councilman so one could only expect greatness. I’m not sure how the Atlas Military works in Remnant but I’d like to think that once the soldiers reach a certain rank they can choose which military base in another kingdom to be deployed to. So Pastoria chose Mistral…or at least their controlling councilman father pulled some strings to ensure that Pastoria didn’t stray too far from Atlas and out of his reach. At least Mistral shared good intercontinental relations with Atlas so there was that.

Anyways to make this long explanation short, Pastoria is begrudgingly deployed to Mistral. Since RWBY made Ozma a genderbent version of the original Oz character in the Lost Fable, so to speak, I’m going to make my Councilman Pastoria character a woman. A leading lady at the Head of the Atlesian Council to keep up with my solider mom concept.

While in Mistral, Pastoria met the love of her life. A farm boy living on his family farm with his older sister and her husband (in case the CRWBY decide to go with Aunt Em being young). His name was Theodore Pine---my fanon name for Oscar’s papa. Pastoria and Theodore fell hopelessly in love and made plans to settle down and have a family together in Mistral. Despite her soldier duties and political ties to Atlas, Pastoria was more than ready to leave it all behind to start things anew with her Theodore. Especially following the conception of their son. Their little prince.

However things take an unexpected turning point when Pastoria is forced to return home. Her father, the former Head of the Council unfortunately passed during Pastoria's estranged absence and as his only child and heir, the one who was formerly being groomed to take his seat on the Council, Pastoria is elected as her father’s replacement.

This creates a complication in her relationship with Theodore. Let’s just say that no one else besides the Council knew of Pastoria’s alleged affair (that’s what they termed the relationship) with the lower class Mistrali Theodore. Nor did they know of their child together and thus, it was advised that Pastoria kept it that way.

To play off of the Marvellous Land of Oz, I like the idea of their being a Mombi character. Someone who was probably an advisor to Pastoria’s father and was the one who urged her to relinquish all ties she had with Theodore Pine for the sake of keeping up appearances. Something about avoiding a scandal in the political world for when Pastoria makes her return home.  

So long story short, Pastoria breaks things off with Theodore and reluctantly leaves their baby boy---little Oscar in the care of his father.

In a similar fashion to Tip, I really like the idea of Oscar being raised oblivious to the truth about his Atlesian royal roots through his mother’s side. At least, the closest thing to royalty in Altas as the son of its head councilman.

This is another way to pull elements from the Marvellous Land of Oz to help mould Oscar's side of the story.

Up until V6 in RWBY, Oscar has basically more or less been dancing to the beat of Ozpin's (technically Ozma’s) drum with very little leeway to deviate and form his own individual story. Despite the Writers insinuating that he’s supposed to have one.

I'm hoping this is changed for V7; as alluded to by Kerry Shawcross which I'm holding him to.

I really would love to see some characters inspired by the Marvellous Land of Oz as part of Oscar's side of things.

Mombi, Pumpkinhead (and maybe Sawhorse too), General Jinjur, Tippetarius and now Pastoria. I really would love to see RWBY versions of them for Oscar's story in Atlas.

I've already shared concepts for how Mombi, General Jinjur and Tip can be incorporated. And of course, there's my Pumpkinhead idea. Still love my robot Pumpkinhead (Atlesian Battle Droid PMKN-4340) headcanon.

Now I got Pastoria. Not sure if we'll actually see this done for V7. Buuuuut....a squiggle meister can hope, right? It’s definitely going on my V7 Bingo Card wish list.

I just really, really like the thought of Oscar's story for V7 being him getting in touch with who he really is and who he destined to become in more ways than one.

We know he has the Merge with Oz that’s on his mind. However I also like the idea of Oscar having identity crisis issues before he met Oz. Like being raised by only one of his parents and a family who kept the identity of his other parent a secret from him for most of his life. Just like Tip/Ozma.

A potential Pastoria character can provide an excellent driver to explore Oscar's past and who he saw himself as WITHOUT it being all about Ozpin for a change. Forgive me folks but after three seasons, I’ve kind of grown tired of Oscar’s story always revolving around Ozpin or Ozma’s side of things without much exploration of his own story. Is he his own person or not, CRWBY Writers?

This is a decent way to play into Oscar’s side of things. Imagine if... all of his life, Oscar has been told he's like someone else. Like growing up in Mistral with his dad and his family, Oscar was told that despite looking like a spitting image of his dad, he was becoming more like his mother every day in terms of personality. However this statement would always confuse Oscar since he never knew the type of woman his mother was beyond what his family told him.

Then while with the heroes in Mistral, Oscar is expected to be more like Ozpin or Ozma. This is emphasized even more when he finally meets Ironwood who starts to grill him on that expectation of him.

And lastly, in the event of this theory being true and Oscar learns that his mother is a ruling party in Atlas, he has even more expectations placed on him since as the son of the Councilman he is expected to behave a certain way and adhere to certain regulations in keeping up with the political lifestyle. Something Oscar’s farm bred backstory never prepared him for and of course, he struggles. With all of it.

This can also be an interesting way to have Oscar bond with Weiss. Weiss was bred in such an aristocratic life but ultimately left. Oscar, on the other hand, was raised outside of said regime and is suddenly being tossed into it while getting to know his mother. He is expected to adjust quickly in order to impress or please his mother (and the Council) but he struggles with all of it.

Perhaps with this kind of plot, we can see Weiss developing a brother and sister bond with Oscar by using her previous life with her family to show him the ropes. This can then lead to Weiss unlocking memories of her past with her brother Whitley when the two used to get along. That could be really interesting. But who knows?

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[gavillain]

Maleficent

I guess I kinda like this one? ;)

Lol, jk, Maleficent (from Sleeping Beauty/Kingdom Hearts) is my favorite fictional character of all time. I love literally everything about her. All of this is on my villains’ list entry on my profile, but I’ll copy and paste it here so I can get my praise for her out there.

So oftentimes when I set out to explain why Maleficent is my favorite villain, I struggle a bit. Usually in villain list entries I just go over the elements to them that I like with a bit of analysis and personal narrative mixed in for good measure, and I'm certainly going to do a bit of that here. However, that's not really the big picture. Maleficent is more than the sum of her parts, more than whatever interesting analysis I could pin on her, more than some childhood story I can relate back to you. She's literally a villain I could go on for a paragraph gushing about how excited I get by the back of her head, I love her so much. She just transcends explanation; she is villainous perfection incarnate. She is the perfect model who all my other favorite villains are in some form or fashion a reaction to. She is fundamental.

Though really, when you get down to it, there's not really some big huge secret to why Maleficent is simply the best. She's just the perfect blending of elements to create a whole that never could have been achieved if anything was handled slightly differently. No other villain is quite that same perfect balance of threatening, regal, powerful, charismatic, entertaining, visually stunning, and intriguing all put into a single package. And because all of these facets to her are there, they create a solid entirety that can only truly be described as a masterpiece. 

So let's actually get into some of those parts that make Maleficent the greatest Disney villain of all time and my personal favorite villain period. First there's her name. The word "maleficent" is a Latin derived adjective meaning "doing evil or harm." Her very name describes the evil that she inflicts upon others. Yet, though "maleficent" is an English adjective, it's not one with widespread popular use. However, even to a casual viewer who might not know that "maleficent" is anything other than the character's name, the meaning behind her name still gives the same impression because it phonetically sounds like a blending of the more commonly used words "malevolent" and "magnificent." Her evil and regality both are phonetically ingrained within her very name, yet unlike the ridiculously derivative names that you may see crop up in bad fanfictions or pretentious fantasy novels, it still very much sounds like a name. It rolls off the tongue beautifully, yet it's not complex, and from the moment you hear it spoken, you know she's not someone to be trifled with.

The next big element to Maleficent that warrants discussion is, of course, her magnificent character design. And Disney is of course known for their incredible artistic vision, but, from where I'm standing, Maleficent is one of those figures where that vision is most apparent. Sleeping Beauty on the whole is designed to emulate the style of medieval tapestry, so for Maleficent to blend, she had to become essentially a meeting ground between the demonic religious symbolism apparent in pre-renaissance art as well as a believable human female form. She couldn't be too monstrous or the climax with the dragon wouldn't have the same emotional resonance, and she couldn't be too human or they'd risk her just looking like the Evil Queen again and clashing with the stylized and intentionally different look of the rest of the film. And if you look at the concept art for her, you'll see that it took a while to get to just the right design.

So why is this one of the great Disney villain designs to the point where it's pretty much the gold standard that all of the villains in the 90s were in some way looking to duplicate? Well, first of all, there's those medieval demonic elements that crept in. The horned headdress (yes, it's a hat) is the most obvious detail, clearly meant to invoke the idea of the Devil, later complimented by her vocally invoking all the powers of Hell. From these horns we know she's an inhuman force of evil and sin before she even speaks a line. Her dress has a motif of flames in the sleeves and train, again, invoking the notion of Hell fire, and the collar of the dress is based on bat wings. And not only does all of this character design shorthand her evil, it harmonizes together beautifully thanks to the purple, black, and green color scheme that is applied in just the right way. Not to mention, of course, that the entire design foreshadows her dragon transformation in the climax (put a pin in the dragon for now).

This design is one that honestly never fails to make me gush in awe. It's such an artistic masterpiece that flows so elegantly and powerfully that I by and large credit it's incredible design for getting me to love villains in the first place. When I said earlier that I could gush about the back of her head, I genuinely meant that. A lot of people scoff at character design being used as a metric for liking a character, but in the realm of animated film, character design and animation is job number one. And here's the truth of the matter: Maleficent would still be on a pedestal among Disney villains even if she was just this magnificent character design. But she's not. She's more than just this magnificent, unparalleled design.

When a design as beautiful as Maleficent's, finding a voice that can breathe life into it in a way that harmonizes and accentuates the quality of the design is not an easy task. A poor voice casting could have killed Maleficent right where she stood. Thankfully, Walt personally suggested that they bring back Eleanor Audley, who had previously worked with them on Lady Tremaine. Audley of course blended so well with the animation because she was such a talented actress and because Maleficent's facial expressions were modeled on Audley's own. But Audley in general turned in the greatest performance as a villain that I have ever seen. Her delivery is just melodic, and she brings a great degree of power, control, and arrogance to the role simply through voice. It's absolutely stunning.

Of course, Audley's not working alone on that front. The actual dialogue writing on Maleficent is top tier stuff as well. These two elements working in perfect harmony helps gives Maleficent one of the most subtle yet charismatic personalities in all of Disney. She's stern, powerful, and she inspires fear in all who encounter, yet she's not just some domineering bully. She also has a delicious little playful quality to her, such as when she pretends like she's embarrassed about showing up unwanted and pretending to leave without causing a scene directly before cursing Aurora. She's coy, and she uses that to play with her enemies' emotions. But if you test her, she'll explode in violent storming rage. She's this beautiful blend of powerful regality, playful coyness, and loud wrathfulness – a perfect evil personality.

Her role in the story isn't especially complex. She's a fairytale villain, and she fulfills that role nicely. She's not complex or deep with a tragic backstory; she doesn't need to be. She's a fantasy evil incarnate, and she does it marvelously. Every bit of misfortunate that befalls the characters in Sleeping Beauty is directly attributable to her. She allows her minions to do some of the dirty work, but most of the time she's right there taking action for herself. She curses Aurora, causing King Stefan and Queen Leah to miss out on raising their daughter, and she later kidnaps Prince Phillip and plans to keep him locked away until he's an old man so that when he awakens Aurora, he'll be old and she'll be young. She uses time as a weapon to inflict suffering and misery. For all that she hurls lightning, her modus operandi is almost always to cause internal pain and strife, and I love that quality to her.

A lot of people tend to oversimplify and misrepresent her motivation as her just being upset that she wasn't invited to a birthday party, and, honestly, that's such a blatant oversimplification that it barely deserves to be dignified. Maleficent is a villain entirely motivated by her arrogance and desire for respect. Any act of disrespect to her is an act of war, no matter how insignificant it might seem. She lets no affront to her go unpunished, and that's why she's so terrifying. Though also, what's nice about how her motivations aren't spoon-fed to the audience is that it leaves a lot of room for interpretation. We're left with a lot of questions about why Maleficent cares so much about disrespect, and every possible answer makes her more interesting. She's a perfect example of how effective "less is more" can be in storytelling.

And of course, it all culminates in the best finale ever put into a Disney film: the final battle against the dragon. Actually, there's no dragon anywhere in the original Sleeping Beauty fairytale, but because Sleeping Beauty was striving to be a grand medieval fairytale fantasy epic unlike anything the studio had ever produced, and because having Prince Phillip throw a sword into a human looking Maleficent would be unseemly for a family film, they decided to put the cherry on top with the most recognizable medieval fantasy creature to face against the brave knight in shining armor. And it really is the perfect climax to the story. Prince Phillip, who is wielding the Sword of Truth and Shield of Virtue and fighting on behalf of true love, clashes against Maleficent, who invokes all the powers of Hell to become a Satanic creature motivated by hate and pain. It is the ultimate symbolic battle of good triumphing over evil, and the fact that Maleficent so perfectly incarnates that evil makes it all come together.

So, naturally, it is already very apparent that I greatly admire and enjoy Maleficent and think she's an incredible villain. Yet, the question still remains: why is she the number one spot? Why was she the villain who clicked with me on such a profound level that I can write an over four thousand word essay on how much I like her purely recreationally? The answer is honestly pretty simple: consistency. Maleficent is the one villain who, no matter where I am in my life, she's always to some extent at play. 

She was my favorite villain when I was a kid whose movie's tape I wore out rewatching. She was my favorite villain to drag my parents to the Disney store and start my collection of villain merchandise I have to this day. She was my favorite villain at the Disney parks when I'd visit and watch her in the shows. She was my favorite video game villain when I got into Kingdom Hearts as I got older. She was my roleplay character who I played on the side while playing Hades. She was my favorite villain to edit with when doing the villain tournaments. She’s my favorite villain who I write for on a consistent basis with my fanfic. And she's my favorite villain now with all of that looking back and still having the same enthusiasm for her as the first time I watched the movie.

In a kind of bizarre way, Maleficent has been one of the biggest constants in my life. No matter how things have changed, no matter where I've gone or what I've become, she's always been right there, holding my hand through all of it. Other villains and characters, love them though I do, come and go in phases. Maleficent never does. She's always there, and in some way, every single villain who I love has some element that links them back to her. She's that inescapable bedrock to everything fictional that I love and hold dear.

She's the Mistress of All Evil, one of the greatest villains of all time, the single most important fictional character in my life, and my absolute personal favorite. Long may she reign!