#it is so fucking tragic and poetic and I am going to throw up

[athena-xiii]

Inconsolably sobbing

Nicky was always meant to be stillborn. He was never supposed to live after birth, but Rio gave Agatha more time with him, and in turn he got more time with Agatha.

Whether it was implied or not, he was always the son of Death. He was always supposed to go home to his other mother. When Death finally beckoned him home that night, Rio wouldn’t allow him to join her until he kissed Agatha’s cheek. And he knew, instantaneously, to kiss Agatha not once, but twice.

Once from him, and once from Rio.

Though he was always meant to join Death at her side, Rio gave Agatha the chance to be his mother, too, and now I am a mess about it and will be thinking about this for a long time.

11/4 edit: Wow, y'all have completely overwhelmed me with your love for this little meta, so as thanks, I turned it into a bit of fic we can all cry together about. Read "Once (Twice) from Nicky" on AO3.

[dreamwritesimagines]

It’s CMA-

I’m already planning to yell at you and I haven’t even started the chapter yet. in preparation: DREAM WHAT THE FUCK. Okay now that that’s out of the way, im going to go read it.

Ugh I hate her dad so much.

Aw sister bonding! And their aunt and uncle being protective; you love to see it.

I don’t love the idea that Josie thinks that part of the reason clover got married is to protect herself from their parents because I’m worried she’ll say that to Benedict and crush him. I mean he already thinks that she’s only with him to avoid angering the ton but still.

FUCK CLOVER DONT LIE TO HIM. YOU NEED TO TALK TO HIM!!!!!!!!!! DONT TRY TO PROTECT HIS FEELINGS PROTECT YOURSELF. Ugh Ben is going to be so upset when he finds out.

Going from holding her own wrist out of fear to squeezing his for reassurance (for his or hers, I couldn’t really say). I love the thought that instead of squeezing hands or whatever they squeeze each other’s wrists. The entire concept is so poetic I just-

SCREAMING FUCK CLOVER NO FUCK NO FUCK NO FUCK NO FUCK NO FUCK NO NO NO NO DONT SELF DESTRUCT FUCK FUCK FUCK

(I am hoping and praying that she has more of the seeds somewhere but I am so scared. This is going to crush Ben and her when she realizes what she’s done)

I wonder if instead of a party, it was a nice dinner for the two of them because he noticed she was sad….

Fuckkkk Ben didn’t come home?????? This is so devastating dream fuck no. I’m not even done reading and I’m already screaming for the next chapter

Shit she’s tearing him apart. Holy fuck clover I get that you’re stressed but for the love of god shut the fuck up.

Look I love to commend you for your ability to write drama and emotional scenes without making it a soap opera which is still definitely the case, but this is so much worse than a soap opera. This feels like being personally stabbed in the gut over and over and over again.

This is painful and raw and personal and emotional and tragic. My heart is absolutely aching for them right now. And the absolute whiplash that Ben went through………. He’s going to be a wreck

I actually think that contrary to what clover thinks that he will actually stop creating art because he’ll be too upset, which I think would be a really interesting twist. Instead of the pain she causes being the reason for her art, she’ll have to realize that it’s because of the joy she brings to his life.

And it’s true that by any measure he’s had an easier life than her, but to say that his pain and suffering isn’t just as valid is so cruel and invalidating; suffering is not a competition.

Also Ben has been through a lot. Besides the obvious part of his dad dying, he’s constantly being told how he’s the spare, how he’s second string and not as important.

He’s being told that how he loves his life doesn’t really matter compared to Anthony. He’s like the personification of the ‘nothing matters (/pos) vs nothing matters (/neg)’. I’m sure he’s struggled with the latter at some points as well. Even when he’s come to terms with it, there are still moments like when Anthony went to the duel where he has a crisis of faith.

Ugh idk why you said we might be mad at Ben…. Maybe in future chapters but def not this one. I can exactly blame clover but I’m kind of going to blame clover….

CMA hi darliiiing! ❤️

Lolll oh I knew you would be yelling at me for sure 😂

Josie and Clover will always be there for each other❤️ So will their aunt and uncle ❤️

Oh I don't think Josie thinks that or will tell Benedict that, no worries🥰 She thinks Clover married for love, but still thinks it's also an advantage that she married especially now that her parents can't drag her back to their home 😏

Squeezing wrist thing yeeees! ❤️ It's their way of holding hands and it'll be adorable 🥰

I think she planted all the seeds in the vase actually 😏 Buuut will the gardener throw the vase away? 😏 Or will he keep it?😁

Nopeeee, he was too busy partying so he didn't come home 😈

Clover did NOT hold back 💔

Omg darliiiing this is so sweet of you! ❤️ I really enjoy angst and it's wonderful to hear that I could reflect those emotions ❤️😍

That would definitely be an interesting twist and it would shock Clover! 😱

And it’s true that by any measure he’s had an easier life than her, but to say that his pain and suffering isn’t just as valid is so cruel and invalidating; suffering is not a competition. This is so true!

But Clover thinks it is 😏 That's what she told Benedict about her and Josie's childhood, how Josie had it worse than her 💔 So I think she made herself believe it, and now that she snapped, she ended up saying all that to Benedict 💔

And that's another thing Clover needs to realize, that Benedict's life wasn't "perfect" even if it looked like it was ❤️

They will both be so so heartbroken in the next chapter 😏😈

Thank you so so much for this! ❤️❤️❤️

[daughterofdarkness777]

poem for nobody

RUN / Don’t call me your muse I might be amused don’t you know a muse dies tragically in a poetic way since she is a broken femme fatale that inspires artists well  look at me what do you see? Exactly. You thought my eyes were blue. You thought I looked like you . You thought I’m empathetic but wow you are beyond pathetic anyway this isn’t about YOU, because you are nobody’s muse . Gifts and trips all around the globe Santa Claus always brought me more more more .  Silver spoon I spat it out immediately  i bit the hand that actually never fed me , I’ve been starving since 1995. But I’ll change the paradigm Fuck it I’ll turn it all around . I’ve lost it all already so now I’m free free from any fear being fearless is a gift it’s my superpower now and throw it all at me you’ll see disagree I don’t care I know nobody would go near a bee for me this isn’t my girl anymore since I stand alone . You know what ? I am a muse. Just not yours . My own muse. Redefining the weight that word carries imma muse who is immortal you can’t touch me abuse me or hurt me in any way just try me you can not defy me I’m fucking magic call  me Hermione. Resilient brilliant both my traits .  I’m happy I’m sad where is the difference! I’m in my feelings no drake. This is the part where you start crying … can you hear me crying ? I hate to be to break this to you but you’ve got em all fooled they think you’re the shit but I can see right through you death becomes me not you . Immortality eternal beauty cmon look at yourself or better don’t cause if you take a good look and see through this image you so profoundly worked on for years the mirror might crack and you’ll see a toddler in an adults body pathetic as Fuck no ounce of confidence nor self image.Whoa this shit Is wack. I actually thought I was the one the one who was to blame for all your selfish games and every time I spoke my truth you made me feel insane you were clearly winning at your own game well now the tables are turned and I have switched ,  I’ll never be your bitch, those 4 Years i can’t have them  back you robbed me even of that time , my time , it’s not something I regret now I can spot monsters like you from a far and one last thing if you’re a superstar dude then I am an introvert very shy invisible to everyone around me . You’re so funny although you lack a sense of humour all the yarn you spin daily the fabrications you have to make up  so you can live with yourself . Someone should be honest with you . You’re nobody a zero boring to a degree that could be lethal so stop inflicting pain onto others who do you think you are babes ? You’re not a special snowflake you’re talentless beyond belief how could I have missed your kiss   ? Stupid me stupid you stupid world stupid people around us , that’s the past tho the future will come for you and when it does you’re not gonna make it through . Weak as hell lying  is the only thing you know how to do . Now enough about you I’m happy you shaped me into who I am today I’m glad about everything I’ve been through they  say once you’re in hell start running I am racing. And I’ll be dancing in fire dressed in my crying boy attire a trip to Venus all I desire . I’m non conforming to anyone any longer yup I’m a million times stronger .  Beg you run . Go ahead you’ll soon be dead dont waste your time with a vampire incapable of love /don’t  touch me no you can’t hold my hand I’ve been burnt before that’s why my love is deficit surely ain’t affectionate all I wanna do is spend time with her just her so go run you don’t compare you’ll never be anything like her . Run away . It’ll be okay . I don’t want to know if you reep what you sew. 

[momowho34]

So that story about Dionysus being the son of Persephone is awful and gross for like 10 different reasons but can we stop and just appreciate how amazingly they would get along? Like dionysus has mysterious chthonic connections on his own and both of them show evidence of being preceded by really old and dangerous figures and they both have rebirth themes and agricultural themes and I just keep imagining

(This isn’t for a fandom it’s just straight up Greek mythology btw)

———————————————————————

Styx: Yeah idk, I just... found him here?

Dionysus, after wandering into the underworld and passing out next to the river Styx, wearing dramatic grape vines, drunk as fuck, tired, entirely oblivious to anything ever, should be totally harmless but still has the faintest aura of the maddened screams of the dying and the roar of lions drifting around him: hnngh???

Persephone, tearing up: *gasps* new bestie!!!!

Styx: ??????

———————————————————————

Persephone, during their weekly visits, painting his nails: *sighs* it’s just.... so exhausting to be raised from the dead every year, y’know? Really fucks with my beauty routine. I love seeing my mom but being brought back to life is just a little tedious. Dying is like so much easier.

Dionysus, feeding Cerberus ghost pork chops under the table with his other hand: oh sweetheart I know. I’ve died and been reborn three times, did you know that? Exhausting. Every. Single. Time.

Persephone: omg dish!!!!

———————————————————————

Persephone, on the way to the fields of Elysian with Dionysus: I just don’t understand why you had to kill him! He was so close to reuniting with his wife... er- whatever her name was, but they were really cute and you know how I am about love stories I just... I’m so upset!!!

Dionysus, carrying Orpheus’s soul over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes: look, he was ruining my vibe, okay? I really value my vibe! That’s just how it is. Besides, he lost his chance to find her in the living world when he turned around and saw her. Now he gets to reunite with his lover.... dicey-universe or whatever her name was.

Orpheus, weakly: Eurydice, my beloved that I lost, oh how her beauty was- ack!

Dionysus, frowning, wacking Orpheus over his shoulder: hush, you. We’re almost there. If you start waxing poetic or singing about tragic love again I will throw you into Asphodel so fast-

Persephone: oh don’t pretend that you didn’t come down here to save your wife a long time ago.

Dionysus, scoffing: okay, but that’s different! I am allowed to be here. Ariadne just came down for a little visit, she wasn’t planning to stay dead!

Persephone: .....I’m not entirely sure you understand how death works, dionysus.

———————————————————————

Hades, sighing: honey I don’t want to limit your friend circle, it’s just that it’s dangerous for someone to traverse between realms like this!

Persephone: I’m telling you though, he is a death god!

Hades: darling I’m finding it hard to believe that the god of wine and partying is-

Dionysus, turning the corner, with his horns and thrysus and slit pupil eyes and leopard skin and somehow giving off ancient old god eldritch abomination energy despite wearing sunglasses and drinking a smoothie: ‘Sup fuckers.

Hades, backing away: dear fucking Kronos yeah that’s a death god, that’s a really old death, that’s an old as Tarterus death god, holy fucking shit okay have fun sweetie he’s free to hang out down here whenever he wants I’m going to go throw up have fun you two bye no way I’m fucking with this shit not today-

———————————————————————

(tw: people talking about sex)

Persephone: okay but you can’t have had sex with that many nymphs! I know those girls! Boroe, Khonoris, Nikaia, Methe, Pallene-

Dionysus, sighing: Okay, okay, it wasn’t that many nymphs and humans! Just... look, let’s stop talking about my love life and talk about yours, hmm? Like did you have any other romantic escapades other then Mr. Scary Pants here?

Persephone: hmmm.... well there was this one really cute guy that I hung out with for a while, Adonis. He was pretty great, honestly.

Dionysus: ooh, Adonis... I remember him, he was really cute- shit, sorry, I had a fling with him too but this isn’t about me, go on.

Persephone, rolling her eyes: ugh, of course you did. Anyway, he’s no use to me dead, and he got killed by Ares.

Dionysus: oof, Ares. Fate worse then death. Why was he killed by Ares?

Persephone: because he slept with Aphrodite, Ares really hates it when people sleep with his girlfriend.

Dionysus, reminiscing: oooohhh, Aphrodite. Now she was definitely something, I remember this one time we- why are you looking at me like that?

Persephone:

Persephone: you.

Persephone: you never told me you slept with aPHRODITE- *assorted sounds of screaming and crashing*

———————————————————————

Demeter, exasperated, during the summer months: oh by the Titans, you can’t seriously be telling me that you’re friends with Bacchus of all people.

Persephone: but why! He’s an agriculture god, you two should get along! Plus he’s not dangerous- ok, he’s a little dangerous, but like, not to me!

Demeter, sighing: sweetheart I assure you, it’s not about if he’s dangerous-

Dionysus, popping through a window, looking at Demeter: heeeyyyyy! yo, it’s Bread Basket, my favorite bestie!!! I’m doing real good at this domesticated planting thing, I’m a born natural at it hahaha!!! I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been taking really good care of the vineyards you helped me plant, absolutely no fires or villager beheadings so far! I promise no more screw ups- *glances behind him* oh my gods you stupid fucking satyr’s, that is the ONE plot of land that you’re not supposed to- Sorry Demi, gotta go good luck with the.... whatever it is you do, bye!!!

Persephone, staring in awe as Dionysus runs back to the fields and desperately tries to corrall the satyr’s in his cult that are munching on grape vines as the maenads cheer and throw sticks in the background: wow. I’ve never... ive never seen this side of him before.

Demeter, putting her head in her hands: yet another reason why I wish I had your luck, Kore.

———————————————————————

Dionysus, standing next to persephone, watching Psyche skip away with a box of beauty cream tucked under her arm: ....You know she’s gonna open that box.

Persephone: yep.

Dionysus: and that it’s going to kill her?

Persephone: yep.

Dionysus: and that doesn’t bother you?

Persephone, sighing: look, have a little faith in Eros. He’s a resourceful little shit, he’ll figure something out, and watching Aphrodite realize she’s been bested by her own son will taste like poetry. I can’t wait to see it.

Dionysus, whistling: damn gurl you hold a grudge.

Persephone, narrowing her eyes: only against Aphrodite. Only against Aphrodite.

———————————————————————

Dionysus: anyway I was *Baby Melinoe grabs his arm and he freezes* oh my god what is that

Persephone, laughing: that’s just my daughter, Dionysus. I think she likes you.

Dionysus: fuck. Oh gods. um- uhhhhh- what I do with it, I don’t know- I don’t know what to do with it-

Melinoe: *laughs*

Dionysus, sweating: oh no. Why did it make that sound? Did I break it? Is it- is it broken??? What am I supposed to do with this??? Is it okay????

Persephone: gods this is so going in the fucking scrapbook.

Melinoe: *latches onto Dionysus’s arm as he continues to panic*

Dionysus: persephone is it okay? Is it broken? Persephone I’m not kidding your husband honestly freaks me the fuck out I don’t wanna break your kid oh my gods

Persephone: she usually doesn’t like people she doesn’t know-

Melinoe: *starts to climb on him*

Dionysus: oh fuck, no no no what is it doing, Persephone I’m not kidding what is it doing, what is it doing Persephone get it off me oh my gods I’m not joking perSEPHONE-

[artificialqueens]

Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

-

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

-

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

[mcustorm]

45 M/M Gay Movies, Ranked

The other day I bit the bullet and decided to watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time. All I knew about that movie was that it was basically the CMBYN of yesteryear and somebody got killed with a tire iron. Anyways, so I finish the movie and realize that I’ve seen a *lot* of gay movies, especially in the last couple of years. So here are my rankings according to nothing but my personal preference. I won’t write about all of them, but you can ask about something if I leave it out.

I wish I could give you a rubric for this. The reality is, there are some radically different movies on this list with different tones and intentions. There’s buddy comedies, tearjerkers, small indie features, big theater releases. So trying to rank them all is TUFF.

The Way He Looks - Such a beautiful coming-of-age movie. Maybe the 2nd one I saw on this list? Perfect length, perfect characterization, simple yet compelling, clever. And nothing feels better than reaching a happy ending (for once, because some of these movies’ endings-- SHEESH) that’s been earned. It just hasn’t been topped.

2. God’s Own Country

3. Pride

4. Kanarie - Yea, we don’t talk about this movie enough. It’s one of the most recent that I’ve seen. Beautiful. The way that it references apartheid and the war to reflect the protagonist’s feelings? Flawless.

5. Jongens - The first movie that I saw on this list, gets many a bonus point for that.

6. Moonlight - Yes, I am black. Yes, I understand this movie may be too low. Moonlight kind of scares me. In general, there’s not nearly enough discourse surrounding this one for me. But while it’s not exactly a popcorn-muncher, to me it’s the most personal movie on the list. When I look at Chiron and all that he’s been through, I can’t help but draw parallels to my own story up to this point. It holds a mirror up to me in a way that no other movie on this list does. That makes me uncomfortable.

But it is so poetic. Have you guys seen the script for this? The directing, the SOUNDTRACK, the acting. Phenomenal. 

7. Weekend

8. Call Me By Your Name - Yes, I am aware of people’s beef with this one. Yes, I understand a lot of people may feel this one is overrated. While I do think this one gets worse on rewatch, the truth is, it’s not really *that* overrated because hot take: most (meaning over half) of the movies on this list range somewhere from “just okay” to “painstakingly bad”.

It’s the score, the cinematography, the subtext in most all of the dialogue, the acting, the way that you can smell the apricots through the fucking screen. People who say this movie is a vacation ad are fucking CORRECT. One of my biggest gripes however is that it’s too fucking long. And uh, that age difference...

And Armie Hammer’s a weirdo...

9. Dating Amber* - Dating Amber has one of those “Duh” premises that sounds like it could’ve been done like 30 times before yet I can’t think of any other examples of it. So what you’d think would be a wacky premise actually turns out to be a frankly poignant movie with an emotional story arc for the main two characters.

10. Hello Stranger: The Movie* - This movie, which is the first sequel (sorta) on the list, frankly had no business being as good as it was. Even though the web series is required viewing, I felt the movie fixed like all of the series’ issues: pacing, lack of compelling drama, the awkward quarantine format. The drama and stakes are there without us having to visit Angst City. And the theme and the ending reprise is HEAT.

11. Uncle Frank* -  Uncle Frank is like The Help of gay movies. Like The Help, it’s *overall* a short, sweet and fluffy movie set decades ago. Like The Help, you’ll still come out of it feeling pretty good even though it has some dark moments. Also like The Help, you’ll wonder after the fact if the central white girl absolutely needed to be so...well, central for this story to be told. Bonus points for Paul Bettany and Character Actress Margo Martindale.

12. Brokeback Mountain - Tragic.

13. Moffie - Set during the South African border war, same as Kanarie. You even hear the word “moffie” throughout Kanarie. Anyways, this is a war movie for the gays, and a very intense watch. I liked that it was a much more realistic view of what a soldier endured during that period, and of course on the flip side I thought it was more thorough in its depiction of the rampant racism. I gotta find a good book on this era.

14. A Moment In the Reeds

15. Get Real - Maybe the most out of place movie on the list. I need to rewatch it. I do recall absolutely loving the score, however. Like, I fucks with this:

16. Freier Fall - When I finished Brokeback I was like, “Wait, wasn’t that just Free Fall with extra steps?” And yea, it kinda is. But even discount Brokeback is still pretty good.

17. Beautiful Thing - There are few things to like about this one, the relationship between the two guys, the mother’s love for her son even though it’s not all rainbows, that nice little final scene. I did not care for the dark-skinned woman being portrayed as, you know, the drug abusing, school dropout, gossipy, butt of jokes neighbor. But that guy really looks like Tom Holland tho.

18. Love, Simon - It’s at this point that I move from “Yea, that movie is good, you should watch it!” to “Look, you may like it, you may not.”

19. The 10 Year Plan - This movie is so fucking cheesy that there was cheddar coming though my speakers. But when I think of “Hallmark/Lifetime, but for the gays” this is the crown jewel. There’s some other movies on this list that could’ve taken some notes.

20. The Christmas Setup* - The trend of fluffy-white-gay-cable-network-movie continues and in good form. It’s not deep. It’s not really thought provoking. It’s cute. Fran Drescher is there. You should watch it.

21. Giant Little Ones

22. Hidden Kisses

23. Alex Strangelove - In a unique twist, the emotional core of this one is arguably between Alex and his girlfriend. All that ends up happening, however, is we the viewer keep wanting more Alex/Elliott scenes; those are the most electric in the whole movie. The end result is a hot yet endearing mess.

24. Fair Haven

25. The Thing About Harry - Freeform’s attempt at making a cheesy rom-com for the gays. It’s...okay. I personally feel like the main character’s friend is highkey trifling but it’s whatever.

26. Your Name Engraved Herein* - So I guess I’ve decided I officially hate angst. I mean, I get how it’s often necessary to tell an effective story, but I’m just not here for 2 hour indie angst fests that get passed off as “high art” anymore. I cannot do it. Somehow this is Brokeback’s fault...there just has to be a better way to tell gay stories in the 2020′s. Anyways, the last song was fuego.

27. The Perfect Wedding - Easily the most bizarre movie on this list. It’s so bad, I liked it a lot.

28. Naz and Maalik - The first half of the movie with the two leads just riffing is some pretty great stuff. The back half starts throwing plot developments that are just less than interesting.

29. My Best Friend

30. The Curiosity of Chance

31. Being 17 - Boring. Angsty.

32. And Then We Danced

33. Center of My World - Has some of the most trifling characters EVER. I was so angry. This movie for me has *0* rewatchability.

34. Just Friends

35. 4th Man Out - This movie was basically “a bro/Hangover-style movie, but for the gays.” I absolutely love the intention, but the execution was a little shoddy. One day we’re gonna get a flawless movie that nails what this movie was going for. I hope we remember this movie whenever that day comes.

36. Latter Days - So fucking preachy. 

37. GBF - Another bizarre one, but at least this movie gets how wacky it is.

38. Beach Rats

39. Shelter - I’ve noticed a lot of people like this one. To that I say...yikes. Remember that scene from Family Guy where Peter says he doesn’t care for The Godfather? I did not care for Shelter. It insists upon itself (not really, but still).

40. Handsome Devil

41. Esteros - It’s at this point of the list that we shift from “Movies that are the definition of ‘ight’ “ to “These movies are bad. Bad. BAAAAAD.”

42. Monster Pies

43. Were the World Mine - I couldn’t even finish it. Wanna watch a better musical? Go watch Kanarie. Wanna watch a better Shakespeare adaptation? The Lion King is the movie for you, or even fucking She’s the Man.

44. North Sea Texas - So boring. I actually think this one may need a rewatch, because I swear it shouldn’t have been as terrible as it was.

45. Salvation Army - I have no idea what this movie was going for. I understand that it is autobiographical, however...it simultaneously barely has any plot or character developments. This one has shades of Beach Rats, but it’s significantly worse, and I didn’t even like Beach Rats that much.

So that’s it, thanks if you made it down this far. I guess I’ll update the list as I inevitably watch more of these. I would love movie recommendations! 

[madmachaca]

Thoughts on Saga and Kanon and my undeniable preference for one of them.

Between Saga and Kanon, I prefer Kanon... for a looooooong shot.

Saga is not a character I particularly like... he is not even on my top 6 favorite Gold Saints, (not including Kanon, who it's on his own category). Speaking only about the goldies,there is at least 6 dudes I like better than Saga and the funny thing is that, on paper,I should like him a lot more. He is an interesting guy, his story is interesting, and so are his motivations and circumstances, but as it usually happens with fiction, you tent to like those characters you connect with...those whose stories speak louder to you. And Kanon does speaks louder to me.

I think that Saga's struggles and internal conflict are great for a tragic story. Being split between being good and a freaking maniac could work very nice as an allegory of the two natures of men (like the devil and the angel on the shoulder thing). Having him being described by people around him as pure, and good beyond human nature, while he has this insanely dark side that takes control over him while he is forced to watch the chaos and damage he causes as he struggles to take control back, is very interesting and almost poetic. A very exaggerated representation of "human nature": we are not always perfectly good, and sometimes our "darker side" comes out but we should be able to recognize when our actions and wants are harmful and stop in our tracks. Saga doesn't have control over it, and the result is this very tragic man. Later when we learned he was possessed, this becomes a hostage situation, but for the sake of allegory, I do believe the compararion still works (but not as good as before because it takes responsibility away from him).

When he is finally free of his curse and it's completely in control of his actions, he looks back to all things done (which mind you, weren't even his fault) and decides (by himself) that the only acceptable punishment is death. Right in from of Athena, the godess he was supposed to protect but end up trying to kill, he takes his own life as a way to atone for all damage he caused.

I recognize him as an interesting character, with an interesting story....and yet....

I like Kanon way more .

Because I love redemption stories. And for someone to be redeemed, first they have to acknowledge they were bad and they need to be held responsible for it.

When we first met Kanon he was bad. He was very close to a classic super villian with an plan that could have worked if it wasn't for those kids and their Phoenix. And if we make conclusions with the information we are given we realize his reason for being evil were actually very spiteful. He wasn't possessed, he didn't met a supernatural being who used him oe manipulated him... he is just a very intense case of "being the evil twin" (added to the possibility of him being kept a secret and neglected as a potential saint because Saga got the cloth) and later it evolved to a case of "fuck you, Saga, I try to share something with you and you locked me up to die, asshole, well, watch me, bitch....and fuck you too, Athena...just because" (this is what I imagine he was actually thinking).

And then, fast forward to when he is the Sea Dragon, and his pillar got destroyed, and he is confronted with the truth of why he is still kicking...something must have broken inside of him, and as a way to return the favor, likely, he throws himself in front of Poseidon's trident and saves the one person who thought he was worth saving...and miraculously, he survives.

In Destiny, I believe, we learn that he did considered following Saga's path and was about to kill himself but realize there was still more to do. His mission was not over yet. Going back to Saori he offered his sevices to the person he once tried to end, and fought in her name for one last mission. Still alive, still aware and still responsible for all the harm he caused.

I like Kanon because I am a hopeless fool.

To me, there is something every delightful about a story arc where someone so terrible is able to change his ways. Because this is human nature too.

There is something foolishly hopeful about a story of a person who was able to prove they was able to recognize thier wrong doings and accept they were, well, wrong, as they try to compensate all the bad things caused. No one had the obligation to forgive or accept him. But still he went back.

He had no right to come back demanding anything...and he didn't. He asked for forgiveness but he never really expected it, insted he offered his life to keep fighting...and fighting he eventually died.

And I really like that.

[peepingtoad]

OKAY SO. 

It’s not that often that I talk about what I really think about Jiraiya, and I guess I mean more how I feel about him, since I always try to write my ‘deeper’ headcanons/metas from a more... idk, trying not to get too emotional about it point of view. Basically it’s because I know how controversial he is, and I pretty much ritually avoid a lot of takes because I don’t want to get irritated about something that really doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme, because we’re all entitled to our opinions and I largely get my say through the act of writing and developing him how I see fit.

Which is enough for me, mostly, but for the purpose of reinforcing/building upon how I see my muse’s plight, working through some of my Sannin-feels and also to dip my toes into why I find blindly judgemental/single-faceted takes of him, his priorities and the Sannin’s bond so exasperating, I kinda feel like rambling my thoughts (feelings) anyway! 

Politely sticks this stream-of-consciousness mess under a cut.

So sometimes I do think about the fact that Jiraiya kinda, lmao, forgot about Everything Else in the world because of Orochimaru and his (frankly) obsession with him/them. And the fact that a ridiculously significant portion of bad shit that happened is down to his actions/inaction. And the fact that he really did go and leave the likes of Naruto (and maybe to a degree Kakashi, although there’s zero actual evidence he didn’t get involved given the strong indications of a great rapport in the canon), just because he was so hellbent on pursuing Orochimaru, who was not even shown to be affectionate towards him at the best of times. When I think about it in terms of Jiraiya being gone and the main reason we’re given for it, things suck for a number of people, and quite largely because of potentially unrequited/horribly communicated/obsessive JiraOro pursuits, in essence :’)

(And for all it’s still quite the rarepair, Jiraiya does express on accounts that he was destroyed when Oro left. I mean... this is the guy who rarely acknowledges his sadness so... It’s not my bias at all I sware)

Of course JiraTsu is very real in my eyes too, albeit a very different kinda tragic, as is OroTsu. And the messy poly ship? Ohohoho, even better, but... yeah. Tsunade does at least go her own way for a long time, as messed up as that is in itself, for reasons including the fact she seems to pointedly not heal or move on from her grief. And given the absolute debacle that was her and Jiraiya reuniting... and both her and Oro even discussing a possibility of sacrificing him... and just, them in general for that whole arc :’))) yeah. They are without a doubt messy and troubled, but even despite how fraught things become I genuinely think all the furtive expressions and the undercurrents of longing and the evasion of their past exhibits a history much deeper and full of lost love compared to many other team dynamics we get (otherwise the Three Way Divorce wouldn’t have been quite so horrible on them, would it? That and they’d probably have split up after Team Hiruzen was no more, if they really hated each other/just tolerated each other out of familiarity like I sometimes see speculated).

But yeah, back to our main man. Jiraiya’s intense (and frankly very Scorpio of him) love for our first series Big Bad kinda did ruin him and what he was setting out to do in some ways, to the degree that the actual story of Naruto wouldn’t be very much without him in terms of drama. I mean, he always loved a good story, right? So art imitates life, and innit just pathetic poetic.

And in so many ways it is incredibly tragic and pitiable that he’s Just Like That. Idealistic and warping everything terrible, no matter how bad, into adventure in his mind! As growth! As pain that makes you TOUGH and makes you a stronger man! As something to be pushed aside while you just keep on truckin’! Whatever anyone you love throws at you, it’s Totally Fine!

After so long narrating through his personal lens, I’ve come to realise he truly is so convinced that everything bad that happens, is sort of just... something he has to deal with and feel big and guilty and feelsy for while spinning it in ways that enable him to keep going. He just loads it on himself and sorta holds it. The fact he’s so sad and filled with sickly pining grief that he has to try and exorcise it with impulsive bouts of decadence? Fine. And it’s not abnormal at all, how he approaches things with such broad scope and just kinda... thoughtlessly wrecking-balls his way through everything he thinks is a great idea at the time. He experiences the fallout of these things and simultaneously feels the entire ravages of it acutely while compartmentalising it ever so neatly away. The crazy thing, too, is that he’s exceptionally convincing at making everything he does and how he handles things seem so grand and noble and romantic and tragic... but in a humorously self-deprecating and still ultimately very hopeful way, to the degree that I as a mun get caught up in his relentless optimism and forget he actually is a sad and heartbroken guy wrapped up in all this grandiosity.

Sometimes I do step back and look and I just think yeah, fuck, he really is a total disaster! He’s a walking disaster and he’s been so damaging to himself and others in so many ways, all because of acting on emotions and impulses without really thinking about the impact! He really did kinda give up on those who needed him and for what? A love that will never love him or prioritise him back? 

A wonderfully tragic theme that I do love with him, don’t get me wrong.

But then at the same time, there’s always more nuance to be had than just ‘he is a disaster and made bad choices, as tragic and romantic as it is, he was actually just selfish and kinda sucked in the end, pathetically whipped by his friends and unable to let go of what they had’. There’s more nuance to be had than reducing him to a purely romantically-inclined character, who just snubs everyone else for a doomed love... because in the end, I think a huge part of JiraOro’s demise in particular was that Oro felt immensely snubbed by Jiraiya when he stayed in Ame, when his loyalty to Konoha (as a place and people, not necessarily a system) and of course loyalty to his own ideals was prioritised over Oro.

To an extent, I feel like Tsunade could have been a similar case, were she not preoccupied with already having lost so much, and besides I really do think she and Jiraiya were quite firmly in best friend zone at that point. With Tsunade not being able to get comfortable around Jiraiya or to pursue any underlying affection for him because of the dumbass way he always behaved (understandably of her tbh), probably until she got with Dan, by which point I reckon Jiraiya started to really come through by showing how he valued her for her, where we see by them having each other’s backs so closely in the second war. Not to mention him generally respecting that his feelings for her have no place by the time he gets her back to Konoha.

In terms of that first split in Ame, Jiraiya, I feel, simply didn’t think him leaving was going to be a big deal, because the three were always fiercely headstrong people who had their own shit going on (simultaneously independent while also being, perhaps not to their knowledge, So Very Codependent). Not only that, but his overly affectionate ways and incessant jolliness were probably considered such a joke that he was basically like ‘they’ll be fine without me’. I certainly don’t think he felt needed by them, which I don’t think is their fault or a point of angst and ‘waaah poor blameless Jiraiya’, because quite honestly, the strain on their relationship was something I fully believe even he didn’t realise he needed out of at the time. His one-track mind was just on ‘save kids, teach kids, this is right, must seize opportunity to be the change I was told I’d be, not continue with this godforsaken war’

Selfish? Maybe. Well-intentioned? Certainly. Intended to hurt anyone or imply he stopped caring? No.

In essence, when it comes to why in the end Jiraiya seemed to be so horrendously bad at being around at the worst of times, at being responsible, whatever else (and I’m not even going to go into scenes intended to be comedic because, they are comedic)... I’ve got to look at it from more than just one view. It’s easy to say ‘he’s ridiculous and terrible because he pretty much flaked on what was important based on his whims/a doomed love/his dick’ (which I have seen said lmao) but there are so many other things at play here.

So I’m thinking, while he was shirking duties (godfatherly mainly)... did he actually consider that his most important duty? Was it anyone’s place to tell him it was? Minato didn’t, as I recall, and when he sacrificed himself he specifically left it to the Third because he (presumably) respected what his teacher was about and knew he wasn’t for staying put. Did Jiraiya not consider his primary duty to be to the prophecy, and in a more general sense fixing the big wrongs and trying to foil big dangers to his home? Were these things not pretty much what he existed for (as much as his faith wavered and went off the rails at times)? Was that not the main source of any real purpose he ever had, being a kid who showed practically no ambition before? Did he not pretty much redesign himself as being ‘from Mt. Myōboku’ rather than Konoha after two devastating wars, and thus is it not understandable for him not to focus solely on Konoha—not outright destroying it, still ultimately loyal to his home and not about to let anyone destroy it, but seeing that the world is in fact so much bigger than just his little town? Is that really something that’s so bad and wrong of him, in a story where the main cast’s country has a pretty fucking nasty system and is established to do so very early on? Is he not pretty revolutionary in his own brand of not blindly serving, but not going on a destroy-it-all frenzy either?

Also, was he not the only one who actually bothered to investigate Akatsuki and the forces that would see Naruto dead, in time? For all he did help bring Akatsuki into existence in ways, it was inevitable from before he even met the orphans that they were going to be groomed/moulded into what they became, regardless of whether Jiraiya came onto the scene. Jiraiya leaving them was just a different kind of suffering to what they were inevitably going to suffer anyway, and hell, with his influence at least there was a time where they might’ve stood a chance of going totally against Madara/Obito’s path, especially while Yahiko was still around. Jiraiya didn’t know that the whole thing with the Ame orphans was, by a design out of his control, doomed to end horribly. So while he felt personally responsible not knowing this, and it’s taken as a given that he was... actually, was he, when there was a master manipulator at play? Was it wrong to want to give some kids a chance?

With regards to all those things I see people say he should have stayed and fixed, that he should have been there, he should have done x y z... Is it not the responsibility of everyone not satisfied with their lot to step up to the plate and make where they live better? Jiraiya wasn’t the only adult. Tsunade, and I absolutely love her, does seem overwhelmingly to be absolved of leaving Konoha because... ??? Kicker is that she too is related to Naruto, of course. 

So... was she not also needed for the very material ways she could’ve helped at numerous points? Was she not also placing her grief and lost love before everything else? Are some reasons inherently more ok than others to ditch? As Kakashi’s generation grew up, was it not also then up to them to decide whether they’d change the status quo? Were Minato’s own generation, presumably his own peer group, not complicit in Naruto’s ostracisation? We got a slight taste of rebellion with Asuma, Hiruzen’s own son, but the fact is many Konoha-nin were overwhelmingly complacent with how things were. And yet never get demonised at all for it. Because it’s Jiraiya’s fault for... not staying and giving it all up to be a guardian who could well be depressed and unfit to raise a child... or just being a flaky as hell one that’s never there anyway because he has shit to do? (and in doing the former would let too many things go unchecked by a completely tuned-out Hokage, not gathering all that spicy useful intel, y’know... essentially he wouldn’t have ended up largely doing his job along with the personal shit in between).

Basically when I see claims saying that Jiraiya as an individual should have done pretty much everything better, and somehow been there for everyone that needed him at any given time, and that (mostly Naruto’s) suffering was a failing on Just His part because of his selfish whims... I feel like the point of his tragedy is absolutely missed. That tragedy being that barrelling through things alone is definitely a failing and harmful in numerous ways, as we see with Itachi shouldering everything alone too, and we see them both miss out on Naruto and Sasuke as a result... but at the same time, is just settling down and leaving everything else to chance not also a huge failing, when there are so many other circumstances and enemies acting against you, when you do have the power to change tides, and when so many other people refuse to or can’t seize their own agency? Jiraiya does put his faith in a lot of people too, and a lot of people fail. Don’t fail him, but in a general sense many, like Minato, fail to make the change they wanted to. That’s life in this world, it’s tragic, and after losing a lot of loved ones yeah, he retreats and goes at it alone. 

But how can he win? How does he do what’s right, other than by chasing what he thinks he can do to actually help the world, which happens to be bigger and not centred on individuals, even those he cares about?

(and remember, nobody knows Naruto is special-reincarnation-prophecy-boi, which is why I tend not to blame-game any characters for him being treated like so many orphans were because... while it’s not morally right or nice at all, it’s tone deaf to how the world is, to the fact all characters having different degrees of knowledge and priorities, and it’s insensitive of the fact most the characters had their own struggles and were just doing their best with a bad lot gdi). 

Hell though, Jiraiya even does put Oro, his big obsessive wild goose chase that whisks him away into selfish pining hopelessly devoted land, on the back burner at points. Maybe not in a lasting way, particularly by the last databook where he’s inspired anew by Naruto, but he does prioritise other shit on numerous occasions. And there’s a lot of shit to try and prioritise.

What I’m trying to say is, Jiraiya can’t solely be held responsible for people. Sure, he’s a character whose decisions were pivotal to events, but what of every other character in the story? Why are they not held to the same crazy high standard of doing and protecting and preventing and somehow doing everything ‘right’ that would have also meant him fitting neatly into the Konoha mould? Would other characters really have been that much better in the position of The Big Guide/Martyr/Tragic Hero/Force For Change character? And also is having a tragic Chaotic Good bastard of a hero not a sign of a damn good and interesting character, that at the very least tried where so many others didn’t? Would Naruto not have been a boring as hell story, whose main protag didn’t really have much conflict to make him compelling, without Jiraiya (among others) being a mess with the best intentions? Without so many other characters having failed him, for him to overcome it and still be able to love and inspire change (albeit through sometimes-clumsy talk-no-jutsu)? Was I missing the point of the story?

............. Hmm!

No longer sure where else I’m going with this now, so.... here, I guess, ends my ode to why character hate (especially that reduces them to One Thing) is dumb, why demonising truly well-meaning characters doesn’t feel particularly woke to me in a cast full of flawed characters and horrible circumstance, and why I’ll defend this poor bastard with far too damn much hinging on him to the end I guess :’)

TL;DR HE’S A DUMBASS AND HE TRIED, OKAY?!

[takaraphoenix]

Thoughts on some of the canon ships in PJO (Percabeth, Franzel, Caleo, ect)?

Uuuuh. Sure. Why not. Positive thoughts above the cut, negative thoughts beneath the cut so people who don’t like negative stuff don’t have to look at it?

(Watch me try to remember what tf is canon anymore anyway... it has been so many years since I discarded canon. *chuckles*)

Tyson/Ella: While I do think this was unnecessary - in the sense that it was very rushed, sudden and seriously, Riordan, this is not Noah’s Ark, you don’t need to pair off LITERALLY EVERYBODY - I do think those two are very adorable and sweet with each other and I like how... innocent and cute they are

Frank/Hazel: They’re cute. A relationship based on friendship and mutual trust. I do have a weakness for the “No, I do not want to fall in love. Oh” kind of ships. I know this hellsite likes to pretend they’re ““toxic”“ because... Frank is two years older than Hazel, but I really do need all of those people to go outside, take a deep breath and then walk to their parents and ask them how old they were when they first met because two years is not an age gap, in neither fiction nor reality is two years an age gap and y’all need to stop throwing around your weird-ass American terms for what grade you’re in and pretend that’s like an indicator for right or wrong. I went to school too and I was in the same class and grade as people two years younger and two years older than myself, because some people are held back, some people start school a bit later and some start it a bit earlier and it is perfectly possible to be in the same grade with two years age difference this is not an age gap. Calm down. (/rant)

Grover/Juniper: I admit, I remember very little of what was between them in canon because it’s been ten years since I read the PJO series and it’s not like Riordan bothered to put them in the sequels, heck he barely remembered to put Grover in there for one scene. But I do remember liking them when I first read the books and thinking they were pretty cute.

Chris/Clarisse: LOVE IT. Clarisse’s soft side. The duality and complexity of the Titan War that Chris represents. The potential there - I know, I know, if we had gotten more than like a few brief moments between them, Riordan would have probably managed to ruin them (which, I assume also goes for Grover/Juniper), but damn, I love that Clarisse got to find love.

Charles/Silena: I love them so very much. So tragic, so soft, so poetic - Aphrodite and Hephaestus. The beauty and the mechanic. I love everything we got about them and I am still upset about their deaths.

Percy/Annabeth: Oh hey, look! My biggest NOTP in this fandom! For an elaborate answer, look here, but the short of it; they’re in a relationship, in canon, and still Annabeth abuses Percy and I just... am really not down for watching a character be put into a romantic relationship with some who is actively abusive?? I just? No?

Jason/Piper: I mean, it’s lazy af. “Oh look, we have fake memories of dating. Let’s just keep dating, despite not actually knowing each other yet”. So much so that Riordan had to retcon on his hint of Jason/Reyna because that could possibly not be a thing if Jason now has Piper, because as we know you meet your one, true and only love when you are like 15 and never-ever love someone else. lol Also, just, what he did with Piper for this ship? I... genuinely did not like her when she threatened Drew about Jason, it was very gross and very much like “Jason is a possession and he is Piper’s possession”. Also, much like Annabeth, her character was just severely reduced to revolve all around her feelings for him. And then, as I hear, Riordan backtracked on that in the sequel-sequels? Because of course he did since he wanted to kill off Jason and we all know in the Riordanverse you are expendable if you do not have a love-interest since shipping is just everything to him at this point. I mean, just, yikes about everything how he handled this ship.

Leo/Calypso: I am not for ship hate, but I am just completely baffled by the masses of nasty people in this fandom who hate loudly and vocally on Frank/Hazel and Percy/Nico for a two years “”age gap”” respectively, but... there is complete quiet about this 2000+ year old immortal repeatedly preying on teenage boys?? And I admit, I used to like Percy/Calypso in PJO, but ever since I did the math and realized this ass-old immortal was with fourteen year old Percy back then and now took fifteen year old Leo? That’s gross, ya know, like that makes me uncomfortable, so I’ll Hard Pass on it. Also, the whole part where she treats him like shit all the time, I mean she insults him, she belittles him, she has not a single nice word to say to him - a boy who has been abused and pushed around all his fucking life and now he’s stuck with an endgame romance with someone who treats him like shit, that’s not what Leo deserves, man.

Nico/Will: I don’t like it. It was completely rushed and forced in BoO where Riordan just REALLY needed everyone to be paired up like on Noah’s Ark so Nico walked away with ““skeleton butterflies”“ in his stomach after knowing Will for three fucking days, like he just... unloved Percy after having been in love with Percy for three fucking years. I just--damn, that’s bad writing. Also, Will was uncomfortably pushy all throughout their few, brief interactions in BoO. But, I admit, the majority of my dislike does root in the fandom - it’s not all of its shippers, but there are so many S0langelo shippers who got real nasty about people shipping Nico/Percy and... nasty people in fandom do tend to band together behind that one ship that somehow unites them, it seems this new wave of nasty people in this fandom band together behind this one, so that just... doesn’t help endear me to it, you know.

[dimensionslip]

Translation + Analysis of Sylvain and Felix’s Paired Endings

Covering both their AM and non-AM endings, originally posted on Twitter.

Bonus: Discussion about Felix’s Meandering Sword title.

Azure Moon Paired Ending

HONESTLY I FEEL I SHOULD JUST PACK MY BAGS AND GO... The JP version has plenty of subtext but the EN version just blows stuff outta water and takes the lines further than what the JP version already has.

I personally am incapable of topping the way they handled everything and my translation feels so watered down, even if it's pretty close to what the original actually is, ahaha. But I think the JP version is still worth a look, considering how EN glossed over some details in favor of being more romantic, in a way?

One is the specificity of when Sylvain took the Margrave title (aka after his father died). Another is detailing the existence of a Gautier castle, and the detailing of what these two actually did with regard to this "relentless game of one-upmanship."

Like so:

Felix, visiting Sylvain: "/Fuck/ you" Sylvain, visiting Felix: "Fuck /you/"

Or so I imagine it, aha. But yeah, in other regards, the localization really ran away with the wording in JP, notably with "Each led a busy life, but that only seemed to enhance their friendship over the years." and "as if conceding that one could not live without the other."

The JP version did not go that far. Maybe the localization team has a pet bias for Sylvix...? I don't think the changes are unwarranted in any case, it adds a lot of nice flavor to the text!

Friendzoned as they are in this ending card, we all know that's FE code for "yes they were very gay for each other" so take the ending as you will!

Non-AM Paired Ending

THERE'S NO HAPPINESS TO BE FOUND IN THIS ENDING it just tore my heart into a million pieces and I'm--ahem, okay, let me try to get this show on the road before I start crying needlessly over this ending again.

In contrast to the way the localization handled Sylvain and Felix's AM paired ending, they decided to go with a more subdued route in the localization, but the original JP just has so much depressing meat in it that's interesting to poke at, so here goes...!

「捨てる」 (suteru = to throw away/discard/abandon), I feel is such a strong word to use, though that's in part to my personal associations with the word, perhaps. That verb can definitely be used in relation to renouncing one's title, and is not unnatural at all in that context!

But as a common verb, I just often associate it with "throwing away trash" so it just hurt me in a weird way, but that's probably just me. A friend associates it with "letting go", which I think is a more eloquent way to put what I feel about the use of this word here.

Felix, having chosen this path as a wandering swordsman, has no need of his noble title any more. A noble title symbolic of his connection to Dimitri, who had passed away during the course of the war Felix has fought and lived through.

Felix is a vassal without a liege, a shield with no one to protect. This course of action he takes seems to imply that he thinks there's no point to becoming "Duke Fraldarius" or the "Shield of Faerghus" in a route where Dimitri is dead.

So instead, Felix severs his ties with it--his past, his supposed destiny. Left it behind to seek a place where he could die, just as a ronin might do without his master. A matter that is similarly referenced in his non-AM ending with Mercedes.

I am using samurai references here again because in JP, Felix is a walking samurai trope. He usually speaks like one in battles and in reference to seeking worthy opponents, which kinda comes off as pretty edgy at times.

I mean, all those flowery references to his blade and cutting people down and swordsmen can sound pretty extra in my honest opinion, but that's a tangent.

And speaking of Felix fitting the ronin archetype, "Meandering Sword" is written as 「流浪の剣」(rurou no ken) which has the 「浪」 in ronin, which is written as 「浪人」. Take that as you will.

Digging in even deeper, the kanji 「浪」 is the character for wave, and for me it evokes the feeling of being adrift, of going where the tide takes you. It definitely is the root for a lot of words that have to do with the word "wandering".

In fact, my alternative way of translating his title is "Wandering Sword". Which I think is more telling of what he did after he abandoned his noble title and the kind of occupation he took, but admittedly "meandering" has a pretty sweet ring to it that does seem appropriate in this context.

Also, I'm probably reaching so hard, but his title in JP, "Rurou no Ken", sounds a lot like "Rurouni Kenshin", an old, classic manga and anime series about a swordsman that takes up a life of vagrancy after his bloody involvement in a "war" of a kind (revolution, in his case).

Though Kenshin's and Felix's paths differ wildly, especially with Kenshin's vow not to take another life, I can't help but wonder if Felix's title is an ironic nod to that... especially when I tend to presume that Felix living by his sword means he uses it to protect people.

Despite the whole mercenary deal, I feel one condition that Felix attaches to his jobs is that it has to be in line with protecting the weak and innocent. But that's all in the realm of headcanon!

But yeah, waxing poetic about Felix's end card title aside, some lines were cut and changed, I think the most notable here is "ten-odd years" became "decades later" in English. Also, EN chopped off the part about how happy Sylvain and Felix were to be reunited.

Probably because it leads right into Felix leaving anyway and them never meeting each other again, the way it was phrased in JP made them sound so star-crossed that it really, really hurts to think about.

The way they just drop 「運命」(unmei) right there... like it's destiny that they are not to meet again after that reunion... it's just really crushing to read.

Then the last part just twists the knife right in, with Felix's sword making it back to Sylvain a few years later. In the context of this story, there's only one way to read this.

Felix, the meandering sword without a master, has found a place to die. His sword is a memento, all that's left to pass on to those who yet live.

As to whether Felix himself asked that his sword be brought back to Sylvain, or if whoever got hold of it knew it's got to go to Sylvain, we'll never know, but the fact is, the sword makes it back to Sylvain.

Which is oddly touching when you think about the fact that, for a wandering swordsman like Felix, his sword is his most precious possession. It didn't find its way back to Fraldarius territory, to where his uncle or relatives are likely still are.

It found its way back to /Sylvain/, who, perhaps, always held a certain torch for Felix this whole time. Watching, hoping their paths would cross again despite Felix's willingness to just leave him after their reunion. But fate has other plans, and all Sylvain has left of Felix is this sword bequeathed to him. Perhaps, a will, you can even say. Or a sentiment Felix has never been able to properly return in his lifetime.

This is Sylvain and Felix's tragic love story in this route. A story of parting, fleeting happiness, and a promise broken. All that's left for Sylvain now, is to either follow after Felix or carry on by his lonesome, with Felix's sword by his side.

Original Posts:

AM Ending: https://twitter.com/slip_fe3h/status/1205817451595722754

Non-AM Ending: https://twitter.com/slip_fe3h/status/1206000144929345536

[princess-of-france]

i would love to hear abt your rococo lll

Oh my gosh, you lovely human, settle in. This production is my Ultimate Theater Pipe Dream and I apologize in advance for how little chill I’m going to have as I explain it. 

Are you ready? 

I want to start with my standard disclaimer: I am a theater artist, not a literary critic or a historian. When I’m directing a play, I extract fragments of lit crit and historical fact as I need them and leave the rest on the buffet line. This LLL in particular requires me to play fast and loose with history, so be prepared for a truckload of anachronisms. They make the vision work!

So, with that…

The sad Catch-22 of my Rococo LLL is that no theater will ever put it up:  a smaller, indie, risk-taking theater wouldn’t be able to afford the astronomical production costs of casting the 20 actors I need, to say nothing of building opulent sets and period-accurate costumes that imitate the royal courts of the late 18th century; conversely, a large, well-funded, regional theater wouldn’t be able to justify funding a 2.5-hour Shakespeare retelling that turns one of his most sparkling comedies into a dark, violent allegory about the French Revolution and casts young, privileged, light-skinned European elites as the tragic heroes brought low by proletariat Jacobean reform. Even as I type these words, I realize how irresponsible an investment that would be. My Rococo LLL is not the kind of classical theater we need in America right now. It is retrograde in terms of diversity, equity, accessibility, and social justice. It probably says something terrible about me that I even dreamt it up in the first place.

And yet.

I want to direct this production so badly it feels like I’ve swallowed a piece of the sun. If I had all the proper resources (time, money, venue, artists, designers, marketing, etc.), I would do it tomorrow. It’s my baby.

Here’s a blurb that kind of nutshells it all together:

July 1789. King Charles VI of Navarre has died, leaving his son, young Ferdinand III, to take the throne. On a tide of Enlightenment idealism, King Ferdinand commissions his three best friends to join him for a period of ascetic study at the court of Navarre. The rules are simple: no luxuries, no alcohol, and no women. For three long years.

The boys’ oath is immediately put to the test when four young ladies arrive in Navarre on a diplomatic mission from Versailles. Led by the spirited Duchess d’Albret, the Frenchwomen and their mile-high coiffures prove irresistible to the King and his companions. With the help of a motley band of scholars and servants, they set out to woo the Duchess and her friends. But when sober news arrives from Paris, will young love be enough to rewrite history?

Set against the glittering backdrop of the last golden days of the ancien regime, this bold reimagining of Shakespeare’s beloved comedy invites us to look at the most famous revolution in Western history through the eyes of the young elites who learned the truth about privilege just a moment too late.

Of all the radical things I want to do with this production, the thing that would probably cause the most controversy (and earn me a reputation for being a narcissistic, pessimistic, Shakespeare-desecrating hack) is my addition of a prologue set in Paris in June 1793. I could try to sum it up here, but honestly I think it would be a lot more effective and comprehensive just to post the excerpt from my script:

…etc.

So basically, half my audience will vomit due to the unexpected onslaught of blood, gore, and violence…and the other half will vomit from the sheer anti-progressivism of the show’s politics. And I don’t blame anyone who finds fault with this production concept. On a political level, I find fault with it. Arguably the last thing our society needs right now is a Shakespeare production that paints young, pale, overprivileged trust fund babies as the poor, helpless victims of a liberal-led revolution for social equality. 

But at the same time, I can’t help but think that the entire point of Love’s Labour’s Lost is to make us look hard at our own privilege and ego, and weigh those things that seem sooo valuable against the true gifts of love, empathy, friendship, generosity, and kindness. 

“This is not generous, not gentle, not humble!” Holofernes cries as the Crazy Eight—high on adrenaline and their own cruel wit—jeer him off the stage during his performance as Judas Maccabeus in 5.2. More than any other, this moment epitomizes the value of setting LLL in a sex-charged, champagne-fueled, pastry-laden, cream-filled, lace-drenched, satin-covered, feather-topped, Rococo landscape. There’s no way in hell the audience is meant to sympathize with the insult-flinging prep school Kens and Barbies when they humiliate Holofernes to the point of tears. Shakespeare is way too smart for that. In the final whimsical moments before the messenger Marcadé comes onstage, laden with the news that is going to change the entire genre of the play, the Bard turns a critical spotlight on the young people we’ve been rooting for since Act One, Scene One and invites us to view them—for the first time, really—through the lens of the hardworking, lesser-privileged plebs of Navarre. The portrait is revolting. However witty, cultured, and elegant the courtiers might seem, they clearly have a lot more homework to do. Marcadé’s arrival a few short lines later is the final test of their youthful ego. Is being clever worth the price of experiencing love? Is love worth the price of responsibility? Is she brave enough to admit that she’s scared to take up the mantle? Is he brave enough to give up the one person who matters for the sake of the people he once mocked, the people he now must lead?

I don’t believe the Navarre Nerds and Les Filles have survived the centuries because they end the play as sharp-tongued, entitled, and self-absorbed as they behave at the start. We wouldn’t still be making and remaking this play if the protagonists were so static. I think the young people of LLL resonate with us—or, at least, they resonate with me—because in the course of Shakespeare’s plotless little play they grow up right before our eyes. King Ferdinand learns that he can’t bury his head in his books and ignore the responsibility of ruling when he watches the love of his life choose duty to her country over the desires of her own heart. The Princess learns that the cost of being the cleverest person is human connection when she finds herself laughing alongside Ferdinand at the antics of the Nine Worthies and somehow feels happier than she ever did when she was mocking him into the earth. Berowne learns that love wins every argument: against wit, against intellect, against bachelorhood, against willpower itself. Rosaline learns that love is strength, not weakness, and that she is stronger when she allows herself to feel. Dumaine learns that love demands vulnerability. Katherine learns that love is not a game. Longaville learns that love thrives on honesty. Maria learns that love takes courage. When the Crazy Eight say their heartbreaking goodbyes at the end of 5.2, they no longer care about sounding smart or superior; in fact, they speak against their own intelligence. The erudite Ferdinand trips over his words, the cynical Berowne invokes romantic idealism, the boastful Dumaine speaks with humility, the shy Longaville puts all his cards on the table. The women are no less altered. I don’t want to fall into the trap of ascribing an easy, one-size-fits-all moral maxim to LLL, but what else are we supposed to take away from this play if not the fact that we fucking owe it to ourselves as a species to set aside our stupid pride and say, “I love you,” when we feel it because we never know when time is going to run out? What else are we supposed to feel if not pride in these young people for choosing to step up and take responsibility when they hear news that the world outside is ending? That there may be no world left? Les Filles go with their Queen. The Nerds rally around their King. They choose fidelity to their respective kingdoms over the indulgence of love. But they also learn to value love for what it is, and to call it by name…even if that love can only last for a few fleeting seconds:

“If this or more than this I would deny,To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,The sudden hand of death close up mine eye.Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast.”

(King Ferdinand, V.ii)

As the Crazy Eight grapple in real time with the consequences of Marcadé’s message and what it means for their role as leaders in society, Rosaline gives Berowne a task to complete in their year apart that practically hums with poetic intelligence. Her lines are so iconic, we still quote them colloquially today:

BEROWNETo move wild laughter in the throat of death?It cannot be, it is impossible.Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINEWhy, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,Whose influence is begot of that loose graceWhich shallow laughing hearers give to fools.A jest’s prosperity lies in the earOf him that hears it, never in the tongueOf him that makes it. Then, if sickly ears,Deafed with the clamors of their own dear groans,Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,And I will have you and that fault withal.But if they will not, throw away that spiritAnd I shall find you empty of that fault,Right joyful of your reformation.

(V.ii)

I think this is the moment when I would start crying if I ever watched my Rococo LLL performed live. Because of all les Filles, I think Rosaline is the only one who knows that by choosing to accompany the Duchess back to Versailles at the end of LLL, she is effectively signing her death warrant. The Jacobeans and sans-cullottes are not going to want young, eligible, Catholic Rococo princesses wafting around their new, secular state. The guillotine may not yet exist in the summer of 1789, but the there is a thirst for blood and Rosaline can smell it. And now Bastille has fallen. Paris is on fire. King Louis XVI has months to live. The world will never be the same. Rosaline’s once-ordered, once-gilded country is careening into a bloody nightmare of soured ideals and ruthless social weeding, and even though she can’t see the future, she can read men like books. Even Berowne. Even the charismatic nihilist who earned a bachelor’s degree in bachelorhood and tried to hide his heart under a bushel. She can read him and she can save him. They can’t kill her husband if she doesn’t have one. 

Rococo LLL? I don’t know. It’s a pipe dream. 

But can’t you picture it? 

Tagging my girls @harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @lizbennett2013 @dedraconesilet @exeunt-pursued-by-a-bear @henriadical in case anyone is interested :)

Thanks a million for one of my favorite asks ever! Happy holidays, friend!!

xx Claire

[kickflipradio-blog]

Too Much Monkey Business: 4 Songs Talking Rhythm In Rhyme

A tongue twister, battle cry blood blister. Rhythmic rhyme, why don’t people do it all the time!? Now, There are a few reasons that make Chuck Berry a nasty rotten jailbird. There is also an awesome amount of evidence that explains why he is the master and the poet laureate of Rock N Roll. Chuck went on to influence countless pockets, patches and blankets of culture; he will as long as human beings exist. It’s just in the chemistry. The chain reaction since the dawn of time and he was a big link in the chain.

The dude started a trend of songwriting that would later lead to music that remains infinite in our human existence. He has songs himself such as Johnny B. Goode and Maybelline that will forever be heard as the roots of Rock N Roll. These songs put Chuck in the stars, but his poetic, rhythmic genius is completely exposed with one track in particular. Written and released as his 5th single from Chess Records, A track titled, Too Much Monkey Business, was released in September of 1956. A song that runs a string of complaints in a whimsical, humorous, ironic fashion.

“Run and to and fro,

Hard-working at the mail,

Never fail at the mail,

Here comes a rotten bale.”

Or how about,

“Pay phone

Something wrong

Dime gone

Well I oughta’ sue the operatah’

For tellin’ me a tale...ahhh”

Too Much Monkey Business with Lyrics

The rebellion of routine recognized. The “botheration” expressed in rhythm and rhyme. A comedic, Shakespearean perspective on everyday life is thrown into a two minute and fifty-three-second track. Listen to Chuck’s attack on,

“Same thing, every day,

gettin’ up, goin’ to school,

no need me to be complaining,

my objection overruled...ahhh”

Badass attitude. Tone makes everything. From the tone in a sunset, to how you talk to your mother. This rabble-rouser tone is nearly mimicked later in 1965 when the world would get flipped and swing the “Gates of Eden” open to a cultural renaissance.

The boot that kicked clean through the barn door, where culture was lying dormant, opens up with Bob Dylan’s evolution of “Another Side.” The opening track on the debut of Dylan’s electric brilliance, puffs up, slicks back and bohemianizes Chuck’s “Monkey Business.” Subterranean Homesick Blues reflects the rhythm and rhyme of Too Much Monkey Business and is righteously reinvented.

“Maggie comes fleet foot,

Face full of black soot,

Talking that heat put plants in the bed but

Phone’s tapped anyway,

Maggie say ‘the men they say must bust in early may,’

Orders from the DA.”

Dylan attacks the ironic unfairness of expectation that society holds, much as Chuck does, but Dylan nearly interrogates it under a spotlight. It’s like Dylan has this special lens that allows us to observe a million little ants who don’t know how the hell to work together and they’re all bumping into each other, trying to figure it out. Chuck is more day to day, profile to profile, person to person. Dylan reaches a bit further going chapter to chapter. Verse by verse he compares the hustle of the city to the hustle of the farm; hinting at civil rights, cultural phenomenons, stuff like that. Dylan is literally warning you “Look out kid, this is what this hard life has to offer, here are some obstacles I’ve observed along the way; let me explain in my alien-like, Shakespearean, Chuck Berrian original dialect.

“Get Born (Get Woke eh? Dylan was woke AF, am I right?) keep warm,

Short pants romance,

Learn to dance,

Get dressed, get blessed,

Try to be a success*,

Please her, please him, buy gifts,

Don’t steal, Don’t lift,

20 years of schoolin’ and they put you on the day shift.”

*In the famous music video Dylan shoots in 1965 for Subterranean Homesick Blues, he flips through poster cards that follow the lyrics of the song. When the line “Try to be a success,” comes up, Dylan holds a card that reads, “SUCKCESS.” His warning is rhetoric and my personal interpretation is that this world kind of tells you to try to be a kiss ass, suck a lil pee pee maybe? On another note, he also holds a card up that reads “It’s hard” during the line “hard to tell if anything if gonna sell try hard, get Bard” The warning plays back simple and clear, “it’s hard.” Also telling everyone to “get bard,” get hip to willy the shake….Billy Shakespeare.

Subterranean Homesick Blues Music Video

Two rhythmically similar approaches to songs, that paved the way to a new way of thinking. An honest, hysterical, fresh way of thinking. The Earth is perfect, but the world is unfair and the human species is competitive. The real heroes are the honest ones who can practice patience, recognize and relay that reflection of chaos and stupidity that we, as a whole culture and species, are functioning under.

So the 70s happen and most of the 80s happen where time has allowed generations to digest the cultural phenomenon and renaissance that occurred at the latter half of the 20th century. This band in November 1987 puts out a single that supposedly was inspired by being hyper-aware, anxiety, and a dream in which a party was full of people who all had the initials,  L.B. The 80s-indie rock band R.E.M. releases It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine). To be honest, I thought this song was a 90s song, and it certainly sounds like it could have come out in 1993. R.E.M.: great band; ahead of their time.

“Six o'clock, T.V. hour, don't get caught in foreign tower

Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn

Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting

Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate

Light a candle, light a motive, step down, step down

Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh

This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear

A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies

Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline”

More stream of consciousness and way more chaotic, surreal and nonsensical. However, the songwriter, Michael Stipe still created a piece that belongs in this group of rhythmic rhyme. It’s a whimsical perspective on the human tragedy. Its’ surreal, revolving, apocalyptic take, still hints at rebellion and liberty from societal routine. ‘Everyday at 6pm, the news comes on and oh boy look at all this chaos...yipee! Maybe I should do something about it, light a candle for someone, try to get some action going on the streets….ah there’s so much to do and nobody’s listening and they’re telling me not to do it anyway, but ah fuck it.’ Songwriter, Michael Stipe effectively carries on the similar cynical helplessness in this fun, whimsical rhythmic rhyming pattern we see from Berry and Dylan. It’s possible I’ve missed other examples in between 1965 and 1987, and if did, please let me know! I’d love to hear from you and talk music history!

It’s The End of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) Music Video

2 years later, Billy Joel writes and releases a single in July of 1989 that captures accurate historical moments and tense emotion spanning from the end of the Second World War to the present day of 1989. We Didn’t Start The Fire continues the legacy of Too Much Monkey Business with the rhythmic rhyming pattern that Chuck started back in 1956. Joel uses historical points as well as cultural and political icons to reflect the human collection of events that are placed on the scales of judgment. A moral test of ourselves. Chuck’s rolling eyes from “botheration,” Dylan’s weighted tongue sticking out at America’s societal routine, Stipe’s dizzying anxiety of becoming overwhelmed and now Joel’s judgment.

Joel steps back and looks, not only at America but the world to examine, essentially, the ripple that has been rolling since the bombing at Hiroshima using the same rhythmic-rhyming method as Chuck and Bob nearly 3-4 decades prior. I like to think of where these artists were when they were picking up influence for a piece like this. Was Joel listening to R.E.M. a couple of years prior on the radio and heard something click in his head? He had to be a fan of Chuck and Bob. Maybe he wasn’t even conscious of the similarities.

We Didn’t Start The Fire Montage

We Didn’t Start The Fire Official Music Video

We Didn’t Start The Fire- The chorus implies that the generations before us kind of made a mess so big that the next generation could never avoid stepping in it. Now I get that my tone may sound negative, but with a grander perspective, it doesn’t have to be so cynical. In fact, I think that Chuck and Bob use a more of an ironic, cynical tone as opposed to Billy who uses more of a mature, mediating tone. ‘Okay so, I wasn’t in existence when y’all were throwing shit on the fire, but now I guess I’m here and it’s all kind of getting out hand...maybe we should do something about it? No? Maybe? Yea, we should probably take care of this, right?’

“We didn’t start the fire, we didn’t light it but we’re trying to fight it.”

The 80s gave us a heroic tone and hopeful songs about changing for the better and the how the world had to take a good look at itself in order to do so. Joel still uses a great amount of condemning and controversial examples of how the world isn’t in its best state.

“Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon Back Again (Whoops)

Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock.

Begin, Reagan, Palestine, terror on the airline.

Ayatollah’s in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan

“Wheel of Fortune”, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide

Foreign debts, homeless vets, AIDS crack, Bernie Goetz

Hypodermics on the shores, China’s under martial law

Rock and roller cola wars, I can’t take it anymore.”

In the end, it seems that it all has become too much. There is still hope in this song. The other three don’t hold the tone of hope as much as they do cynicism and tragic hilarity. Subterranean Homesick Blues and Too Much Monkey Business complain and warn us, as It’s the End of the World  As We Know It is more like a kid punching one fist in the air offering incomprehensible stream of consciousness with a radical attitude.

How the four differ: Bob doesn’t use a chorus, he uses a hook, “Look out Kid, It’s something you did, don’t matter what you did, you’re gonna get hit, they keep it all hid.” The other three have a distinct repetitive chorus separate from the verses. Bob throws the hook in the latter half of each verse to bring his thought around to a satisfying conclusion only to continue kickin’ that rock n roll. Like I said, a boot through a barn door.

We can conclude that these four tunes share multiple patterns and techniques that make them stand out from other songs. We witness an evolution of the observation of societal decline. They all use quick, rhythmic rhyming patterns that make these songs catchy, memorable and well...hit singles. Make a playlist with these four songs in order from Too Much Monkey Business to We Didn’t Start The Fire. Find out for yourself. Let me know if you discover anything. Let’s talk about it!

There aren’t many songs like these four, and well this article/blog/piece-whatever you want to call it- is just recognizing that and nothing more. Maybe we can learn something from it...but I’m just going to try writing a quick, witty, whimsical, ironic, rhythmic, rhyming observation on the societal decline and see what comes out. Maybe it’ll be a “hit single” yea right..and maybe roosters won’t peck me every time I try to give ‘em a kiss!

Aloha and always cheers,

Fisher the Lloyd

[fanficofpureimagination]

The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow

Wade Wilson (Deadpool) x Reader

Request: May I request a one shot where Deadpool tries to cheer you up? Thank you! -Anonymous

Word count: 1107

Warning: Language of course. Bad puns? Quips.. definitely quips.

A/N: Everyone needs a Deadpool to cheer them up. I’ll admit this took a wild turn. It’s definitely interesting lol.

“Hey, Y/N, want to come throw candy and little kids and watch them swarm over it like animals,” he laughed at his own proposal as he made his way to your room. He finally made it into your room to see you still in bed. “What is this?! Security blanket, daytime soap operas on tv, tissues! Nooo!” He drops to his knees dramatically.

“I’m sorry Wade. I’m just not feeling up to much today.”

“I swear, I’ll pull my own goddamn heart out right here right now. I mean I had so much planned. What about our two o’clock appointment at the gyno where it turns out.. I have a penis,” he continues laughing as you just watch in unamusement.

“I just really want to be alone, I’m sorry. Don’t make me feel bad about it.”

“No! It’s like I’m watching the Pursuit of Happiness come on Will Smith you can do it.”

“It’s just biology. How can you enjoy the happy moments as much if you’re always happy?”

“Well that was,” gestures his hand over his head, “you know. But I want you to be happy right now!” he says stomping his foot on the ground.

“Wade, it’s just who I am. Sometimes I get into a funk I can’t get out of. It’s fine.”

“No, not today. I can’t stand you like this. I’ve changed all my plans. Hopefully Dopinder will figure that out and leave. Oh well, I have a new mission!”

“Wa..”

“Which starts with a song! And you know what song it is!” He clears his throat preparing and breaks into song. “Theeee sun’ll come out tomorrow,” he jumps on the bed pulling the covers off you. “Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow. There'll be sun!” The scratchy high notes rang in your ears. “Just thinking about tomorrow clears away the cobwebs, and the sorrow 'til there's none!” He lands on his knees on the bed causes you to fly up slightly.

“Alright, stop please for the love of god. I’ll get up.”

“I happened to think my singing is heavenly, but at least it got you up!”

“Well now what?” You say picking up the thrown blanket and throwing it over your shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says taking your hand.

Go where?” You ask as you are dragged out the x-mansion and into a taxi. “How did?”

“Yea, he’s been waiting awhile. Dopinder, the most reliable taxi driver in the whole goddamn world!”

“Evening Wade and Y/N,” Dopinder greets, “what ass kicking adventure are we on today.” Wade leans forward and whispers in his ear. “Oh, on it sir!” He slams on the gas and you hit the seat with a thud.

“Sure off to a great start,” you say sarcastically.

“Don’t get too excited, Hulk. Wouldn’t want you smashing everything.”

“We’re seeing the Hulk!” Dopinder asked turning to stare wide-eyed at Deadpool.

“No! No one cares about that fucking green giant. You know if you crash I’m the only one surviving right?”

“Sorry, sir,” he turned back to the road.

“Stop with the sir. I know I’m better than you, but it gives off a weird vibe.”

“Sorry, sir… I mean dude.” They both made a face as if they read each other’s minds. You really missed your bed.

You finally made your way to a shopping mall. “Why are we here,” you ask.

“For a makeover of course,” Wade said as if it was obvious. “To get ready for the big surprise.”

You, Wade in full costume, and Dopinder all strut into the mall causing looks from everyone as you made your way into a clothings store.

“Alright, everyone split up and find something that says, ‘yes I’m sophisticated and smart and probably own at least five beach houses.’ Now go!”

You take your time picking outfit that you think fits the description perfectly. Dopinder shows up in a leather jacket and leather pants. You don’t question him. Wade comes out in a full piece suit over his costume. “We are beautiful. Let’s go!”

You are back in the car and heading to a mysterious location. You finally arrive after long hours of sitting through disney songs blaring as Wade and Dopinder have heartfelt duets. You finally arrive at a large mansion. Wade gets out and decides to break the entrance gate, so you can enter drive up the long driveway to the house. “Whose house is this?” You ask staring at the length of the home.

“Only the greatest and most handsome actor of our generation.” You run through a list in your head of who it could possibly be, but ultimately give up. You enter the home after Wade pulls out a key you know he forged. How long has he been planning this? A large mural in the home answers who it is.. None other than. “Hugh fucking Jackman!” Wade yells. “We’re here to meet your majesty.” You see as Hugh appears on the stairs.

“Security! Who are you? Get out of my fucking house!”

“The Jackman, please. Let’s talk.” You watch as Wade runs up the stairs in his ripping suit from the size of his costume. After waiting, you and Dopinder decide to find the kitchen and make milkshakes and eat any food you can find. Finally, Wade and Hugh make their way down the stairs to meet you guys.

“It has been settled. We are now tragic lovers. A blowjob may or may not have just happened over your very heads. It was magical he..”

“Just stop. Nothing happened. I’ve agreed to let you guys watch a movie in my downstairs theatre and that’s it. And Y/N he told me to tell you that he hopes you feel better and remember that the sun will come up tomorrow,” Hugh says confused. You just laugh.

“Wow, um.. Thank you,” you say laughing.

“Well, shall we.” Hugh leads you down to his theatre that is larger than some actual movie theatres. Hugh motions you to sit and you all crowd into the front row together. After a minute, Hugh sits next to you as the movie begins to play. You sit still drinking your milkshake unsure if everything that is happening is real or if you’re just dreaming.

“Poetic Cinema,” Wade says imitating the meme as the screen begins playing Logan. He leans over to you and whispers “Hugh Jackman comes with perks.”

“Hey, quiet down. This is a masterpiece,” Hugh says.

“WHY WASN’T I IN THIS MOVIE!!!” Deadpool yells throwing his popcorn at the screen. You laugh and feel genuinely happy. Better than you have felt in a long time.

One Shot

Masterlist

[notoriousjae]

Time Drift (3/?)

Chapter Title: Moons and Junes and Ferris Wheels

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant (And a bit of Alex Danvers/Lois Lane - yep); Past mentions of Sanvers (or future...mentions of Sanvers)

Rating: T+ (For now)

Chapter Description:

“I’m a journalist. I have no heart. You’re a singer, and yet you seem completely unphased, like you’ve done this a thousand times before--”

“Don’t you know?” And the girl offers her a flashing smile, something charming and wide and surprisingly strong, and Cat finds herself almost dazzled by it. “I’m Supergirl.”

This chapter’s song:

Both Sides Now; Written by: Joni Mitchell; Performed in link by: Mackenzie Johnson

Chapter 1: AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 2: AO3 | Tumblr

Chapter 3 (Current): AO3 | Below:

Rows and flows of angel hair

And ice cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere

I’ve looked at clouds that way

  Writers through the ages have waxed as poetic over the beauty of moonlight as they have over love, itself. They’ve fallen to their knees and tried to grasp at its wisping, faded beams like a lost metaphor for love; they’ve pounded their desks and insisted that their lovers' eyes shone like moonlight because eyes might radiate the reflection of a far-away sun; they’ve insisted that moonlight guided a path or taken the last traces of it from their memories; hell, they've insisted the moon was life and love and fertility, itself. 

Right now, Cat Grant only waxes that moonlight is a horrible, horrible guiding light as it traces the corners of her desk with a hint of white, her desk lamp flickering until it dies as she desperately tries to change the bulb with only this stupid moonlight to guide her.

A string of curses tumble out of her lips when she discovers just how hot the bulb is—didn’t she get here just a few minutes ago? How is it this hot?—bouncing the small little glass orb in her hands before managing to toss it into a trashcan. Its fall is cushioned by a mountain of discarded paper, at least, and Cat sighs as she runs a hand over her face, digging through her drawer to find the replacement with a few more choice curses towards that fucking inefficient moonlight before twisting it in, blinking when the lamp seems to blast a beaming smile of light through her desk that might rival a singer across the city.

Not that Cat is thinking of a singer across the city, at all.

She sighs, looking back down at scattered photos now that she can see, again, hands running along them with a hint of reverence. It’s selfish, really, but she wishes these children weren’t all the same age—weren’t all bright eyed and young and beautiful and all around Adam’s age—the sound of her chair’s legs scraping across the empty bullpen lost underneath the scratch of her pen.

The valiant fight to get this article released has been more than just a week-long battle and her stomach churns as she tugs out yet another blank piece of paper, fountain pen staining the edge of it to test before getting to work on another chart. She’s starting to look like some kind of schizophrenic in a late-night drama, tying strings together to corporation names and politicians, but a little bit of crazy, she’s learned the past couple of years (especially working in gossip), is necessary for success in journalism.

Soon, she creates a mini kidnapping board of pictures and small bylines of articles, pen scratching along with it.

A recorder clicks underneath her thumb.

“So what do we know…” Cat hums to herself, “We know that there’s been five publicized,” She’s careful about the word—knowing, now, because that’s what prompted this in the first place—thumb charting the names of the children at the top of the paper, “Kidnappings in the past four months, all of which have been stopped by an unknown vigilante. Two of the articles mention only one person, but three mention two…hmm. Another day.” Cat taps her pen against the edge of the desk. "Let's put a pin in that, Cat. Don't forget to come back to this."

She keeps talking.

All five kidnappings were orphans, and that was the only tie. Their medical records were sealed—all of their records were sealed—their ages were varied. Different genders, and for two of them there was no documentation on them, at all. No birth certificates--no apparent socials--no records of them existing, at all, save for two separate documents from an orphanage. But when questioned about the vigilantes (save for the youngest, who was too scared to mention anything, at all, and wouldn’t speak to anyone who saw her, at least on record) the children were all steel traps, not wanting to offer up their saviors on silver platters.

An odd kinship with their savior(s?). '(Come back to that, too, Cat.)'

The kidnappings were thwarted in different sections of the city, but all at night, and all in Metropolis. None of the kidnappers arrested were ever held for long (circumstantial evidence, or evidence that mysteriously was misplaced halfway through trial) and all suspects refused to talk. The only thing other than the sheer number of them connecting the kidnappings together was the fact that the vigilantes had thwarted them (which was an interesting angle in and of itself).

She’s been pressing Perry for weeks to release the children’s names—to see if they couldn’t get more information, although it’s certain to lead to red herrings. To see if they can’t publicize the events to at least shed light on it, to keep it from happening again, to make someone in Metropolis give a damn, because what if it had been her son? What if it had been—

A sigh, looking down at the page, because what she knows is, decidedly, little, and she could use a drink. Although she’s had three of those, tonight, already.

She’d sworn she wouldn’t go back to Clark’s last week…and she kept going. Every night. Every night, this week, she’s somehow managed to wander into a bar with an annoyingly charming name and an even more annoyingly charming piano-player. The first night, she left immediately after the girl’s set, but Tuesday…she’d stayed, and Kara Danvers had smiled at her like she was the only person in the room, smoke setting in blonde like some kind of perfume, and almost sensing the tension off of Cat’s shoulders, didn’t talk.

It seemed almost uncharacteristic because, for the few things she knew about the girl (which was practically nothing) Kara Danvers seemed to love to hear herself talk. Why else would someone ramble on so much?

But Kara had just ordered a club soda—ordered Cat another drink—and sat next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she was utterly content to sit there in silence in the din of a bar. And, even more dangerously, Cat was glad to have the company…so she came back the next day.

The next night, and then the night after that, and somewhen along the line, they talked. They talked about…nothing, really. Pop culture or movies—both of which Kara Danvers seemed impressively ill-informed about, but Cat hasn’t had time to see a movie in theaters in a near year, anyways—

“Well, maybe you can show me what I’m missing, sometime—” Kara had joked, teeth tucking a lip and thumb sliding just along the edge of Cat’s wrist, and the journalist almost suggested that movies were always on at 2 AM in an apartment with a TV she hadn’t used (still hasn’t) for more than the news in years. But she hadn’t. She just said maybe with a hum and a flick of a wrist and a dropping stomach that didn’t shatter like glass when Kara swallowed and leaned a little closer like she’d been hoping the offer would come but took the potential like sunshine, regardless.

And that’s one thing Cat’s learned—Kara Danvers is a hopeless ball of fucking sunshine. She smiles and beams and somehow has a presence that insists the world will be perfectly alright simply because she exists within it, but is far too humble to even suggest that notion in the first place. But there’s something about her eyes—something so tragically sad about her eyes that Cat wouldn’t be surprised if an English poet, somewhere, wrote a hundred-word poem about the devastation of them, painted underneath that ever-waxing moonlight….

Cat swore that night, too, that she wouldn’t go back.

But she did. She listened to a constantly-rotating setlist of music with open ears and a warm chest—she learned how deeply Kara Danvers can laugh underneath the light of smoke without a singular, pathetic stage light highlighting the blue of her eyes—and she listened to her bounce around keys as effortlessly as Cat only wishes she could bounce around a typewriter. And tonight, after listening to a bar full of people desperately try to throw suggestions at her (in an apparently routine game), she listened to Kara be anything other than ordinary before the blonde had happily plopped next to her on a barstool an hour later, taking one look at the stretch of Cat’s shoulders before almost knowingly asking her what was wrong.

And Cat (idiotically) told her. She launched into a rant lacking any form of breath, punctuation, or pause that might make Dalton Trumbo pale, or proud, or both. She told the singer about her week—about the kidnappings and the lack of justice and the lack of leads to do anything meaningful with the story. She launched into wanting to make a difference—in wanting to protect them—and when she looked up just a few short hours ago, there was something almost…familiar in those haunting, happy eyes.

Kara looked like she was thinking—almost debating, now that Cat plays the moment in her mind—and Cat had been too busy downing another martini to pick up on it, then. To ask the questions a journalist should know to ask.

“You know,” The singer had so casually suggested to her, fingers dipping along the rim of a club soda, eyes settled on the wall before turning back to look at Cat with something surprisingly…knowing. Almost clairvoyant. “Just because you know the names of five children who were kidnapped…doesn’t mean that’s all of them. Those are just the ones that were publicized. Maybe…” She’d sucked a breath through her teeth, “You should start there. With what you don't know."

Cat had blinked, too busy being stunned to care about looking stunned before she’d reached out and squeezed the girl’s shoulder and practically ran out of the bar with some phrase or another (hopefully not 'Kara, you're a genius' and definitely hopefully not 'I'm an idiot'), heading immediately to the office.

The sun might rise, soon, if she keeps this up, but it would hardly be the first time she spent all night at this desk, and it will likely not be the last, reaching over to tug open the public record (and the not-so-public one she’d picked up from a contact on her way here), dipping down to her lowest drawer to tug out a bottle of gin.

Her mother would give her such a look for drinking it straight from the bottle (and that makes Cat wish she could see it) but sometimes journalism requires a lack of class and debauchery that Cat can only hope to excel in, someday.

“Alright…so now that we have what we know.” Slamming the bottle back into the drawer with a decisive, determined, happy hum, glad for the burn and the lack of coworkers in the building—particularly glad for the lack of Perry White—slowly starting from the top, “Let’s find out what we don’t.”

  But now they only block the sun

They rain and snow on everyone

So many things I would have done

But clouds got in my way

--

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now

From up and down and still somehow

It’s clouds illusions I recall

I really don’t know clouds at all

 “Guess I’m glad Radioshack hasn’t gone out of business, yet.” Kara hums, reaching her hand back up to her sister as she passes, holding up the small little trinket she’s managed, various pieces of mangled technology hanging from her lips muffling her voice. “You know that I don’t understand...any of what I’m doing, Alex.”

“Do you usually?” It’s a tease, plucking the small piece before Kara can throw it at her, tugging over a new motorcycle helmet between bare knees, humming as she tries to run the thin wire through it. “Like ever?”

“Do you?” Kara counters, finger running along the edge of a textbook’s page before flicking a few back, the only indication that the pages have moved at all in the soft flutters of paper throughout the apartment. The sound of her sister speed-reading is oddly comforting if just because it tickles faint memories in the back of her mind. “Last I remember, which is, you know, what you tell me so who knows if that’s even the case,” But brows are knit, concentration keen down at the small little package of wires resting on her knee and Alex spares a small moment to watch over her shoulder like she’s overseeing a science project. “You’re a bio-engineer.”

“I am a bio-engineer.” Alex immediately replies, glowering a little bit, not missing the way Kara’s lips barely tug up at the edges even amidst her concentration before her eyes flash, lasers slowly soldering a circuit. “Luckily for you, because it takes someone with like at least five degrees to even hope to understand how your brain works.”

“Not that hard,” It’s a self-deprecating laugh, “All signs up here point to food, music, and trying to do the right thing.” Kara tugs over her glasses, using them as a magnifying glass for the laser to split it--thin it--soldering the last two sections of the circuit. “Which, really, I know we’re still trying to make me go faster, have you thought of us just inventing an energy drink?”

“A simple girl, my sister. And no, the last thing the world needs is you on an energy drink. You might rip a hole in the space-time continuum.” As much as she watches--as much as Kara gripes--she knows that the technology is in good hands. “Again. There we go. This should keep what happened last week from happening again.” It’s a thin sigh, glad for a long lineage of quasi-surgeon’s hands if just because she’s not sure how else she would manage to wire this through the helmet without them. “Although watching that guy’s face as he tried to hit you in the head with a baseball bat was...okay, I admit it. It was pretty priceless.”

The perp--for some reason, police jargon has stuck so steadily with her, like she’d been used to hearing it, though she can’t quite remember where, flashes of emphatic hands and tired dark eyes and a thin, sympathetic smile--had the unfortunate idea of smacking Kara in the head. A very breakable object met an immovable one and the bat had splintered, the attacker’s hand painfully repelling backwards as Kara just grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt and sighed.

That’s not very nice, you know.

A chuckle, remembering the look of horror on his face.

“Come on, Alex, that had to be one of the worst nights of that guy’s life.”

The guy had peed his pants right then and there and Kara had felt so bad they just wordlessly took him to the police station and dropped him off. Alex laughed the entire way home until she realized their very crude comm systems had broken, because of it.

They’d spent months desperately trying to combine minds to come up with some form of soluble technology years ago--Kara pouring over limited textbooks every free second she had--and even with her sister’s surprising knack for engineering and Alex’s muscle memory of a future they can’t recall, the system they developed wasn’t...well it literally was not rocket science.

Alex is pretty sure she’d be better at rocket science. So would Kara. They’d probably be alright with rockets, actual. Maybe that’s something they’re missing—rockets.  

But it’s time for an upgrade, anyways, and the textbooks have more than just theories in them, now, and Alex even manages to finally figure out how to utilize their old cell phones in a way that finally makes sense, fingers moving down to route the switch at the top of the helmet.

“Well then he shouldn’t have been breaking and entering.” Alex shrugs, rolling her neck as the faint smell of burning plastic meets her nose, giving it a moment before sliding on the familiar helmet, humming at the fit on it. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

Alex knocks on the edge of it, rolling her shoulders and nodding, again, “Yeah, feels good.”

Her fingers run along the rim of the helmet, tucking underneath it, remembering the last time one was yanked off of her with a sigh, shaking her head.

A squeal interrupts the reverie.

“Ah--shhiiiii--Kara, Jesus Christ.” Alex tugs off the helmet as her sister unknowingly touches the wrong wire, two hands immediately snapping up to lips in horrified apology, Kara rushing forward to make sure she’s alright, the piercing noise still ringing. “Shit.” Alex wags a desperate finger in her ear to try to physically rid herself of the tinnitus that immediately rattles her brain regardless of knowing that’s only going to make it worse.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kara winces before gently adding after a beat, clearing her throat: “Did you hear it, though?”

“Oh, yeah. Not gonna hear anything else, though. Ever again.” Alex flops backwards on the ground, tugging the helmet into her lap as she looks it over, popping up the visor to check it. They’ll have to wire all of their spares tonight, as well. But it will be nice to have a new helmet. The last one was starting to smell like the inside of a boy’s lockerroom. A sigh, mind wandering: “I wonder how accurate that intel was on that ring we heard about from that kid last night…” Alex hums, thoughtful as her head rests back on the faded wood of a scratched apartment floor, yawning, taking a moment to rest.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Kara chirps, as perky as ever at the opportunity to make a difference and when Alex opens her eyes, she’s not surprised to see that trademark beam up close and personal, blonde hair cascading down between them as an ever-eager hero leans over her. “But I think you’re right, without knowing where it is, there’s not much we can do until we pinpoint a location, and I’m having about as much of luck narrowing down new leads as Cat.” Kara pauses and Alex’s eyes open, slitting, “Or Lois. Or, you know, the Planet at all. But, hey, you know the best place to wine, dine, and smooze the rich for intel….”

“The Gala?” Alex groans, mind exhaustedly running through a thousand scenarios, all of which end in dead-ends, which isn’t the worst way they’ve spent a weekend. At least this way they’re likely to make some money. Kara always kills it at the stupid rich things, and then kills it ten-fold at the after-parties.

“You know it. Music and service.”

“Food espionage it is.” Alex reluctantly agrees because she’s already imagining how difficult it will be to get into a banquet, even with their usual golden ticket--that golden ticket being Kara’s over-zealous piano fingers-- because she really doesn’t want to take up the other offer she’s received. Still, the years have passed where they bother keeping much from each other, so Alex hedges: “Lane did say something last week about needing a date….”

“Oh, look, you won’t even have to pretend to be a waitress this time.” Kara offers and Alex wrinkles her nose with a short shove to her sister’s laughing shoulder. “What? You’re a bio-engineer. You deserve better than the food-espionage.”

“Don’t forget it.”

“Too late.” Kara sighs, flopping down onto the floor next to her, tugging on her own helmet and laying down before flipping up the visor. A long moment passes before she whispers, “Cat will be there. All of the Daily Planet will. At least we know Clark will be there for back-up.”

“That’s the second Cat sighting this conversation. Bad news, bears.” Alex reminds, tugging her own helmet on, flipping up the visor, their shoulders brushing together as they lay on their worn wooden floor, the sound of the wind gently rustling through the window, Kara’s withering sigh joining the faint hum of it, lost amidst the heat and silence. “Is she still coming to the bar?”

“Everyday, now. And everytime I see her…” Kara’s voice catches like a thread snagged between a door, violently tugging through it at the indelicate touch of an insistent hand on the other end, fraying at the edges as her sister sucks in a sharp breath. “Is that what it’s like when you drink?”

Kara’s never asked before and Alex has always figured it’s because she either knew already or didn’t want to and dark hair splays on the floor underneath black as a head rolls to the side, the noise of the helmet rolling on the wood matched by Kara’s when she does the same, their eyes meeting through open visors.

“Do you...do you remember?” Kara presses and Alex just tugs off her helmet and gets back to work, pointedly ignoring the quiet whisper of a breath from her sister on the floor, guilt and anger curling in her lungs. Maybe there’s some things they still keep to themselves. “Because I don’t, Alex.”

Kara tugs off her helmet and dutifully gets back to working in silence when she doesn’t answer and it’s only an hour later that Alex hears her murmur it to herself, looking out the window, watching the birds in a way that feels so familiar that Alex’s breath catches in her throat.

“I just remember the idea of her. That’s all. And I think that’s being…overwritten, too. Now. By her.”

That’s all they have, now. Ideas.

And Alex hates it.

“So we have two weeks to figure out what information we need from the Gala.” Alex’s voice is all business and she watches Kara’s spine straighten with Kryptonian steel, head tipping back with a nod.

“And how much of it is likely going to be coming from Lex Luthor.” Kara adds, a subject they’re far less gentle about when her cousin isn’t in the room. Alex comes forward and gently wraps her arms around a waist, chin falling down to a shoulder as they both look out at the city. “I know you need to head to the lab, but…are you coming to the bar, tonight? It’s been a while since—”

“You bet. You volunteering?” She hums and Kara squeezes her hand--nods--leans forward into the warmth of the city before Alex pulls away. “Come on, let’s finish putting these together so that we can actually get some sleep. We’re going to have to canvas this place top to bottom. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

That gift horse being the Luthor mansion. Just because they can’t do anything in daylight--just because they can’t be open about it--doesn’t mean they can’t throw Clark a bone or two while they’re in there.   

Kara knowingly smiles, plopping down next to her and pulling up another circuit, a little easier going now that they’ve managed to do the first one without it exploding.

After this, she’ll head to the small lab and see if she can’t make any progress on their number one problem—getting home.

“You bet. You know,” Kara’s tone is bright when Alex tosses her another circuit, getting started on the first spare helmet, “I’m not the only badass in the family.”

Alex feels like she’s heard that before and smirks, because she feels like whoever said it is a genius.  

  Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels

The dizzy dancing way you feel

As every fairy tale comes real

I’ve looked at love that way 

--

But now it’s just another show

You leave ‘em laughing when you go

And if you care, don’t let them know

Don’t give yourself away

  Cat lets out a quiet string of curses, heels clicking along asphalt as she tries to run without running, heart catching in her chest.

“Grant!” A voice rumbles behind her and it’s unnerving, really, how calm it is, like he doesn’t need to run to stop Cat in her tracks and she refuses—she absolutely refuses—to give him the satisfaction, quickening her pace to a run around the corner of an alley.

Unfortunately, a stampede of heavy footsteps follow her.

Four of them.

She’d spent all day digging through police records until she found a lead—barely—two separate kidnappings happening around the same location she’d remembered reading a beat on months ago regarding a Vice drop. Drugs or something, no one was sure, but there had been rumors in the gossip mill about Lex Luthor importing illegal goods on the docks—the same docks where two of the kidnappings took place.

It was a stretch, save for the fact that the plate for one of the cars the child was able to identify (one of the older children that had been taken), scribbled and never investigated on a six-month old police report, had been registered for a child-company of one of LexCorps’ start-up pet projects. Medi-Glo, a medical company specializing in cancer diagnosis equipment, which manufactured and distributed solely to the United States. All parts sourced within the United States—all labor proudly provided within the United States—all business apparently focused on the crown heart of the United States, Metropolis, underneath the knowing guidance of Lex Luthor.

But Medi-Glo routinely received export and import shipments within a warehouse on the docks…unusual enough for a company so adamant about in-house procedures and Cat knows enough about the world to know if a man is spending time in another bed, it’s because nothing’s happening in his own.

Medi-Glo, Cat had discovered through a phonecall to Olivia Marsdin, house-hopeful that was aiming to make a name for herself cracking down on drugs with her DA and was heading a very sensitive investigation against Lex Luthor, was under scrutiny. Lex Luthor was currently being interviewed from afar for his involvement...and supposedly had a shipment coming tomorrow, at 9 PM. To the very same docks Cat had been investigating. A shipment that had no other disclosed factors for its existence—the what, where, and why were all woefully unanswered—and when Cat pressed (pressed and maybe blackmailed, just a little) her old friend into a source to press, herself, she found herself wandering the streets of Metropolis to hunt down an ex-convict and current contract warehouse worker for Medi-Glo based upon one simple, undeniable truth about a male's existence:

Cat is certain that all men's lives revolve around alcohol as much as most women's do.

So it wasn't too hard to go off of that.

When she found him at his usual haunt of a dive bar in one of the less flattering parts of Metropolis, Cat let out a hissing sigh when he recognized her and, worse, immediately had three goons stand up from their pool table at his disposal.

That was the problem with 10-99-Misc contract workers, they apparently had no real loyalty to whatever company they worked for, but no real incentive to keep their jobs other than squashing threats…which Cat apparently is. Which is why she suddenly finds herself running through the streets of Metropolis from four genetically-modified giants (or they just really ate their idiot Spinach) that look more like skinheads than dock workers, heels skidding along the ground as she rounds another corner, heart pounding in her ears.

She was made for writing, not for running, and she tries to quell her pounding heart when one of the goons has the forethought to cut her off at the end of the alley, dark eyes blinking as she twists between his towering form and the end of the alley she’s trapped herself in, three other men advancing from the end of the street.

And suddenly, that fucking moonlight seems perfectly content to illuminate the entire street in absolute blinding precision, because Cat can see the man's smirk clearer than anything else in the world. 

He's going to kill her. 

“We heard you were snooping around. What, who Freddie Prince fuckin’ not good enough for ya, anymore, Kitty?”

Oh, God, he sounds like an idiot. She’s going to die at the hands of an actual stereotypical goon idiot and Cat stumbles backwards, nearly tripping in the open alley, but she’s not going to go out without a fight.

“I just…had a few questions, Mr…Rasputin, was it?”

She has no clue what his fucking name is, right now—breathless and more frightened than she’d admit—kicking off her heel and brandishing it because of course tonight was the one where she left her mace and—

“Nah.” He answers, clueless and advancing and Cat swallows, eyes frantic as she takes in her surroundings, looking for any way—any way at all—out. God, Mother was going to make her funeral ghastly, wasn’t she? Was she going to play that fucking horrible song from Beaches and-- 

No, no, she wasn’t going to die like this—

He grabs for her and she slams her heel into his eye and skitters backwards the same moment the man to her right, trying to block her exit, advances.

“Ahh, fuck, you bitc—”

Cat doesn’t think about it, anymore, she just screams and tries to run, three of the men advancing—

It sounds like there’s a crack in the sky, like a boom rustles her ear and shakes the very foundation of the world, itself. Like a plane snaps through the sky, trailing sound and air behind it through the air. But it’s so disorienting that Cat wonders if she heard it, at all—if she heard anything, at all—breath leaving her lips in a frightened rasp, expecting there to be a gun that’s made the noise, somehow, blinking when she looks up to see the three men stumbling like they’re frozen in time.

Because suddenly Cat isn’t alone with them in the alley, anymore.

There’s suddenly another figure--a woman--and the men’s breath seem to catch up to them, all sucking in at once, as the woman’s fist connects with one of their jaws with enough force for a second audible crack to sound through the alley.

“Hey, didn’t anyone tell you that the whole…alley thing was out of season?” And there’s a voice Cat would recognize everywhere and it’s so strange—so out of place—that Cat’s hand falls, certain she must already be dead. Certain that she can't be here, at all. "You guys are supposed to be doing this in warehouses, now."

Maybe she fell and knocked her head, or something—maybe she fell asleep on her desk working and—

One of the men throws a punch that the girl ducks, turning around just enough for Cat to see a flash of hair before she palm strikes him in the chest—

Her breath finally catches up to her lungs.

“W--Kara?” Cat blinks, the other heel she’d scrambled to grab in defense lowering from her hand as she takes in the unexpected sight of her even more unexpected heroine.

“Wh--” And a wave of blonde whirls around to showcase blinking blue eyes. It’s surreal, because their eyes are still caught across the alley and the other girl doesn’t look for a moment as her hand snaps up to catch an assailant’s hand (like it's almost reflex) before it can hit her in the face, using momentum to pull him closer and Cat gasps at the sound of bones crunching when she buckles her elbow down and snaps his arm, “Oh, I--hey!” It’s a near-sputter as recognition hits and Cat’s other arm slowly falls as Kara practically beams.

She must’ve fallen asleep on her desk. Cat must have--

And then Kara ducks, leg swiping out the leg of the second attacker, using his body as a stepping stool the moment he crumples on dirtied asphalt to pop up into the air and punch the third one, the sound of all of them groaning uncannily ringing out through the alley and there, amidst all of them, is this tall, dazzling blonde, hair cascading over shoulders and glasses askew like they’ve been pushed down to the bridge of her nose, but the rest of her outfit perfectly in place.  

Kara elbows the last one in the stomach and he gasps before he falls down and a precise leg snaps down, hitting him right where it must matter because he immediately stops squirming and, just like that, Cat goes from her life being in danger to her life decidedly not.

And Cat just slowly--shakily--peels herself from the brick wall and swallows as Kara stumbles forward to gather up her forgotten clutch, handing it over with an almost nervous shuffle of glasses, hands curling over shoulders as the blonde skids forward to check on her.

Everything else about Kara perfectly, miraculously in place.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes…?” Cat slowly sucks in through her nose, the word timid and a little shaken in a way she detests, thoughtlessly leaning into those...surprisingly strong fingers. Strong fingers that just— “Even though I just...watched a lounge singer save me from four assailants in the...middle of an alley.”

“Oh, uh…” Kara laughs a little--pulls back--nose wrinkling as she doubles over and her hands fall to her knees like she suddenly realizes she’s tired, but she doesn’t look winded, at all. “My sister is, um...ex-military. Not...that I told you that. Don’t tell anyone that. She made sure I know how to protect myself. And I have a bit of a problem with helping people. But really, are you--”

Cat just raises a hand up between them to catch her thoughts for a moment before eyes flick down and she blinks to see all four of them either unconscious or groaning on the ground. “I’m…”

“Look, if you’re okay, we should really get out of here. If someone comes looking for these guys—” Kara looks over her shoulder and Cat pretends not to notice as she blinks, intentionally moving forward. Her mother was many things but she raised Cat to be an opportunist. “Uh...where are you going, C--”

“I was looking for them actually.” Cat notes, pointing her raised heel down towards the one with the broken arm—the idiot who she was so certain was going to kill her—and, seeing her opportunity, she strides forward, kneeling down next to him in front of a sputtering Kara.

“You even smell like a lackey, God. I guess we can drop pleasantries now, can’t we?”

“Fuck you, Grant.” He spits—actually spits at her—and Cat looks up when there’s another faint crunching sound, Kara looking decidedly innocent as she accidentally steps on his hand.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Really. Actually,” It’s a little quieter, “I really am, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly. That’s just...really, really rude, to spit at people. It looks like Ms. Grant,” Kara turns up to her with that unnervingly blinding smile for such a dark alley when there’s three people unconscious in it, “Wants to ask you a question, so why don’t you listen?”  

“What is Lex Luthor’s shipment?” Cat never wastes an opportunity, even when it comes with a sunny smile and nice legs.

“I know nothing about--”

“Lex Luthor?” Kara leans back, a hint of something in her eyes, flicking up from the body to Cat and shaking her head. "This is about Lex Luthor?"

“What. Is. Lex Luthor’s. Shipment.” Cat repeats and Kara reaches over and grabs her shoulder.

“Um...Ms. Grant,” The girl is tugging her upwards and Cat frowns at it--at being a Ms. anything, really--stumbling when Kara wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“What are you--” And fury grips her, then, because she didn’t get accosted in an alley just to--

“More people are coming.” Kara tugs her back the way she must have magically appeared from. 

“What? How do you even--” And Cat hears it, then, the sound of footsteps, and decides not to complain anymore when Kara reaches down and twines their fingers and runs, wondering how the girl is so freakishly fast. It must be those long legs.

“No time, let’s just get to the running and not dying part, okay? What were you asking him--about some...what’s going on with Lex Luthor’s shipment?” Kara slows down to her pace, Cat realizes, but doesn’t stop holding onto her for a second, like she’s prepared to pick her up if she has to, and if there wasn’t so much adrenaline in her chest, Cat might laugh at the thought.

Like a lounge singer could pick her up and maintain speed, even if that lounge singer had just potentially saved her life.

“What does a Bruce Lee lounge singer care about--” Kara tugs her around the corner onto the main street and then into another nearby alley, eyes flicking around before she spots a fire escape ladder, kneeling down. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.” Cat snipes when she realizes Kara’s tenting her hands up like it's just another Friday for the girl, “If you wanted to look up my dress, you could’ve just--”

“Ms. Grant.” Kara’s voice is insistent and her jaw is set, “I’d love to, believe me, but can we focus on the fact that guys with guns are chasing you?”

Cat decidedly does not want to know how Kara knows they have guns and decidedly does not want to see them for herself.

“Oh, fine.” But Cat is already rushing forward, taking a few steps before Kara hoists her up higher than the girl should be able to--she must have impressive biceps, really; must have with those punches, anyways--and the journalist lets out a huff as she starts to climb upwards, ignoring the faint hum of relief when she hears Kara leap up and follow behind her, focusing on clamoring up. “Why--” She huffs as she pulls up to the top of it and God, she probably should think about doing that pilates thing Lois is always jabbering on and on and on about. “Are you calling me,” She tosses her other heel, throwing it over the side of the escape as she starts to rush upwards, the sound of her stockings padding against metal lost under her whispering breath because being able to hold on feels, for once, a little more important than fashion, “That.”

“Because I’m not,” Kara’s hand is suddenly around her waist, tugging her close near the top of the stairs, urging Cat down to press her against the wall, both of them molding against it in the shadows as a few shouts round down the alley and for a second, Cat can’t breathe. She can’t think. Her heart is hammering in her throat and she wonders if this once so-unassuming singer must know it from the way she leans forward, gently whispering in her ear like she’s trying to calm her heartbeat with a dolcet, soothing tone alone. That’s what she’s been doing all week, after all. “Supposed to know your name. Cat.” And she smiles like this doesn’t bother her, at all, adjusting glasses as she leans just a little back to offer a small smile. “I saw you on the news the other day. Well, a while back. Like…a month, probably.”

“Oh.” Cat sucks in a small breath as Kara leans up against her just a little tighter--presses just a little closer--and her breath quivers against a lip despite her even smile. Kara Danvers has an unrelentingly strong frame. “Well I hope my performance was up to your expectations.”

“Definitely. But something tells me you’d never give anything less. Come on,” And there’s that hand, again, twining with Cat’s and guiding her back up to a roof.

That means the men kept going down the alley, if Kara’s moving, at all—thank God—and Cat…realizes she has no clue why she’s taking a karate lounge singer’s word for it—

“Why exactly am I trusting you to guide me out of danger, again?” But Cat doesn’t let go--holds onto her hand like a lifeline as Kara guides her onto the roof and towards an open door, blinking when she elbows the lock off of it.

“Oh, it was just...a little rusty. Came right off. Look at that, hah.” She adjusts those glasses again and tugs Cat inside before closing it, wide shoulders visibly easing once they’ve gotten inside, Kara leaning against the door with a sigh, “And I don’t know. But I’m glad you did, because I think we’re in the clear for a little while.”

“In the clear...in a random building surrounded by men with guns that...you saved me from. Which I never thanked you for.” Cat realizes, squeezing the hand but not dropping it and this seems to cause Kara to have a moment of realization, herself, blue behind glass flicking down to joined hands before slowly trailing up, again.

“I can take that as a thanks. But it was...really nothing. Right time. Right place.” She might be blushing and Cat has to resist the very strange, very strong urge to press her against the dingy random building’s wall, the light flickering above them like something out of a horror movie, and kiss her.

Adrenaline rush, really. She probably almost died, tonight, and what’s a little kissing between strangers—bar-friends—or saviors and damsels in distress?

“Most people would say running to save the day and then running from men with guns would be a wrong time, wrong place thing.” Cat notes and watches as Kara shuffles on her feet, a hint of an awkward laugh on lips even as she leans closer.

“Well...I’m not most people.” Her chin dips, eyes bright and almost dangerously familiar as she smiles, “Ms. Grant.”

“Apparently not. You seem very calm right now, Ms. Danvers,” Cat hums and the girl blinks a little, almost unnerved, before she points out:

“So do you.” She makes the mistake of backing up against the wall and this time Cat advances like a shark who’s smelled blood in the water, eyes barely slitting as she watches the clench of her jaw--the flare of her nostrils--the untraceable look in those kind, unfamiliar blue eyes.

“I’m a journalist. I have no heart. You’re a singer, and yet you seem completely unphased, like you’ve done this a thousand times before--”

“Don’t you know?” And the girl offers her a flashing smile, something charming and wide and surprisingly strong, and Cat finds herself almost dazzled by it. “I’m Supergirl.”

And the pianist (that’s what she is, isn’t it? A pianist) laughs, then, leaning forward to curve a hand around Cat’s shoulder that should make her tense--should make her back turn into steel--but makes it ease, instead, brows knitting.

“Very funny.”

“Do you always interrogate the people that just tried to save your life?” And that smile’s so kind that Cat would find it easy to be blindsided by it in such a dark hallway, “Look, I was on my way to the orphanage around the corner when I heard you scream. I just...reacted. Like I said, right place, right--”

Cat leans up and kisses her cheek, smiling when she hears breath trip over itself like it has feet before it sucks through teeth, Kara’s eyelashes fluttering as she looks down at her.

“My hero.” Cat wipes a hint of lipstick off of that cheek and feels a swell of dangerous warmth when this stranger stutters in breath and smiles. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I still have work to do.”

“It’s funny...I work in a bar, don’t drink,” Kara clears her throat--fiddles a little--and it’s in this moment that Cat realizes she never let go of her hand and doesn’t feel particularly keen on asking her to. Maybe it’s a little more than adrenaline. “But I can eat a surprisingly large amount for dinner. So if you wanted a raincheck...”

Cat smirks, “Oh, I love an opportunist.”

“Well, that’s me. When opportunity knocks I just…” She pantomimes swinging open a door with a faint whistle and then winces, like Kara’s understood quite how much of an idiot she looks in that very moment. And Cat hates that she’s a little fond of it. “Open...the door.”

“They could run a study on you.” Cat notes, nose scrunching, eyes bright. “I mean, really--”

“Yep.” Kara winces.

“Half the time very, very smooth, and then there’s this ten percent--”

“Oh trust me, I know. I’ll spend the next day and a half ranting about that one sentence non-stop to my sister--”

“Alex, right?” Cat hums and Kara blinks, surprised, like she hadn’t expected Cat to remember the fact at all. “I’m an investigative journalist,” She reminds, “And a gossip columnist. Remembering the details comes in handy. You mentioned it, the first night you were on stage.”

“Right.” Kara shakes her head, “You know, um…” She holds up a hand, eyes closing like she’s listening, which would be ridiculous because there’s nothing to hear, here, save for the flickering electrical hum of a light above them and probably, if they listen hard enough, rats running through the dirt-smeared walls.

“What are you—”

“Stay here, okay? Promise.”

“Why are you—”

“I’m going to just go check really quickly. Just stay here, okay? If I knock on the door, run and hide but--”

“Oh.” Cat blinks, realizing: “You’re serious, aren’t you? 

“Look, I’ll be right back. I just...you can never be too careful, right? Not that I, um, deal a lot with people and guns, but you can't be too careful--yeah, so you just stay here, promise?” And it’s uncanny, really, how when Cat slits her eyes Kara almost reads the protest on her tongue, gently curving that warm hand around her cheek like she has any right to do so and Cat stiffens. It’s hot outside and they’ve been running, so her entire body is hot and sweaty (unflattering), but there’s something about the warmth in that hand that— “Oh, I’m sorry, I--my sister always told me I’m too tactile and I--” She laughs a little and pulls away entirely and Cat catches those fingers before they can go too far.

“Shut up.” Cat sighs and squeezes, still feeling…vulnerable and a little nervous. She almost argues about going with her, because it could be suicide to go out and track down enemies that Cat has created, and the girl is too kind for her own good…

But then again, they know Cat’s face. And Kara apparently has a knack for this kind of thing and—

“I’ll be okay. Promise.” Kara’s voice is gentle and sincere and Cat closes her eyes before she pulls away, herself, tapping bare feet as she leans back against a wall, arms crossing, eyes looking to whatever might be up in those vast heavens of emptiness as she tries to temper her breath.

“Fine, I promise.”

“Thanks.” Kara ridiculously murmurs like Cat’s the one doing her a favor and she has half a mind to wonder how the hell someone can be quite so happy in a situation like this.

“Try not to get shot, please.” She barely remembers to hiss before the door closes— “And if you happen to find my heels, they cost me a fortune.”--before her head thuds dully against the wall. It takes longer than it should, each second of flickering lights in this strange, strange building causing her shoulders to sink further and further down and there’s only so many times she can check her watch before she resists the urge to slowly slide down the wall, fingers curling in on themselves.

It gives her enough time to replay over that little fight scene over and over again. She doesn’t remember her scream being loud--she remembers the heel and the thud and the feeling of the wall against her back and then...

She doesn’t remember hearing her running. Doesn’t remember hearing Kara breathing, at all, just suddenly there saving the day like a—

A step sounds downstairs and Cat scrambles to grab her purse, the only real weapon she has at the moment, brandishing it to see...a mop of blonde hair downstairs, hastily pulled up into a ponytail, a hand raising up in consolation as Kara greets her around the corner at the bottom of rusted stairs.

“Woah, hey, it’s me.” Kara nods down towards the purse and Cat lets out a sigh through her nose, the noise rattling among the flickering light between them, “No projectiles, please. I, um...I maybe snuck around to make sure we were completely okay. Those guys are gone.”

“Who the fuck are you, Josephine Baker?” Cat snaps, a little on edge despite the relief clear on her face, waving a hand at Kara’s obvious confusion.

“How does that make me Josephine Bak--”

“Nevermind. Sheet music. Let’s just--” She snaps a hand up and Kara stumbles forward a little bit to help her up, smiling down at her once she does. “I’m...glad you’re okay. We didn’t have a contingency plan if you didn’t come back. You just disappeared and I thought--”

“Sorry.” And the girl at least does look sheepish, at that. “But I have to say, all this is way too much excitement for an ordinary girl like me. Really works up an appetite…”

“Well, you’re pedaling that dinner hard, aren’t you?” Cat reaches up to curl fingers around a forearm, steadying herself, and it’s amazing how the girl leans into her like she’s done it a thousand times, dark eyes blinking at the sight in hands that greet her. “You...seriously found my shoes? Both of them.”

Kara just shrugs this a sheepish smile of a thing that leaves her breathless and searching for anything to hold onto in this…uncanny, ridiculous turn of events, tonight.

“Everyone’s gone.” She promises, voice gentle, and Cat doesn’t let go of her arm for a second as she slides her heels back on, happy to see they’re closer in height, now. And Kara just leans into her, adjusting with the weight without a second thought. “Maybe not the best thing, but they’re nowhere around here looking for us, which means I think your work night might be done, and...you don’t have to buy me dinner. I happen to know a place right around the street where I’d already brought a hamburger, if...you want to split it?”

And she looks so hopeful that Cat can’t help but laugh, a little, when realization sinks.

“Around the street?” Eyebrows raise, “Did you just invite me on a date to an orphanage?”

“You’d consider it a date?” And Kara just…she practically radiates and Cat has to huff out through her smile to temper her own.

“Who are you?” It’s a curious question, a hint of marvel at the end of it, “This...lounge singer who just saved my life in a fight you so casually shrug off, who wants to take me to dinner at an orphanage--”

“I’m just regular, ordinary, normal Kara Danvers.” Kara quietly supplies, brows wrinkling a little at her own words--a small shake of the head as Kara leans just a little closer, “And the truth is, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, I’m...a little worried about you. And the fact that you were just assaulted by three men in an alley who know your name. And I’d love to walk you home, even though I’m sure you don’t need it,” She holds up a hand with a shake of the head, “I’m sure you can hold your own, and I know I might not be much help, but...I promised these kids that I would be there tonight to sing them to sleep, and I’m even more worried about not seeing you again. So...yeah. I--well, I just--I don’t--really...want to see you...get hurt. And would like to share a hamburger with you. Sure.”

It’s inelegant and bumbling and Kara takes her glasses off to clean them afterwards before pushing them back up her nose with a nervous tick of a smile and when she opens up her mouth to start with the infernal talking, again, Cat just gently raises up a hand to her lips to stem any more of it.

“Kara?”

“Hmm?” It’s hummed nervously against her fingers and this definitely must not be the first time she’s been shushed in her life.

“You just saved my life.”

“What? I didn--” It’s cut off by a sharp look, those fingers pressing firmer and those lips are painfully soft underneath Cat’s skin.

“Shh.” Cat shakes her head, “You’re kind and sweet and...that folksy charm certainly helps your case, but while I am definitely not calling this a date,” She does have some standards. That’s a weird date, even for tonight. “I think I would very much like to share a hamburger with you, even if it is in an...orphanage.” Her nose wrinkles, a rough swallow as she admits, chest a little hollow at the thought, “Although, I’m not exactly...good with kids.”

“Oh, I find that hard to believe.” And when Cat looks up, she watches that smile stretch underneath her fingers and she wonders what in the world she did in that bar to cause Kara Danvers to have such blind faith in her, or was that just the type of person she was? “Ms. Grant.”

Cat would have an easier time believing it if she hadn’t just watched the girl easily take out four men in an alleyway brawl without breaking a sweat.

That’s a mental image that’s still taking some getting used to.

“Cat.” She finally offers, hand falling from lips to stretch upwards in greeting, smiling when Kara’s hand slides into her own. Humming, “It’s nice to formally introduce myself, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh,” Kara tangles their fingers after the shake and starts to guide her down the stairs, “Believe me, Cat, the pleasure’s all mine.”

A lecherous smirk spreads across her lips, brazen and bright as the lights flicker.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it will be.”

It’s worth it just to watch Kara trip once they’re down the stairs and on even ground, mumbling something about a rock and horrible balance as she blushes underneath the city lights.

  I’ve looked at love from both sides now

From give and take and still somehow

It’s love’s illusions I recall

I really don’t know love at all 

--

Tears and fears and feeling proud

To say, ‘I love you’ right out loud

Dreams and schemes and circus crowds

I’ve looked at life that way

 Alex sighs, running a hand over her face as her shoulders slump, elbows sliding further down the table’s surface, chin falling to rest on the table, mind lagging. The calculations should make sense, but there won’t be any chance to try them until she gets Kara out into the field (their literal field in Midvale, far enough away from their home to never be noticed, but close enough just to make sure they’re okay)—until Kara can convince Clark to try hurtling his cousin through space—and she sighs, gently unsnapping the ring around her neck.

She’d gone to the bar first, tonight, because the tension in her shoulders had been too much and playing with Kara was one of her few reliefs, these days. All of their helmets were wired in the apartment but Kara was right, the kidnappings were still an unsolved mystery, and…so was any hope of getting home.

The small lab is empty save for Alex’s desklamp and it likely will be for a few hours, yet. It still feels so weird, when she thinks of it. She’s worked here for two years, hidden, in exchange for providing some…medical services on the side to a few people in the city that can’t afford it. While she never was much of a doctor’s doctor, that’s changed over the years stuck here—she did go to Medical school, after all, before ultimately caving and switching her doctorate—and she’s glad for it. Just like Alex understands that Kara can’t turn her back everytime she hears a siren, now, Alex can’t turn her back on this, and where she’d normally be paid monetarily, she’s found an appropriate compensation in obscurity and medical supplies and compounds a little, well…illegal to get.

That’s how they ran into Lois in Metropolis, in the first place.

“Wonder what Mom would think, now, if she knew I was in the illegal medical trade. Try explaining the fact that I don’t harvest organs over dinner, could you imagine?” A faint laugh, “I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t like that. Probably. Maybe if she knew I was saving lives for people that can’t afford it. Who would’ve known the Danvers sisters would’ve turned into such Robinhoods, huh?” 

She holds the ring underneath the light, voice gruff as she greets her old friend.

“I guess you probably did. You know, we got it in our heads that we have to find a way back. That’s been our goal for so long, and I owe it to her—I do—but, and don’t tell Kara this, okay?” Fingers gingerly set the small ring on the table’s surface, elbow resting next to it, whispering like it’s a great secret, “I don’t even know why. I know, I know,” She raises both hands, leaning back in the chair, “It’s crazy. We’ve been working on these formulas for…God, three? Years, now. Three years. Can you believe that? I haven’t…seen you in three years.” Alex clears her throat, leaning back down on her palm, “We tried building that timeship, first, after the signal—God, do you remember that? Kara is great with math and the whole…engineering thing, but I had to wait for weeks for my eyebrows to grow back, you would’ve loved that. You would’ve come after me with a sharpie. I guess. Probably. And then we tried the signal again—we’re still working on that signal, but who’s even going to hear it? And now we’re getting Kara to go…really, really fast. Our last ditch effort, because Kara remembered something about a Barry Allen last year—what if she can’t go fast enough? She’s been training, you know. She’s been training for two years, but she reached a stagnant point, so we realized…what if we got Superman to throw her? If they can both go fast enough…maybe he can throw Kara and we can…”

Alex waves a hand, looking at the ring like it might talk back to her.

“Can you fucking believe it, our future rests on go really, really fast. Train Superman, and go really, really fast. Why am I telling you all this, anyways? You know it all. I’ve told you all of it and I…I don’t really know why.”

She has no clue why.

But Alex swallows, rough and desperate and full of glass, head shaking as she runs a nail along the rim of it, “You know…I don’t even remember what you look like.” She informs the ring, like it’s a person—like there’s eyes behind the glint of silver—leaning further back in the chair, enough to tempt fate as eyes skim over the ceiling. “I don’t look at your pictures, even if Kara…well, Kara used to want to look at them. I think it’s getting too hard for both of us. It’s just…it’s so weird. It’s like living in a swimming pool. All the time, and trying to—trying to…open your eyes underwater. That’s what it’s like, trying to remember, like we’re both drowning and when we open our eyes, it stings and we can’t really see or see the end of the pool and…and, fuck.” She laughs a little, wiping a restless hand under her eyes, “Kara’s the writer. I’m just tired. Why am I even….”

She picks up the small little chain, sliding it onto her pointer finger and brushing lips over the scratched surface of a ring.

“Anyways,” She breathes, “I guess I just needed your advice. I think…I think you were pretty good at that. Or you should be. You were? You think I’d get used to talking about this.” A self-deprecating laugh brushes against her tongue, chin exhaustedly falling back onto her palm, finger dancing underneath the dim desklamp, watching it roll along her skin, “We can work on this—we can work on getting home—or…or we can work on finding these kids. And that’s our one rule, you know? Kids always come first. We haven’t talked about it, but what if…” A short breath sucked through teeth, “If we can’t get back, what if Kara’s right? What if we should do everything we can? Every second I’m working on this is a second we could both be saving them.”

The ring doesn’t answer and Alex quietly clips it back around her neck, hand resting the cool metal against her sternum, heartbeat constant underneath it. And there’s a bit of peace in that that she’d never verbally recognize.

Kara, after all…she’s the writer. She’s the singer and the writer and the one who feels too much for the both of them. Alex….

“I know.” She whispers, like someone might have responded—like there’s a voice always on the back of her ear—eyes closing, focusing on the quiet hum of the lab behind her. Maybe if she leans far back enough, she’ll feel like she’s flying without Kara’s arms around her waist. People don’t realize that flying and falling…both of them are just the absence of sensation, anyways. That’s all falling is—it’s nothing—and flying, she’s learned, is a whole lot like that. “Kids are the future, anyways.”

Alex gives herself a second before she roughly closes the book of chemical compounds—of hypothetical serums and biochemical compounds they’ve both been researching to see if they couldn’t augment Kara’s speed—before tucking it back in her bag (like she’d let the past have these, she can’t be too careful) and heading back out of the door, into the moonlight.

And for a moment—for a breath—Alex might be able to hear her, a gruff, laughing, sympathetic voice in her ear full of heartbreak and understanding. A familiar scent and a smile along the pulse in her neck, dancing and constant and full of life.

You were always just as much of a hero as your sister, anyways, Danvers—runs in the family.

Alex decides she needs a drink and just hopes Kara hasn’t made it back home to pour all of her whiskey down the sink, yet.

  But now old friends—they’re acting strange

They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed

Well something’s lost—but something’s gained

In living every day

--

I’ve looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It’s life’s illusions I recall

I really don’t know life at all

 The night just gets weirder and weirder.

Cat’s not sure what she’s expecting, anymore, but there’s still some amount of surprise in her chest when they actually go to an Orphanage and there’s actually a group of orphans patiently awaiting them with a cheer, and Kara actually disappears around the corner for all of five seconds before returning with a guitar.

“So this wasn’t actually some kind of secret agent line-drop to try to get in my bed,” Cat whispers in her ear as the children all (thankfully) stop asking her questions in order to shuffle into spread out blankets and pillows on the floor. She'd think she was Mother Teresa if the journalist in her wasn't aware of how terrible of a person Mother Teresa could be. “You really are singing orphans a bed-time story.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Kara whispers back, seemingly genuinely confused and Cat just shakes her head.

“Seriously, how in the world has no one stolen all of your money or something in this city?” It’s unfortunate that the look Cat gives the girl is nothing short of fond and she feels it from the way Kara smiles back at her, bright and quiet.

“I don’t have any money. There's only so many ways I can tell you I don't have money, Cat. I don't have money. That's how no one has been able to steal it.”

Cat snorts and looks around for somewhere to sit before Kara just goes and sits right on the floor and the journalist thinks there’s nothing worse than looking out of place or awkward, especially in front of all of these kids who are all looking at her, so she shuffles out of her heels and…sits down next to her, chin tipping upwards with a smile.

And all of the kids look so excited that the smile turns a little more genuine.

“Come on, Kara!” One of them kicks their feet up and out as they restlessly roll in a blanket, a member of the staff (is it called a staff if they’re all volunteers?) leans against the doorway with a yawn, obviously awaiting the show.

Kara hums—actually hums—something melodic and unfamiliar and Cat clears her throat, not wanting the attention to move off of the blonde to focus on her, instead. Not like this. Not when they’re all so young.

“So you’re a musical savant, now? What’s next,” Whispering in an ear as knowing fingers start to tune the guitar. “Are you going to pull out a drum-set?”

“Oh, nothing like that. Trust me. Pianos are just…music theory—the basics. So is a guitar. Nothing special. Although I um…” A shrug, pausing before fingers run along one of those knob-thingies and twists the other knob thingie before plucking, again. Her mother forced her to play piano and, outside of swooning her fair share (which was her right) in college over ill-played acoustics in the greens of a courtyard, Cat had never bothered learning technical terms for anything other than a piano. “I can play drums.”  

“Of course you can.”

It doesn’t take long until Kara seems satisfied with the tune and there’s something…different about it, here, when the girl starts. It’s not the guitar—well, not just the guitar—or the lack of smoke or voices or glasses clinking. It’s not the children who all seem like they’re suddenly underneath a siren’s song, their own little chatter dying as they listen.

It’s the space. Or lack thereof.

Because Cat is sitting right next to Kara as she plays—as she closes her eyes and smiles and strums fingers, voice quiet and gentle and—and Cat has never been so close to something like this, before. To the soft vibration of a lilting voice, and it’s intimate in a way Cat hadn’t known intimacy could be, soon finding herself as entranced as the children.

It’s the breathless moment she understands why she kept coming back to the bar, at all, and it’s too much. The nearly dying was one thing—the danger was another—the story slipping through her fingers as she traded her life for her lead was a different one, entirely…but this—

This is something Cat doesn’t know how to deal with.

Because Kara Danvers, this woman who’s listened to her all week with an unwavering smile and charmed an entire bar and wanted to share some fictional (because Cat hasn’t seen it, yet) hamburger with her in an orphanage, is singing Joni Mitchell to a room full of orphans and—

And when it stops, Cat realizes she doesn't want it to. She never wants Kara to stop singing, breath so warm and close and genuine by her ear.

Because Cat has never seen someone so endlessly beautiful before, in her life, with a smile to match.

The guitar is soft as the small huddled forms in the main room all slump by a small little window-ac unit that looks like it’s seen better days, the night hotter in this room than it was outside. But none of them seem to mind enough to untangle themselves from pillows and

“Joni Mitchell? God, Kara, they’re already orphans,” Cat whispers in her ear, not bothering to hide her smile, “Are you trying to depress them more?”

Kara just laughs, tucking up her guitar against her chest, not stopping strumming for a moment, despite the song’s end, something else evolving beneath her fingertips, “They don’t listen to the words. Trust me. Winn!” Her voice is happy and perky, nose wrinkling as she leans over the guitar to beaming little boy whose hair hangs in front of his eyes.

The same boy, Cat realizes, from a week ago that had dropped a heart into a stomach with breathless precision.

“Yeah?” He hums, skittering forward on eager knees like he’s been summoned.

“Did you listen to the words?” Kara’s voice is gentle and knowing and the boy laughs with a nearly toothless shrug, happy and immediate with his response:

“Nope!” 

“See? Nope.” Kara’s smile is lopsided to match and Cat feels her chest warm as she slides just a little closer as a the girl just keeps playing chords, the children sagging further and further into the floor and halfway through the third song, Cat’s head falls down to a surprisingly-strong shoulder, humming along.

And somewhere underneath the quiet, musical strums of a guitar and a gentle, loving voice and a pile of sleeping orphans, Cat Grant realizes that this is what she’s going to remember about tonight. Not the nearly dying or the endless hunt or the sleepless night spent at her desk…

It will be the moment Kara once more tangles their fingers when all the children are asleep to guide her out of the room into the hall, depositing a guitar in the backroom before reaching into a bag—

A bag that Kara must have left here before she found Cat. Why had she left the orphanage, at all—when did she hear her scream?

—and materializes a foil-wrapped hamburger, watching as precise fingers take great pains to break it evenly before casually hopping onto a nearby bench, the hot air sinking between them as Cat slowly sits down next to her.

Kara’s knees tuck up on the worn wood, taking a happy (impressively large) bite of the burger, eyebrows raising as she waits for Cat to follow suit.

“How long has this been sitting here?” Eyes slit and she doesn’t like how familiar Kara is when she teases—

“What are you, a germaphobe?” But she raises up her burger in gesture and promise, “Not long. You’ll be okay, really.”

There's that insufferably bright beam (like how moonlight should be) when Cat hesitantly takes a bite—and then immediately another, because she’s suddenly positive she hasn’t eaten at all, today—that beam trembles into something a little gentler when an ex-editor’s hand reaches up to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of those smiling lips.

They share a slightly sheepish smile, settling on a rickety, hot bench in the back of an orphanage in the middle of the night after almost dying, but not, sharing a hamburger that's been sitting her for God knows how long in content silence.

Cat knows, without a doubt, out of everything today--

She’ll remember this.

  I’ve looked at life from both sides, now

From up and down, and still somehow

It’s life’s illusions I recall

I really don’t know life at all.

[cassatine]

Okay so! THE LAST JEDI. I wanted to do a coherent post and all but hings happened so. Spoilers ahead. Like a lot of spoilers. I recommend not reading if you haven’t seen the movie. No really don’t. 

The [tl:dr]: I loved it! I’m also glad I saw it twice. First viewing felt like a weird mix of things I’d expected (including things I expected two years ago and had started thinking would Not Happen) but the way it all worked together was a punch to the gut. Also I cried a lot, which is not great for visibility. Second viewing was more enjoyable. There’s something very smoke and mirror to the story; it plays with expectations and then turns things on their head. It’s a very clever movie, tho it’s definitely got its flaws. I hardly felt the two hours and a half, could actually have done with a longer runtime because some things moved really fast. It’s also very funny, when it’s not breaking your heart and stepping repeatedly on it. In a (mostly) good way. 

The more or less good:

Starting with that assault on the Dreadnought and Paige Tico’s death, the Resistance plot went where SW rarely does. Poe learning to look at the big picture and the sad economics of war and resistance, the bleeding out of Resistance forces, the unsurprising reveal that god guys and bad guys buy their military hardware from the the same sources, it’s a relentless onslaught. The New Republic is a non-entity, the First Order has weapons aplenty, and the stage is set for a new Empire to be born and a new Rebellion to rise, and it’s all very tragic, but it’s a Star Wars, so of course the good guys live to fight another day light the spark at the end, a source of inspiration for every child escaped from a Dickens novel across the GFFA

Finn and Rose’s plot was lovely - Rose was altogether amazing, and her line about fighting to protect what you love rather than destroy what you hate is... a tad cheesy i guess but in the best of ways. I love that she wants to protect her sister’s memory and that it’s freeing the farthiers that makes the Canto Bight events worth it (i mean they’ll probably be caught again in less than a week because that’s the way of the world, but attagirl!), and that “I saved you, dummy” line. That one reviewer that called her the heart of the movie was pretty much right. 

Luke throwing the saber behind him. Mark Hamill was nothing short of great, but this moment was so very understated and yet so defining, so meaningful. also: Rey’s reaction. 

Actually everything to do with Luke was pretty great. His backstory was kept sparse, but he’s basically following in his master’s footsteps by exiling himself on a nowhere planet after a massive fuck-up, very poetic. Being a Skywalker he’s got to take it one step further drama-wise, with the whole *the Jedi will die with me* thing. Vanity!, screams ghost Yoda. 

I love that it’s fundamentally a movie about failure, and what you do after. Luke’s failure of Ben looms large, and behind it there’s the Jedi Order’s failure but he’s not the only one. Poe fails at being a leader. Finn and Rose’s mission fails. Rey fails to turn Kylo, who kind of fails as a general rule. He failed and was failed by Luke, and he kind of failed Snoke as an apprentice, from a certain point of view. All the Resistance’s plans fail. Snoke fails and die. Chewie fails at keeping porgs away. It’s a debacle left and right, and then the 3D-marionette-Yoda gives us deep words of deeper wisdom than even Rose’s, reminding us that in every failure there’s a lesson. When it doesn’t kill you or you’re not a casualty for someone else’s lesson at least hahahaha. 

The Jedi Order’s founding texts and Yoda’s “page-turners they are not” yes thank you 

Snoke and his playing up Kylo and Hux against each other. From the moment he humiliated Hux publicly to his final words, Snoke is skin-crawling awful, moreso than in TFA. There’s not one moment I don’t want to point to and go “eeeeew” about, srsly.

Chewie eating a porg. I feel so validated. 

Kylo’s epic love story with bad choices. Attaboy. 

Force Bond. CAN YOU PUT ON A COWL SOMETHING thanks for this most cliché scene straight out of a romance novel I AM LIVING!!! fucking hell. On a similar note, Rey and Kylo’s handsex. fingertips sex? whatever, it was just wow, tag ur metaphorical porn star wars, please. also: Luke’s reaction. 

Vice-Admiral Holdo is the lady of my heart and if she had to die I guess her death scene was a crowning moment of awesome at least. I wonder if the discourse will now feature fights about “if it was that easy they’d have done it with the Death Stars” and “why didn’t they.” Not looking forward to that. Not looking forward any of the discourse. At all.

The Rey parentage reveal. The scenes on Ahch-to with the dark side spot calling to her and the vision were some of my favourites, and well, Rey Random’s always been my horse, so! Very satisfying. I’m kind of wary at this point, and not sure how much trust I can put in Kylo’s words tbh, but I’m choosing to believe. 

THE THRONE ROOM FIGHT WITH THE LOBSTERGUARDS??? The beginning with Rey and Kylo back to back was EVERYTHING and the whole thing was just perfect G O D

And then the Kylo/Luke fight happened and wow 

RENPEROR i mean - this is the one thing i wanted and had stopped believing in and i got it, he turned against Snoke in yet another crowning moment of awesome (HIS REAL ENEMY!!) and made Hux go long live the supreme leader - at which point i started to pity Hux. He’s having a no good, very bad, terrible day and he suffers so much it’s all kinds of amazing. Anyway, by the end of TLJ, Kylo’s more sympathetic than he was in TFA imo (for general audiences) and graduating to big bad. I kind of expected one or the other, but both at once? 

Something in me is disappointed at the Force plot - I wanted weird eldritch Force shit, and I guess I got some on Ahch-to, but nothing to do with Snoke. As much as I like pretty much everything, including how Snoke’s death subverted expectations and changed the game, I kind of miss the road(s) not taken. 

Speaking of subverted expectations - I think I need (more) sleep and another viewing or two or three to decide how much I actually like it all, but expectations were masterfully subverted. Who Snoke is doesn’t matter because he’s dead, Kylo is still conflicted, Rey kind of became a Jedi but wow does she flirt with the dark side, and Rey Skywalker was found dead and butchered in Miami. The Resistance ends up in tatters, Luke is busy with self-exile and never technically leaves Ahch-to

REY STOLE THE BOOKS oh my girl lbr i would have too

Luke’s final projection act and how beautifully set up it was and his reunion with Leia. Insert river of tears. 

The more or less bad and the stuff that made me sad:

Yoda looked fugly. I can’t not say it. 

I loved Amilyn, and her death was a crowning moment of awesome, but also, a woman died so a man could learn a lesson

on a similar note, a species (nick)named the Caretakers made up of feminine aliens engaged in (mostly) feminine-coded activities 

DJ was rather underwhelming as a character

Rey went really fast from murderous snake monster to ~touching Kylo’s hand - timeline wise, all this happens in huh less... than... 18... hours?? though Ahch-to is like, a vergence, which means time passes differently there, it’s just never made explicit, and it’s still less than 18 hours for Kylo Ben - head hurts - in any case just one more force convo laden with tension could have helped

*Everything* happened really fast tbh. There were a lot of twists and turns, and as I said it’s very clever, but sometimes at the expanse of character growth? it’s a bit bumpier a road

FUCKING INTENDED BOOK BURNING WHAT IS IT WITH YOU STAR WARS WEREN’T THE JEDI ARCHIVES ENOUGH??

RENPEROR yeah it’s both in the good AND the bad because: i wanted it, i wanted it dearly, but also: what. no really, what. 

noooooo rey don’t close the door on kylo don’t nooooo

Okay that’s not much on the bad and there’s things i’m undecided on but that’s long enough. 

[televinita]

Zoo, 3.03 (super late)

Once upon a time I posted one short Feeling Explosion in the middle of this episode, then forced myself to stop and deal with a work-nado, and before I could claw my way back I heard "Welcome to the O.C., bitch," and that's the last thing I remember before waking up from my coma 6 weeks later. That's my story and I’m sticking to it. Claims that I may have woken up briefly to comment on bits of episodes 4 and 8 are unsubstantiated because officially, until last night I had not yet finished episode 3. (and that is the actual truth. I technically got to the end and a bit beyond, but only because I tore both apart for Mitch/Jamie content just like I feared I would and left the rest to spoil. Guilt may have played a part in my inability to come out of the coma.)

As I am Very Stubborn about not watching the next episode of anything until I have thoroughly spun the last one around in my head, dissected my feelings about it and processed them into text product, and I struggled with what to say, I got stuck in Zoo purgatory. But after an hour of freewriting, I think I have enough babble to feel content. This is mostly for me, but perhaps you’ll enjoy following my journey.

Originally Planned Opening Statement: Hey, remember when this show was was about weird mutant animals and not bizarre government conspiracies to abduct and experiment on children? Because I do. This is not the show I signed up for and it makes my soul feel gross.

(more evidence for the “why I had trouble moving forward” file, I think) Television Parents Council So we're three episodes in and I am really feeling like dramatic anguish is not Alyssa Diaz's strong suit in the acting department. It all feels kind of strained and forced? But hang on, I gotta go be way more outraged about her character's choices, as seen in this live reaction note: "WHAT IN THE FRICKITING FRACK DARIELA WTF. Is this* why you got divorced last time, 'cause I'm gonna have to assume it is seeing's as we literally never got any other reasoning for that random-ass info drop last year and I keep waiting for an explanation." *cheating on her husband

(and oh man, for the first time I am so glad it's these two who got the kid and not Mitch and Jamie, because can you imagine if I had to hear Jamie had cheated on Mitch with Logan and wrecked their relationship that bad? I would perform brain surgery on everyone with a power drill.) (nobody talk at me about the almost as distasteful thing that happened with them)

To be fair to Dariela, she and Abe mostly bonded over having a kid right after they met; I can't really say it feels like she betrayed an epic soulmate bond. I can muster up some sympathy for her feeling lonely and abandoned.)

Except that's not even her last horrible reveal of the episode*. What are you trying to do, run this character I miraculously chose to accept into the ground??

*possibly selling out Clementine to rescue her own kid from a sketchy situation. I will make a lot of allowances for putting yourself and your family's comfort and safety over the needs of strangers, but this does not fall under that header.

But, um, other than that, Papa Lion Abe is intense and amazing and I thought the whole desperate chase-after-the-military-convoy aspect was really well done.

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Television Parents Council Pt. II Live Reaction Note: "Mitch is a testy bitch in this episode and I love him." (I remember this being debated, but part of the reason I love his Testy Bitch self is what you see at the end of the episode. If he doesn't wrap himself in defensive anger, cling to it like a buoy, the pain of confronting everything he lost and missed will win.) I really love Mitch's two seconds of happiness when he thinks Jamie raised Clem in her fancy penthouse and they ended up thick as thieves. I am less fond of the reality that Max took her away when she turned 14, so the only solace I can take away, before I spiral into that "who TF invited Logan to this party" post we started with is "SWEET HALLELUJAH AT LEAST JAMIE GOT OVER THREE YEARS TO BOND WITH HER." Also, Jamie is so the adult who gives the kids beer to supervise them. I still think it's hilarious that Mitch assumed any adult gave her a beer at 14, because don't most teenagers just have friends who come up with it? I mean, I couldn't even find alcohol on my college campus so I am not the authority on this by any means, but that is the impression I get from books. My point being, I like to think that even in the happy world where 2x12 is the series finale and they had a life together after, this would still have happened and he and Jamie would have had more than one clash regarding her blurring the line between parental authority and friend, and it would have sounded exactly like this, so...thanks Zoo, for accidentally fulfilling my Domestic AU interests in the weirdest possible way! Awww @ Mitch's impatient little "hey" when Clem casts doubt on Jamie's ability to perform brain surgery with a power drill, and then uses that particular tone of voice to tell her it's going to be fine. Awww @ Clem sticking up for Jamie's parenting skills. You know what, just assume that I loved any and everything else that happened when these three were on screen. And I maintain that Jamie, while willing to stop him if he gets too far out of line, also remembers very well what it's like to wake up with missing time where everything's changed and gone wrong, and that means he gets the time and space he needs, within reason, to lash out and come to terms with it while she waits for the worst of the storm to pass. She does point out when Clem's upset, and she checks him with "she turned out okay," but never once do I get the sense that she takes any criticism he lobs at her personally.

(I might have said this before. I tagged wrong and can’t find it.)

--------------------

JKras and Emily Blunt's Alt Reality Doppelgangers (shhh just go with it)

Guess what I started shipping exactly two seconds before we went with the "slapping men across the face isn't domestic violence" trope on top of the "this one piece of information that is not about how you assaulted or killed someone in cold blood invalidates absolutely everything I love about you" trope. It's a two-fer of ship torpedoing. (How do you say no to that face! Look how tragic and sad it is on top of its normal rugged handsomeness and love for helping people! Also, guess who is probably gonna quit shippin' it and throw the lady right back out the door if/when she returns and eliminates Jackson's need to talk to the people I care about. That's just how I unfairly do. The Chloe-shaped hole in my heart won't heal, it's weird.) --------------- I LOVE YOU, MAN

And then this episode ends with Jackson's face lighting up at the sight of Alive!Mitch and glomping on him in a bear hug, and everything is right with the world now that my two faves are together again. ---------------

Yet More Thoughts

-Live reaction note: “I am glad to see that Mitch has shaved the beard and subsequently restored his powers of snark to full glory. They must have been suffocating under that thing.” -I loved Clem's montage of practicing how to tell her dad she's pregnant. These are useful sound bites for alternate takes.

-”Everything went wrong. The world went wrong.” This is somehow the most poetic thing I have ever heard on Zoo? Between the writing and her specific cadence, it sounds like something you'd hear in an award-winning speech, dressed up in voiceovers for trailers; IDK, I just really love it.

-Who even are you Abigail; your name and your hair make me want to get to know you but everything else (including my fandom girl-bros reacting to you with all the love they had for Logan last year and essentially forming a rousing chorus of "Don't need another You Part 2"), very much makes me want to not. -LOOK AT THESE GIANT UGLY WORM TUNNELING DINO-VULTURES, I LOVE THEM. -Mitch's JAMIE WHAT THE FUCK reaction to her stabbing her prisoner through the hand was pretty amazing. -In case you were wondering how appropriate for polite company my reaction to Jackson hotly threatening "I am gonna find you, and I am gonna stop you" is, the answer is "not very." -Quick question: how did Mitch's sacrifice save the world, exactly? I'm fuzzy on this. I wasn't tracking plot very well after Mitch "died" last year, but I thought it was a very personal sacrifice meant to save Clem alone.

-Well. That ending sounds like a fun little sophie's choice of "death vs. memory loss." Looking forward to seeing what episode 12 or 13 does with that. (If you kill him again, all the protection of "reality" in the world won't save you from the worm dino vulture pack I will summon to come after you.)