#like yes she should go to paris not bother to learn the language and immediately try to change the way everyone does things

[lecoindecachou]

I can't really explain what's so funny to me about Emily in Paris except that Americans come to Paris and complain about Parisians being rude so they make a show about it hoping everyone will agree and sympathize, and then it becomes abundantly clear that American tourists are really just a bunch of entitled assholes who expect the whole world to cater to them and they're so oblivious about it that it has genuinely never occurred to them that maybe the capitalist hellscape they call home isn't what everybody else should aspire to because clearly they know best

[sleeplessandstubborn]

Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring for the main character and started rooting for the French. Episode 2.

I must confess one thing. I have a sort of admiration for people who have the habit and the will of go running before work, because I don’t do these things, and people who can do it while wearing what seems like a lace top (?) maybe more adequate for other things, but who am I to judge if Emily looks perfectly fine when running while I look like a bag with sport wear. So congratulations Miss Cooper you are doing well in this aspect. Also shows that Emily is adapting her schedules and her habits to her new life. Example: she’s not going to arrive early to work this time. Lesson learnt, so good for her!

Unfortunately there are still things she must get right. Example given, knowing exactly where her apartment is. She again tries to invade her cute neighbour’s home, which causes him to ask if she wants to live in his apartment. At this stage, there are reasons to suspect indeed. But there’s no time enough for our two character to devour each other with their eyes, so, after a last invitation to bang anytime from our delicious neighbour Emily goes back home to get a shower and dress for work.

Her white boots, however, have an unfortunate encounter with a material of animal origin. She’s naturally disgusted and deals with it making another Instagram post. Discovering, by the way, that she’s gaining more and more followers for ther photos of fictional! Paris.

Sidenote: this scene can mean two things from yours truly’s point of view. Either Emily’s next days are going to be shitty or she’s going to be ultimately lucky. In France or Spain is very common to wish good luck with the word merde (or well, mierda in Spanish). In both cases it comes from the times people went to theatre or opera house in carriages drawn with horses. So a load of shit meant: you are in the greatest show in town. But probably is not that deep.

At Savoir, la Plouc is decaying as Emily’s sobriquet, and only Julien greets her with it. Besides, Emily has learn to strike back. Or rather is her smartphone the one she uses to retort Va te faire foutre! Which mean Fuck you but it’s not that imaginative. Why not mange tes morts, or some decent French swearing. Anyway well done, Emily, because this makes her earn Julien’s respect.

... But evidently not Sylvie’s. She is clearly contemplating the void and wondering if some kind of karmic justice has sent her this girl that can’t figure out why is la plouc instead of le plouc or won’t pronounce the name of the fragance De L’Heure from Lavaux. Sylvie doesn’t want to listen her ideas for promoting Lavaux’s last product. A little discussion insues between the two ladies. Must luxury remain an enclosed world? Should it be democratized in some way? Of course Emily thinks the point of view of an outsider could help, but, could you point at the outsider in this scene? Of course Emily is not French and still dealing with the continuous cultural clash. But she doesn’t seem an outsider by any means. And, ah. There’s a launch party for De L’Heure so she better hurry up and put some thing that doesn’t resemble whatever she’s wearing.

Was that fashion advice from Sylvie? Who knows. In any case, Emily looks quite pretty with her black dress. The handbag is funny but highly debatable. And she’s overjoyed and bubbly as she pursues trays full of delicious food. Which is a faux pas, from Sylvie’s point of view.

Enter Antoine Lambert from Maison Lavaux a.k.a. another Frenchman who is going to be attracted towards Emily’s many charms. Because that’s what Frenchmen do in this series. She fails to understand what a nose means in the world of fragances - it’s not that harsh to figure out, sometimes I wonder why they have written her like that; she’s suffering a severe case of cultural clash, but it doesn’t mean she’s stupid, argh -. Antoine is creeptractive. Especially in the next scene.

Which takes place in this terrace with the gorgeous view of a glittering Eiffel Tower. This makes Emily smile and would do everyone else who had the opportunity to assist. This makes up for Sylvie saying that she’s talking too much about bussiness during the party, which is something she should not do.

Monsieur le Creeptractive follows her and tests the fragance on her skin. A really weird dialogue about how she should have a French boyfriend because you learn French in bed... Yeah, sure.  Emily profess her fidelity to her engaged to be engaged Doug back in Chicago. Something that he doesn’t deserve but more on that immediately after. He smells her in a way that would make many women shudder and run away and compliments (?) her on smelling like expensive sex. Yikes yikes yikes.

All in all, is a successful night for Emily, but as she discovers the next day, she’s supposed to work not in the promotion of De l’Heure, but in some product  called Vaga-Jeune to help woment to combat vaginal dryness. Is that a mean move by Sylvie, or it’s only a logical thing for Emily to start there, given she has experience in pharmaceuticals? Discuss. She also tells our heroine not to be too flirty with Antoine, who is married to one of her very good friends. But immediately after Julien drops the bomb: Sylvie is actually Antoine’s mistress. Oops.

In order to deal with the amount of unwanted information, Emily texts to Mindy and they go for a dinner. Mindy gives her a few tips to survive in the complicate environment of a city where everyone is having affairs with everyone. As if in Paris - like everywhere else - didn’t exist people who doesn’t care about sex. In this universe, Emily still can’t wrap her head around the endemic lack of conyugal fidelity in this series.

We learn more about Mindy, who maybe would deserve more than being only Asian token character which is supportive of the main one just because. Indeed Mindy is for now my favourite character here, along with Sylvie. Mindy turns out to be in Paris because her millionaire zipper king father wanted her in the bussiness school, but, since living in Paris was one of her dreams, Mindy dropped it and became a nanny instead. Now she’s been cut off by dad, but she’s free and, besides, she finds funny to have grown up surrounded by nannies and now being one of them.

The temptation of MIndy taking over Emily in this series is too big when just in the next scene she thinks she can “educate the chef a little bit about customer service” without even tasting her steak, which she wants done more. Customer are not always right; some of them behave like annoying assholes. She swallows her words as Gabriel from downstairs emerges from the kitchen because of course he’s the chef. Somewhat that convinces her she should taste the steak before giving her opinion. It turns out the steak is wonderful, it was wonderful the whole time. Emily please. Try to behave.

(also Mindy wouldn’t mind to taste the chef instead of the steak, which is understandable)

Next day Emily is happily roaming around the market with a little hat perched on her head and the mind full of Chicago Boyfriend Doug. The little hat is so stupid that it’s almost charming, like someone more fit for a musical than for real people walking on real streets. She seems to have befriended the woman from the boulangerie, too! However, the happiness is to be shortlived...

... Because Doug, as his first scene already indicated, is someone who can’t bother to take his ass into a plane and fly to Paris where there is nothing to do while expecting for his girlfriend to come back from job. This guy must have one, but he’s so lazy that one wonders if he inherited it. Notice that, unlike in Paris, there are cars in Chicago. Doug proceeds then to inelegantly dump his girlfriend by phone.

Very fitting to have Emily standing just next to the Panthéon when the call is over and their relationship as dead as the people inside.

Emily is logically sad after this and the weather seems to agree with her mood, probably she cried to her sleep, or at least she shed some tears. He doesn’t deserve it, honey.

Her mood doesn’t improve when, at the office, she discovers a new thing. Yes, you have grammatical gender in French, as well as in other European languages. She is puzzled because, starting her campaign for Vaga-Jeune, she discovers vagine is a masculine word in French. She doesn’t understand it, and, in typical Emily fashion, she decides the problem is with this language she knows virtually nothing about.

She also learns a very important word for her future life in Paris: grève, which means strike. And it’s not going only a vagina strike. But who knows, she lives in a parallel universe so maybe there are no strikes there (since there is no public transport and/or services on sight even if we know it exist somewhere). And of course, post something on her Instagram account about how vaginas are not masculine.

During her (daily, one guess) conversation with Mindy during the lunch break, Emily loses at last this overoptimistic side of her that makes the character annoying and vents a little about her general exasperation. She thinks she’ll never learn the language (but girl, you barely tried, don’t be so harsh with yourself), or be simply tolerated by her workmates, or even understand how the city was built. She’ll be all right, Mindy insists, not very impressed at her friend’s disperation.

Which follows is one of the most cringeworthy deus-ex-machina I have seen, and adequately being a deus-ex-machina it comes from l’Élysée. Wink wink, mythology aficionados.

By the way, it’s that the façade which gives to the main courtyard of the French presidential palace? Yes it is. Here I am wondering where this footage came from and when it was filmed because I am that way. Seems the flag is at half mast from that point of view so... this could help to know in which moment was filmed... But screw that, you aren’t here for my personal obsessions, so lets go right to the point.

Somewhat Carla Bruni finds Emily’s post about vaginas utterly fascinating, to the extent that she has to share it with Brigitte Macron. And of course the current French First Lady (even if officially there is not such title in France) agrees and posts it in her Twitter account. We only see Fictional!Brigitte from her back. Real Brigitte doesn’t have accounts on social networks, by the way, which is understandable since after a while one gets tired of playing the game of guessing if the one who made the mysoginist and idiotic post is from the extreme right or the extreme left (it’s a difficult thing to tell apart, I assure you). Of course Emily’s post gets viral.

Brigitte Macron just retweeted you, bitch! is not bad as unexpected sentence on a screenplay in 2020, congratulations. Her partners at Savoir are overjoyed and suddenly Emily can share a table with them, yay! Though evolving from la plouc to our Vaga-Jeune is not really improving that much I guess? So that’s the end of the episode and Emily’s life seems not-so-that-depressing all of a sudden. So thank you Brigitte.

And that was Episode 2 of Emily in Paris. Our heroine was slightly less annoying than on first one, probably because the reality of being in a totally different country is starting to hit her and she’s had a few humblings by this moment. For the next one, we’ll know more about Monsieur le Creeptractive & the nonsense of fragance advertisements.

[halequeenjas]

You’d Be Surprised || Alain & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine follows through with her offer to help Alain clear up some packing clutter before grabbing some photos of his home. 

Upon pulling into the driveway of Alain’s home, Jasmine had no doubt she’d be able to market this well and get it sold at a good price. Even though she didn’t like the idea of being remote in White Crest of all places, she could actually see the place as being cozy. In a like, flannel pajamas and pancakes kind of way. It appeared Alain had done a nice job restoring it as well. She could spot shoddy repair work from a mile away and this wasn’t it. All in all, this was looking like it would be a pretty good commission. The fact she didn’t feel the chilling presence of ghosts was also good. She’d still have to sneakily place wards up before having any sort of open house so Larry Bob didn’t try anything funny. Though she was a bit regretful of the fact she signed herself up for somewhat physical labor, Jasmine had decided to look on the bright side. This meant she’d be more easily to rearrange things how she’d like for staging the home. All in all, it could be worse. On the way up to his front door, she took a moment to appreciate the garden. Even as the things were starting to day away with the fall weather, there were still some vibrant shades of reds and oranges to be seen. It must have been stunning in the spring. Still looking up at the house, she gave a firm knock with her hand that wasn’t trapped by a cast and waited for indication she could come in. “Hey, Mr. Babineaux,” she greeted as the door opened, “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought along some coffee and pastries.” 

“...” Alain greeted her with a tight-lipped smile as she told him she’d brought pastries and coffee. He had just made a fresh pot, and the place smelled of the pain au chocolat he had been baking earlier in the morning. Perks of being a slayer who could not go out, baking at 3 am was actually not a problem. And he liked being busy, as it stopped him from having too many thoughts crossing his mind. “Well, I always felt like there never was such a thing as too much food,” he pushed himself away from the doorway with the crutches, and led the way to the living room, where he had started to pack a few things while the dough rose in his kitchen last night. He had tried to be thorough with putting away all of his questionable belongings were they : books, weapons, or, even more questionable, a tooth or a bone he’d kept from a creature he’d killed, in case he would need it later. Even now, as he knew that he would most likely never fight again, he could not bring himself to get rid of those things. They might be of use to someone else, he told himself. Those things were just too valuable for him to throw. “You can put it down on the dinner table…” He eyed over at the cluttered table and frowned, “I mean, if you manage to find a spot,” he looked around the room to find a more suitable spot and sighed. He had never been a tidy person, but this was something else. “I suppose the kitchen might actually be your best chance. You can grab a viennoiserie there if you want,” once again, he led the way. And well, this was another room he wouldn’t have to visit on the tour of the house. “It’s not the biggest kitchen, but as you can see, it’s been put to use,” he picked one of his chocolate croissant for himself and gladly accepted one of her coffee cups. Slayer or not, he would need this much to get through this day.

The quiet greeting and the smell of baked goods throughout the home indicated that maybe bringing something had been a bad idea. As he said there was no such thing as too much food, Jasmine shook her head. “Oh no, whatever you made smells way better than what I brought. I can just bring these to the office and we can enjoy the good pastries,” she said with an ever bright and reassuring smile. In truth, she hadn’t expected someone who just lost a leg to be quite so mobile. There was definitely evidence he had been packing and clearly baking. It really did smell amazing in here. With a laugh, she blurted out, “If this is what your baking smells like, I don’t even need to bring candles. What’d you make?” She’d looked over the table and didn’t see a solid spot to set the box down. She briefly thought over how she could rearrange some of the boxes before he directed her to the kitchen. Much better. She set the box of pastries and cups of coffee down on the countertop. When she saw the pastries he made, her jaw dropped as she turned to face Alain. “You made those?” Her voice conveyed her shock. She hadn’t seen pastries that looked that good anywhere outside of France. She took one of the chocolate croissants and as she took a bite out of it, was immediately transported back to her last trip to France. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, “These taste like I’m on vacation.” As much as she loved French pastries, she never gave them a go. Cooking and baking weren’t her thing. Her luxurious kitchen would have gone almost entirely to waste if it wasn’t for Bea. She laughed a bit and added, “Clearly it’s been put to good use if you can make pastries this good. I have this super nice kitchen in my house that my best friend uses entirely more than I ever have.” She paused to look around at the clutter that she had advised against her better judgment that she’d help clean. “So any place you’d like to start first here?” 

 “It does cover the smell of dogs,” he agreed. Alain had a look through the kitchen window. Speaking of them, they were messing around outside in the garden. He never asked whether she liked or were afraid of dogs. “You don’t mind dogs, do you?” Now might as well be a good time to worry about it, “I made pain au chocolat,” he said it in French, because clearly something that did not have the shape of a croissant should not have been called a croissant. “Too much time on my hands these days,” he forced himself to smile. This could not be as suspicious as spilling iron rods and salt, could it? Certainly not. And obviously he would not tell her either that his injury was far from as old as it seemed. “I’m glad you appreciate them. It’s the least I can do for someone who is willing to help me do that one thing everyone hates doing,” unpacking seemed like an even worse moment, but he was not there yet. Sure he had already seen a few houses, and he would have to pick one, but he was not there yet. 

“It’s not for everyone,” he gave her a shrug. “But if you ever want to use your kitchen and need some tips, well just let me know,” cooking could get frustrating and people being discouraged was always what ended up stopping them. 

Either way, she did not come here to discuss food or cooking, as much as he appreciated compliments on his baked goods. “Well, I’m done with most kitchen utensils. Only kept the essentials,” he rubbed at the back of his head, putting down the cup of coffee to lead the way back to the living room. “I’ll start emptying my closets I think. Not like I’ll need much since I barely go out,” he observed. “If you wish, you can empty the bookcases? Or if you are brave, you can wrap the things I put on the table with newspaper or bubble wrap.” 

 “That it does,” Jasmine agreed with a smile and a slight head tilt as she pondered how best to sum up her feelings on dogs. “I’ve never had one personally, but I don’t mind them. Always figured I’d get one once I have kids. You know, American Dream and all.” That also meant there’d be kids and likely a husband to help with said dog. As it stood, she worked far too much to reasonably have any sort of pet. She took another bite of her pastry and said, “Seriously, these are amazing. I haven’t had pain au chocolat this good since my last trip to France.” She could practically envision her favorite little pâtisserie in Paris that she’d stop at before a day of shopping. “This is definitely a good use of free time.” She finished up her pastry and opted to go for another. As much as she hated the idea of packing, she brushed it off like it was no big deal. If she wanted a nice review on her website, she’d have to remain polite and professional. Plus, the pastries did bring mentally back to vacation mode. “If favors are followed by baked goods this delicious, I may be inclined to offer more of them.” She smiled easily and grabbed some coffee to bring out to the living area with her. 

“You offer that now, but you haven’t seen just how hopeless I am in the kitchen,” she said with an amused grin on her face, “But if you’re really offering, I would for once like to make something nice for our brunch days.” In part, because she knew it would annoy Bea, but that was hardly the point. It could be nice to make something for herself on a night where she wasn’t feeling like company. 

When given an option for where to start with packing help, she immediately knew she’d go for the bookcase. A person’s taste in books said a lot about them and Jasmine was nothing if not nosy. “I’ll go for the bookcase, I’m a pretty big reader so that sounds like the most fun.” Given her book taste ranged from trashy romance novels to books on exorcisms, ghosts, and other spectral creatures. But hey, a girl was allowed to have layers. She began grabbing books off the shelf and started placing them in a box. For the most part, they all seemed to be older books with a focus on mythology. Interesting. It raised her suspicions, but not enough to call it out. That was until she saw a book in Latin that appeared to be about the undead that caught her attention. “You know Latin. too,” she called out with the question evident in her tone. Was he an exorcist, too? Or perhaps a spellcaster? Not too many bothered with learning the language these days. “You don’t meet too many other people who know a dead language.” 

 “Ah, yes, the American dream,” Alain  had yet to meet someone who actually had experienced it. Perhaps if he had been born a generation sooner… “Well, as you can see, you don’t actually need to have children to get a dog, or two…” If he said it with a smile, he had a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he thought about why he had gotten them. As a child, he never had pets, and living with Audrey, they ended up getting a dog, not even a hunting dog, just an aging one they had found at the pound. And when Frida had died, a few years after Audrey, Alain couldn’t handle staying alone and decided that he did not have to be. First came Orion, and a couple years later, Procyon. He chose them sturdy, hoping that they would be here for a while, that they wouldn’t abandon him. 

Her compliments brought a red tint to his cheeks and he turned to look away, telling himself that she might not notice this way. He had never known how one was supposed to react to these. Saying thank you meant that he agreed, brushing it off would come off as falsely humble. Far from confident, the hunter prefered to look away. “I would agree. Although these days, time seems to stretch a lot. I read a lot, I used to never have time for it,” he took a long sip of coffee, and left his cup on the counter. With his crutches, it was probably the best option. As agile as he was, now was not the time to try things. “Well, I have to admit to promising pastries in exchange for help quite often,” or offering pastries in general. There were worse habits to have.

“Look, I’m sure it cannot be that bad. There’s hope in everyone, right?” Smiling back at her, Alain was headed toward his wardrobe when she asked if he could help her with brunch recipes. “Can’t have brunch without eggs benedict and some proper avocado toasts, can we? I could help with that,” he promised, sitting down on a stool as he started transferring clothes from shelves to boxes. 

“Really? Well like I said, I don’t usually have time for reading, but most of those I’ve read,” documentaries for the most part, comics from France and Belgium, and a handful of classics, both French and American. “What do you like reading?” Perhaps they had books in common, who knew. Her question brought a frown to his face. Too. So whatever it was she held in her hands, she could understand the subject. Oh well, it was totally normal to have books on undead creatures, just like it was normal to carry around salt and iron. “You don’t, do you? My parents always said that it was important to know where” things “words came from.” And of course this book was an essential of latin literature. Not. Always a shitty liar. He grimaced, and looked through the bedroom doorway to see if she had moved from her spot. 

 As nice as company on a quiet night at home sounded, Jasmine figured she could do without the added responsibility of a dog at this moment. Between her paid job and all the ghost related research she’d been doing as of late, she didn’t quite have the time to dedicate to a pet. She opted to not explain herself any further on that front and shifted focus to how well he took a compliment. The way his cheeks turned a rosy tint was not lost on her and she had an amused grin on her face as he agreed with her. That was a good sign. If you were good at something, you had to own it. “Well, I think they’re well worth helping for. Seems like you have some pretty productive hobbies to say the least.” She supposed hers had become more so productive than fun as of late. One of these nights, her bubble baths would include Pinot Noir and a romance novel and not coffee and books on poltergeists. Reading ancient texts was hardly what one would consider light and leisurely reading. 

“You say that now,” Jasmine responded with a laugh, “You haven’t tried my attempts at cooking.” Though maybe with a lesson or two, she could actually pick something useful up out of it. She did love avocado toast after all there was just that delicate stage of not overcooking or undercooking the eggs she’d yet to master. She found she enjoyed their easy conversation as well, so she added, “But if you’re offering, I’ll be taking you up on that. Avocado toast is one of my favorites. If you partake, I’ve been told I make a great mimosa.” 

“Well, I love Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurtson, so anything they’ve written is something I’ll always enjoy. I’m not above admitting I love romance novels so of course I enjoy Nicholas Sparks… everything else I read is a bit obscure. What about you,” Jasmine answered and opted to let Alain decide what obscure meant for himself. She wasn’t about to come out and say she read books on ghosts, poltergeists, exorcisms, and spectral beings. In this moment, he probably was under the impression she had her sanity intact, no need to ruin that. At least, not until curiosity took over. “Right,” she said looking at him as he peeked over to see her, “I’m sure a recount of the undead is how most people learn the basis of words.” Her emphasis on the word dead was hard to miss and she had a feeling her hunch was correct by the tone in his voice. “If this is the kind of reading you like to do, I think I actually have a few books in my collection you’d enjoy.” Maybe her own little hint that her book collection shared some similarities would put him at ease.

 “I mean, I also used to do rock climbing and running, there’s nothing productive about the latter, unless you consider staying in shape someth-. Okay fine, there’s always something productive about my hobbies,” Alain corrected himself before she could. He was starting to notice that she was quite witty and quick with her remarks, and he doubted that she would appreciate not being able to be witty about this too. And now that he was stuck at home, he did have time for less productive hobbies, hobbies that he had dropped out of over the years. Tidying up his attic, he had found old puzzles in their boxes, and while it was tempting to open them to start those 1000 pieces puzzles over, he was meant to move out of here soon, and he had decided against it. He still gardened a little too. Even if he was leaving, the next person would appreciate it. He also had re-potted the plants Nell and Evelyn had given to him, as well as some others he wished to bring over to his new home. Either way, knowing that he would not go back to the cemetery unless it was to bury someone came as a relief, it was quite an odd thought to have, as he really did not want to bury anyone he knew, and yet, to him, this did not feel like an exaggeration. His level of exhaustion had just gone up over the past few years.

Alain shook his head, not willing to believe that she could be so bad. In his eyes, no one was. But if you had never been taught things, of course there were things you just could not guess. “You’re right, I haven’t, and yet I can assure you that you can get good at it. Yes, good,” just like him, she’d never be a chef, but she could definitely cook nice things. Alain, who had never been a talkative man, seemed to enjoy their conversations enough to be willing to spend more time with Jasmine. That did not happen often, but he did not regret his offer. “Avocado toasts, deal. See, you can teach me about cocktails, because I know absolutely nothing about those,” wine, he knew quite a lot about, but cocktails were not something he knew a lot about, aside from their names.

“Alice Walker… Oh I think I have her book in there, somewhere,” he almost corrected himself to add well, one of her books, but stayed quiet instead. Alain guessed that Jasmine would know which one he meant. “Oh, well you probably would love Maupassant then. Not my favourite but I read a few of his books…” His voice trailed off as she mentioned liking more obscure literature. She did not summon demons, did she? His eyebrows raised a little as she looked back at him. Clearly he had not been convincing with his interest in etymology. How surprising. “Is that so, well if you wish, I have a whole collection of books like those already in a box.” Some might have not been in latin, some others were his journals, but the choice of words was too careful for this to be completely innocent. “Alright fine, what are your favourites then? Or least favourites?” He cleared his throat. He fell silent for a few, picking up the tape to close his box and catching a new one. “I’ll start if you want, I particularly dislike vampires. Can’t trust a species that hates garlic, can we?” He scoffed, shaking his head. Well, if he was wrong, this was going to be awkward.

 “I was going to say, those all sound productive. The primary reason I run is to stay in shape. Actually, no, that’s definitely the only reason I run,” Jasmine joked with a playful grin on her face. It dawned on her that having such active hobbies had to be a bummer with the whole losing a leg thing, but she wasn’t about to ruin the good mood that was going on here. Somehow the easy conversation seemed to make the fact she was packing not as annoying as it should have been. She’d almost daresay she was enjoying herself, especially as she picked one of the more interesting things to pack. As much was evident by the book on the undead in Latin of all things. 

Realistically, Jasmine knew she could probably cook decently if she put some actual effort into it and didn’t hate touching anything raw, but alas, she did and always got distracted somehow. Any time they had any sort of gathering, Bea always wanted to cook anyway so she just rolled with it. Cooking lessons didn’t sound so bad though. She laughed and joked, “You must be really confident in your abilities as a teacher then. I’ll do my best to be a good student.” She had to admit, the thought of not having to order takeout or leave the house to get avocado toast was appealing. Not as appealing as having an attractive man cook her breakfast every morning, but hey, she was nothing if not independent first. “Perfect,” she said brightly, “I am pretty good with cocktails though I do generally prefer wine for myself. I do make really good margaritas. They’re a personal favorite for pool days. Different varieties of mimosas are fun and go better with brunch though.” 

“The Color Purple?” Jasmine asked even though she knew that was likely the book he was talking about. It was one everyone knew, especially since the movie had come out which was fair. It was iconic. “Maupassant,” she mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by him. If you have a recommendation you’d like to let me borrow, I could do for some more leisurely reading. I promise I’m not an animal who rabbit ears the pages instead of using a bookmark.” Now she watched carefully as she questioned the subject matter of the Latin text at hand. An eyebrow raised at the mention of having more books like this one already packed up. That definitely only furthered her suspicion that he was somehow more involved in the supernatural aspects of this town. Hopefully, in a good way given she was alone in his home with him. Nothing about him screamed axe murderer so she tried to withhold any reservations. “You do? May have to check your collection once you unpack at your new home.” His next question left her unsure of how to answer until he mentioned disliking vampires. Okay, maybe they were on the same page here. Her head tilted slightly with a hint of grin on her lips. “Hmm,” she started, “I’m not very well acquainted with vampires. I’m not a big fan of ghosts though. Poltergeists in particular are a real pain in the butt. Plus, the movie was so cheesy.” It was becoming pretty damn obvious they both knew what was going on here so she blurted out, “So, I guess we both know what’s up in town then.” He could probably put together why all the salt and iron bars fell out of her purse now. 

 “No one is that bad,” he rolled his eyes, and with a smile, shook his head. Alain had always been enthusiastic about cooking, and while her enthusiasm about it was not his, she still seemed interested in learning. “Ah? Well if you like wine, there’s the cellar to pack later,” he offered. His collection was nothing amazing, far from it, but he had quite a few old bottles that had acquired an excellent taste over the years, and a few others that would have to wait another decade. “I had no idea there were multiple kinds of varieties for one cocktail, really not knowledgeable about those,” he admitted with a small shrug. To each their strength. “Do you think I should learn those when my new house won’t even have a pool?” His smile brightened up, and he looked back to his boxes. It took him a moment to recall what it was that he wanted to do. Ah yes, the sock drawers. Putting only one sock in the washing machine was new to him, and not something he wanted to do in the long term. As ridiculous as it may have been, he’d probably put one on his prosthetic leg. 

“...Yes, that’s the one. The movie is quite nice too,” literature had been taught to him and his sister at about the same time they started to tackle more difficult vampires. Alain was thankful for the education he had received, even if his childhood had only very few fond memories. “He wrote a lot of romance, but he wrote horror too. I believe The Horla inspired the myth of Cthulhu,” he commented, as he neatly arranged socks in the cardboard box. “I think you would like Une Vie more, though.” He put the box down and moved to the livingroom to get his hands on his copy. “You don’t read French, do you?” He looked over at her, leaning against the shelf to reach over and hand her the book. If she didn’t read French, she could always have a look at the cover, he told himself, and he would be happy to read the back cover to her. Her remark about how evil it was to fold pages brought another smile to him, and another shake of his head. “I usually settle for a slice of cheese. Makes a perfect bookmark,” he nodded, as if he approved of this. 

“You are welcome to stop by,” he was curious about the kind of books she might have been reading in Latin herself. Clearly they shared an interest for the undead, but the subject was broad, although the salt and iron rods made more sense now, not that he ever suspected that those were for staging a house. “That is a cheesy movie, although you never had to suffer through a decade of vampire craze,” Twilight, Vampire diaries and God knows what else. He often pretended having never heard of them because they were just unbearable. Not that he liked Dracula a lot more, but nothing could reach the level of abomination modern vampire stories did. “I suppose so. Glad to meet a ghostbuster at last,” he held out his hand as if he was meeting her another time. 

 Jasmine simply waved off the remark about her not being able to be that bad. Surely, with some proper effort she could make something halfway decent with his guidance. At the mention of a wine cellar, she perked up. Not only was that marketable, but that meant he had a decent wine collection. Two totally amazing things in her book. “A wine cellar,” she asked somewhat incredulously, “I definitely want to help pack that up. And you know, peep that wine collection. I’ve got a fair number of bottles myself that I’m letting age.” One was actually due to open in a few months. She had every intention of saving it for her birthday. “Oh yeah, most cocktails have different flavor variations. I’m a big fan of adding rosemary to things.” She smiled to herself as she pulled more books off the shelf and placed them into the box on the table beside her. She noted there were a lot of books on astronomy. “Pools are not necessary for margaritas. They also pair perfectly with a good number of dishes… primarily Mexican dishes, but I stand by my statement.”

“It is,” she agreed with a smile as she pulled more books from the shelf. There were quite a few nonfiction ones that seemed educational. Even though Jasmine found her body to still be a bit sore, she did like the insight she was getting on her new client here. She could admit she liked him more than most of her clients though she’d remain perfectly professional. A sale and a new purchase was entirely too good to miss out on. “Definitely prefer the romance to the horror. This town has enough horror. But I’ll have to check out Une Vie.” He’d come over to pull his copy up and she looked over the cover. Seemingly romantic appearing book in French. “Actually,” she said brightly, “Je parle et lis le français.” She took the book from him and looked over the back cover. “I make a point of going to France at least once every couple of years. Used to go regularly with my family when I was younger, too.” She laughed as he joked about his bookmark habits, “I gotta say, that’s pretty cheesy, Mr. Babineaux.” 

“Thanks,” Jasmine responded and figured she may have to do just that. She shook her head over the vampire craze, “You mean, you weren’t into the sparkly stalker vampires?” She feigned shock and started clearing out the last of his books. “I never got the appeal personally. Edward? Total stalker. I don’t get how women weren’t creeped out by the whole showing up in the middle of the night and watching her sleep thing.” She shuddered a bit and added, “But yes, I’m your resident ghostbuster. Though I’d venture to say I’m much better looking than any of the original cast.” The next book she pulled down had an intriguing cover filled with stars. Cosmos. She peered over the cover and noted, “You really like astronomy, huh?” She’d open the cover to reveal a note from whoever had gifted the book. Her eyes fell on the name signing it. Evelyn. Was this the ex she’d been all sad over before? She quickly closed it despite the urge to be nosy and read the note. “I didn’t realize you know Evelyn,” she blurted out without quite meaning too. Tact outside of basic business professionalism had never been something she had much interest in. What was the point in not saying what you meant? He’d seen her glance at the note. There was little reason to hide her curiosity. 

 “It’s nothing special, the house was a farm in the past,” Alain explained. And the cellar possibly had other uses then. His carrots and potatoes seemed to also live forever in the darkness of that room, and that was something he would miss. He would have to purchase a wine cave for his new house as he doubted his new basement would have the same quality as his cellar. “Really? That’s nice ! There are not a lot of people around here who seem to care about wine. I would have to say that being raised in a French household where they serve wine to kids did not preserve me from becoming interested in this,” it did not happen at each meal, but he remembered that he and his sister had always had a bit of wine or champagne to have a taste, as apparently, any self respecting French had to develop a palate for wine tasting early on. “Rosemary? I have a bush or two in the garden if you want to take some home,” he offered with a raise of his shoulder. He was really going to miss this place, he thought to himself, nostalgia drawing his eyes toward the doors that led to the garden. He stared in the distance for a moment. “Mexican food? Not my speciality. Tex-mex I’ve done a bit, but nothing authentic,” he scratched at his cheek as he thought of more recipes he might have tried, but he mostly cooked French, American or South Asian cuisine. 

“Ca m’apprendra à juger un livre à sa couverture,” quite proud of his pun, he gave her a bright smile, letting her have a closer look at the book. Alain listened to her speak of her travels to France, and told himself that she truly was a woman who was full of surprises. Of course, he wondered, curious as ever, how many other secrets she hid up her sleeves, and while he was eager to know more, he did not want to appear as odd or rude, and so, he remained quiet. “I have not gone in a few years,” he wondered when he would ever go back. With his new expenses, travelling would have to wait a little, and he really did not see the point of doing so until he was completely mobile. Hiking was always part of his trips and he could not quite do that now. “I’ve been told I can be quite cheesy, yes, I know,” he had a small smile.

“No problem, we should trade information, although I might not be able to physically help in a little while,” he glanced down at the missing limb and could not help but frown. He just could not get used to it, and he felt less for it too. After spending his whole life trying to look and seem normal, there was this relique of his past that would always remind him of who he really was. “I’m afraid so, never been too fond of glittery things. Excuse me,” he left the room for a moment to go get some coffee in the kitchen, from there, he spoke louder, “I think some people like the idea of having someone watching over them, but this is a bit too literal if you ask me,” he had not read those books, and from what he had heard about them, from her and others, it was not like he was missing much. Moving back into the living room, he stopped by the dinner table to start sorting the mess, watching her take his astronomy books out one by one. “Oh, yeah, I have always liked that. Been part of the astronomy club for over two decades,” he admitted with a smile, that faded as he noticed which book she was holding. “I did not realize you knew Evelyn either,” he replied, perhaps a bit too fast, and wishing he had said something else instead. There could not be only one Evelyn in town, right? He could have said something like that. And yet the blank look on his face told a lot.

 “The fact you’d even think to have a wine cellar is special in itself,” Jasmine responded with a hint of awe in her tone. At first glance, she wouldn’t have thought him the type of man to have a wine cellar though maybe the last name should have been a giveaway. Paired with the baking and book collection it all tied together nicely. He was a man with good taste and she could appreciate that. “Oh yeah, typical small town that way. We’re not exactly in a wine region. Growing up in a French household, it’s be like sacreligious if you didn’t have good taste in wine. I just travelled a lot from a young age so I had a chance to develop a proper appreciation for good wine.” She’d gone to a lot of wine tastings as an adult as well. Maybe in part it was a pride thing, but she enjoyed the wine and learning about it all the same. At the mention of fresh rosemary to take home, she perked up a bit. “Really? If you don’t mind, I’d love some.” She found herself genuinely smiling and remarked, “There’s some decent Tex Mex here, nothing particularly noteworthy, but they have a good Taco Tuesday. All of those  sound delicious though.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m full of surprises,” Jasmine said with a bit of a laugh. Clearly so was he. 

They were all pleasant so far at least. It did leave her wanting to learn more about him though she supposed they’d have plenty of time for that if he held to his word on the whole cooking lesson thing. It already surprised her that she found she was looking forward to it. Cooking of all things though she could be honest with herself and admit the company played into it. She could pick up on a bit of wistfulness in his voice. It was evident he was going to miss his home and she could hardly blame him. Though a bit small, it did have a welcoming feeling to it. His leg injury must have been fairly recent, but she hoped he’d be well enough for travel soon. “I went this past spring,” she mentioned without thinking, “I did bring home some wine I may feel inclined to share during that cooking lesson.” 

“Well, you do have my card. Though you’re not the only one out of commission for a bit,” Jasmine answered calmly, barely biting back the urge to ask how he’d lost a leg. Knowing his distaste for the undead, she could almost piece it together anyway. No need to make him relive a bad and likely still fresh memory. “I prefer only my clothes or shoes to be sparkly. Not my men,” she joked as he excused himself to the kitchen for more coffee. Her eyes glanced over the note again. What were the odds it was the same Evelyn? The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar which only led her to believe her hunch was correct. She called out as he spoke, “Okay, I get being watched over can make someone feel safe… but not when the person doing the watching literally let themselves in through a window. That’s just stalking. Nothing romantic about it.” God knows she’d whack the hell out of someone who came into her bedroom or home uninvited. The astronomy was much more interesting though she hardly knew much about it. Alain really had some interesting hobbies. “Hm,” she started, “I like looking at the night sky, but couldn’t tell anyone much about it.” She watched the smile fade from his face and mentally cursed blurting out her question about Evelyn. “Small world,” she said coolly as she tried to brush the whole thing off. “I helped her find her house, too.” 

Jasmine had no desire to linger on the clearly awkward topic, so she piped up, “Why don’t you show me that wine cellar of yours? The books are pretty much good to go.”  

 “Oh, well,” his brows furrowed as he tried to reflect on how many people he knew who happened to own a cellar or a cave for wine. There weren’t many. Alain’s eyes shone a bit brighter, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes another hint of him being pleased with her company. Things were rarely so easy, and he wondered when things would turn sour, as things always did. But for now he had decided that he enjoyed her company and if she enjoyed his as well, even though knowing of him being a hunter, then perhaps things would not go sour, as they always do. Still, she was pretty spot on about the French and why this place didn’t have many people who cared for wine, and he nodded in agreement. “That’s pretty lucky indeed, I look forward to sharing thoughts on the subject,” he agreed with another smile, reaching out to grab the bubble wrap and start cutting pieces to wrap plates and other items. “Please, I just hope whoever buys my house will not tear it out,” he had a frown at the thought, as he saw himself, many years ago, getting started on that damn garden. The whole parcel was abandoned then, covered in what seemed like the remnants of a potato field. The hours spent clearing it all up, and the first flowers, the first fruits and vegetables, brought a smile to his face. In his nostalgia, there was happiness too, and there he was beaming like an idiot as he reflected on this episode of his life. It was not much, but it was his and that was all that mattered. Having made the recent choice of putting himself first at last, Alain was learning slowly, that it was those little moments that had made him truly happy, those when he was himself. 

Her laughter drew him out of this stream of consciousness, softly. “Never been fond of surprises, but some are actually nicer than others,” his hand reached for his cheek again, scratching at it as he thought about it some more. He just could not wait to get to start new things at his new house too. The place did not need much work, but he probably would still bother with a fresh coat of paint here and there. Unpacking, installing, settling in, those were things he was excited for. Perhaps he just wanted to think about anything that did not concern his leg, or perhaps it was something else, but he did look forward to it, as much as he was already counting the time he had left in his beloved home. “Oh, that’s quite recent,” he considered her offer with a raise of his eyebrow, which he followed with a grin. “I think I can agree to that, although making the teacher drink is not very conventional of you.” Amused, he looked back at his bubble wrap and noticed that he had not gotten much done. Talking and working at the same time, when you were not used to it, was one hell of an exercise.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he did not ask how she actually hurt her arm. As far as he was concerned, those injuries were so common for people like them, that how did not matter as much as why. You could not afford making the same mistake twice. Besides, he could guess what had happened easily, as there must have been a hint of truth in what she had told him, back at her agency. “And I prefer no sparkle in my life,” he did not mind it that much, although he had never had to use any in his life. Otherwise, he would have been aware of how terribly hard it was to get rid of, much like the mara who haunted him for weeks, if not months. The image of someone climbing through the window to watch him sleep just drew him back to those fearful days, and he was thankful when she changed the subject. “Astronomy is something I’ve enjoyed ever since I was a kid, so I’m afraid impressing me with your knowledge on this is… going to be a challenge,” the conversation once so light had gotten more tense with her question, and he was relieved to see her change the subject. “This way please,” he agreed, trading his bubble wrap for his crutches once again, and leading the way.

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Okay, so the first two chapters turned out to be a little dry, but I have big hopes for the third one, so... hang on there! Yes, I know the first few paragraphs are flat, I tried to make them better, and I failed miserably.

IMPORTANT: This is an AU, so things are a teeny bit different. The Francoise-Dupont is an eight-year grammar school (those are a thing in Europe, or at least in a few countries. The kids start middle school and go to the same school until high school graduation, so its both a middle school and a high school in one. Foreign languages are usually thaught there on a higher level, so that explains Marinette's and her class' language skills.)

That's it so far, most changes will be written down in the story, but keep an eye on the summaries! ;) (Even though no one reads these.)

This is also posted on my AO3 account, under the same name.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187025/chapters/50674913

Follow #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons if you don’t want to miss any of the new chapters. ;)

Ch. 1      Next    Masterpost    AO3

________________

Ch. 2: This Was a Bad Idea

Their plane didn't crash.

That was about the only good thing Marinette could think of.

It all started when she and Adrien were forced to sit next to each other during the flight. It wasn't that bad, but things have been a little... tense between them lately. Even though Marinette forgave him a long time ago, she still felt a sense of betrayal every time she had to fight an akuma alone. She knew it was wrong. She had no right to prevent others from being happy. Especially not her friends, but she couldn't help it.

So they sat next to each other, and the first half-hour was spent with Marinette awkwardly staring out of the window and playing with her braid nervously, while Adrien was pretending to read a book, - very poorly, given that he only turned the page five times in thirty minutes. Marinette was counting it.

What a pleasing situation.

Then, of course, Lila got bored of talking about her experience with planes and started throwing around phrases like 'helping defeat the Joker', 'out-riddling the Riddler' and 'knowing who Red Robin is'.

During the past two years, her lies have gotten smaller. Smarter. More innocent. They were no longer fourteen, they didn't believe anything she said, and she realized that. After Lila swore to ruin Marinette's life, Hawkmoth's attacks got stronger and Marinette got... well, older, probably. Wiser. ( Sadder. ) Sometimes she still called her out on her lies, and on a few blissful occasions, her classmates believed her. She wasn't the only one who got wiser, as it turned out. Adrien started to see the wrong in his ways not long after he told Marinette that Lila was harmless and stood up for her almost every time the Italian girl's lies got too toxic to ignore.

There was some kind of quiet compromise between her classmates. They liked Lila, even if she wasn't always "completely honest" - that was the understatement of the year -, and they all had this "proceed with care but do no harm" attitude towards the girl.

So Marinette was pretty surprised when sitting only two seats behind her, Lila once again started feeding them lies so blatant and stupid that they almost managed to make her laugh. It would've been a long and sarcastic laugh, but a laugh nevertheless.

She turned to Adrien who was looking back at her with an expression somewhere between angry and surprised. They stared at each other for a few seconds before they both started grinning uncontrollably.

Then Nino interrupted Lila by showing the group his newest playlist, and the moment was gone.

The awkward silence was threatening to drown them, but Marinette was familiar with drowning and decided she didn't like it.

"What are you pretending to read?" Adrien's ears turned red at the question but being himself, he tried to play it off cool.

" Armada  by Ernest Cline."

She raised a brow, clearly amused by that. "Since when are you into sci-fi?"

"Since it was the first thing I could grab from the bookshelf this morning," he told her with a shrug and closed the book moodily.

Marinette grimaced at him and took a small copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's  Sherlock Holmes out of her bag. Adrien told her to check it out a long time ago, but given her lack of free time, she's only read two stories so far.

She gave it to him without a word.

"Thanks," he said brightly, and actually started reading this time.

Marinette gave him the ghost of a smile, then pulled out her sketchbook hesitantly. She hasn't designed a decent piece of clothing in ages. One would've called it a year-long artist's block, but she preferred "idiocy". It was shorter.

She fell asleep like that, with an empty sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in her hand.

***

Their hotel was near the Gotham Academy, which was near Arkham Asylum, which sucked. Seriously, Gotham? Yeah, let's put the kids next to the murderous psychopaths.

Once they arrived, it was already well past nine PM, so they were sent to their rooms to sleep. They had three rooms for the girls, two with four beds and one with two. Luckily, Marinette managed to occupy the double-room all to herself - Mylene, Chloe, Juleka, and Alix got a room together, and Alya, Rose, Lila, and Sabrina got the other-, so it was pretty easy to sneak out after she realized there was no way for her to stay still after sleeping on the plane.

Being inside past ten o'clock felt weird. She missed the patrols and the light breeze on her face while she swang around Paris, the sensation of falling freely from hundreds of meters, the calm of the environment as she made impossible leaps and jumps in a graceful rhythm.

With no better things to do, she pulled a blanket out of the closet and climbed to the roof.

That night, the sky was more blue than black, and the stars were dull from the city's polluted air. She sat there for who-knows-how-long, wrapped in a blanket, looking upwards, listening to the unfamiliar city beneath. Then she heard quiet footsteps behind her back.

Over the years, she learned the difference between the sounds of someone walking casually and someone trying to muffle their steps, just like she usually knew what kind of shoes they wore, their gender, and approximate height too. These were the steps of a thin man, probably young in leatherette boots, trying to sneak up on her and failing miserably. She let him come close and didn't bother to let him know she was aware of his presence.

"What does a young lady like you do here at this time of the day?" he asked in a charming but threatening voice, and Marinette had to suppress a smile at how badly he did it. She knew she should send him away, or go back to her room before he tries something that gets him ended up on the asphalt beneath them, but she was bored, and he seemed like a very entertaining person.

Instead, she answered just tonelessly enough for it to be challenging, but innocently enough to make him question it.

"Stargazing."

The man - more like a boy - stopped just a step behind her back, unsure how to proceed. Then he let out a resigned sigh and sat down next to her, far enough to not be in stabbing range -  smart decision.

"No, seriously, it's past midnight and you're sitting on a roof, eighteen stories from the ground, in  Gotham," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the building and looking at her with genuine concern.

Marinette finally looked at him and recognized him almost immediately. He was wearing a black hoodie and a ski mask, with jeans and dark boots.

"Oh, you're the Dark Nomad, right?" She's read about him on the plane, just like she checked out and memorized every hero and villain in Gotham. There were a few.

The Dark Nomad was one of the small, relatively harmless ones. His mother worked in the Asylum - they didn't know who she was exactly, just that she worked there -, he didn't actually do much except for exiguous vandalism, but it was enough to get him on the " List of Gotham's Villains (updated every week) " published by the city's very own newspaper, the  Gotham Gazette .

"The one and only," he saluted awkwardly.

"Then you're pretty good with psychology, right?"

He seemed a little taken back by the question.

"Yes, I mean... I guess."

Marinette turned to him with her whole body, sitting cross-legged, looking like someone who is looking forward to a great conversation. This was so much better than she thought.

"What do you think about the phenomenon where the people with higher-than-average IQ have lower-than-average EQ, but if someone has lower-than-average IQ, they most likely have average or lower-than-average EQ?"

Dark Nomad just stared at her for a moment but then decided to roll with it. It really was a good topic.

"Well, it's interesting because... it's not like you have a maximum of quotient points, and you've to live with what you have. It depends on a lot of things, and we still don't even  know  what half of those things are."

"Exactly! It could mean you need a high IQ to be able to understand and feel emotions healthily, but it's not always necessary, plus the trope of the genius robot-person is way too overused in media. That's not how smart people think!"

"Yeah, and in some cases, the low EQ could be the consequence of loneliness and isolation from a young age because of the differences in one's and the environment's thinking," Dark Nomad said, gesticulating widely.

"And by the way, EQ is pretty hard to express with numbers. If you give a test to someone, they might know what the appropriate responses to a situation are, but they might never actually... do them in practice."

Dark Nomad nodded.

"Have you read Daniel Goleman's books about emotional intelligence? It's pretty dope."

"Not yet, but I'm planning on it."

"By the way... I'm Jeremy," said the boy, sitting closer to her and reaching out for a handshake.

"Marinette," she told him with a genuine smile, accepting his hand.

________________

Comments and coffee are my life-juice, so please, share your thoughts. I'm sorry for any possible mistakes and feel free to point them out. 

Ch. 1      Next     Masterpost    AO3

[redhoodieone]

But We’re Your Family!

A/N: Okay, I’m back! Yes, I wanted to end this little series with a happy ending. Let me know what you think! 

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, and just cute and adorable Damian Wayne.

“This is going to be so fucking awkward,” Jason complains, as we walk up to the front door at Wayne Manor. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

Yes, after our little anniversary sexy time last night, Jason and I had come to an agreement to celebrate with his family tonight. Despite our anxious nerves, we feared what could happen.

Jason fixes his black tie as we wait for Alfred to answer the door. We dressed up knowing Bruce would want this to be special occasion. There stood my tall boyfriend, wearing a nice black suit that compliments his muscular fit frame. I decided on a short black dress that displays my womanly curves.

And I proudly wear the golden chain necklace with the ‘J’ pendent rearing in front of my chest.

Alfred answers and smiles at us. “Ah, good evening Master Todd and Lady Y/N, come on in. Dinner is about to be served.”

Alfred lets us in, and we follow him to the dining room. The old gentleman has always been pleasant and friendly to me, and I wonder if he’s been like this with all of Jason’s past girlfriends.

Passing by the beautiful, expensive portraits, Jason links his arm to mine to hold.

 What a gentleman. He must have learned after Bruce and Alfred.

 “Perfect timing then, huh? I’m starving,” I joke.

 “Of course,” Alfred says kindly, before eyeing me up and down. He hums to himself and continues walking.

 I raise a questioning eyebrow at Jason. “What was that? Did I say or do something rude?” I whisper to him.

 “No. Maybe he’s just a little on edge since I’m back...in the family and all,” Jason whispers back, his tone revealing how nervous he is being here. “After everything...you know?”

 “You really need to give yourself a break, Jay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fucks up,” I insist quietly.

 “No one has fucked up the way I have, doll.”

 Just hearing Jason’s voice filled with guilt, disappointment, and anxiety, I feel horrible dragging him back here to the place he hasn’t called home since his falling out with Bruce. Even though Bruce apologized to Jason for beating the shit out of him, Jason’s always been apprehensive and on guard around his family members.

 I suddenly feel like maybe we should leave. If I can’t get him to relax, then leaving would probably be best.

 “If you want to, we can leave right now. I’ll understand,” I say softly. With my other hand, I rub his arm that is encircled with my arm. “I’ll tell them we had to leave because Roy needs help or something.”

 “No,” Jason interrupts but quickly regrets saying it loud to me. “We’re here together, and... I need to face them and get it over with. I love you so fucking much, and I need them to know how I feel about you and why you’re so important to me. We’re endgame, Y/N. This is it for me.”

 Jason halts, and I stop alongside him since our arms are wrapped together. Alfred continues walking, not even noticing we stopped.

 “Endgame? This is it for you?” I ask him seriously. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious doll. You’re the only one I want. You’re the only one I want to be with. If I had to fucking grow up and say what I want for my future, I can honestly say you’re my future and it doesn’t scare me one bit. I mean, Y/N, you’ve changed my life. You’ve changed me...for the better,” Jason continues, feeling his chest tighten with his secret confessions. He lets go of my arm and holds my hands while he stares down at me. Those blue eyes shine with tear drops. “I sure as hell don’t jump into a fight without a plan anymore. Because I gotta stay alive and be smart just so I can get back home to you now. I stopped drinking and smoking so much, because I know it makes you uncomfortable as fuck because of your parents’ bad habits when you were little. I even...talk about my feelings with you because I know I can’t be a closed book if we’re together. You see, Y/N? I’ve never been so serious before in my life, and now all I want is you forever.”

 I smile and kiss his cheek; stunning him, since he believed I would have kissed his lips. “And after everything that’s happened to you, you deserve this. You deserve happiness, Jay,” I reply honestly.

 “Then all I need is you to be happy,” Jason accepts my answer, and sighs as he looks at the dining room near us. “Now let’s go eat dinner with my insane family or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

 “As long as we’re together we can handle your family,” I say.

 Jason exhales again and holds my arm as he leads us into the dining room. The long wooden dining table seems as big as my apartment living room. Bruce is seated at the end, while Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Damian are seated nearby; dressed up as us, too.

 While Dick, Barbara, and Tim offer friendly smiles to us, Bruce looks just as nervous as Jason while Damian scowls at us.

 Bruce stands to greet us. “Jason, Y/N,” Bruce greets us as he pats Jason’s back gently and kisses my hand. “Pleasure to have you here.”

 I blush and giggle from the politeness of Bruce Wayne, while Jason rolls his eyes and scoffs at his father.

 “Come and have a seat,” Bruce says, and guides us to the table. I notice Bruce motions me to sit next to him, but I end up sneaking by Jason, so he could. I could tell they’re both extremely uncomfortable and nervous around each other.

 Jason reluctantly takes a seat beside Bruce, while I sit on the other side of Jason. I immediately frown when Damian makes Tim switch seats with him so Damian could sit next to me for some unknown reason.

 Dressed in identical suits, Dick and Tim almost resemble twins with their dair hair slicked back and those intriguing blue eyes. Damian looks like he could pass off as Jason’s clone; both boys didn’t even bother slicking their hair back as they opted to keep their hair messy and spiked in some parts. Dick and Tim whisper something to each other and then smile at me. Bruce glares at them and gives me a relaxing grin.

 “I think it’s so amazing that you guys just celebrated your two-year anniversary! Do you guys have anything planned for the weekend?” Barbara asks, resting her chin on her hands, as she gazes at us. “Where are you taking Y/N?”

 “Yes, and no, I’m not telling anyone because it’s a surprise,” Jason growls through his teeth at her.

 I didn’t even know Jason planned something for us this weekend. He really must not want anyone to know.

 “Jason did give me this,” I say, pointing to my necklace.

 “That is so beautiful!” Barbara says excitedly.

 “Well, yeah because we all were there when Jason bought it, remember?” Dick reminds her.

 “I’m surprised he didn’t get her a cheap 50 cent ring from the grocery store,” Tim jokes.

 “And once again, fuck you replacement!” Jason says, smirking at Tim.

 “Alright, Jason you let us help you with the anniversary gift but why won’t you tell us what you have planned?” Barbara asks.

 “A weekend trip away sounds very nice. I think Paris is the best choice since it’s a romantic landmark to most,” Tim suggests.

 “I’ve actually never been to Pairs before,” I admit. From the looks of it, the family around me has been there once or many times since they’re all smiling and look lost in thought.

 “You should take her!” Dick cries out dramatically. “It’s so beautiful and romantic!”

 “Dick...” Bruce warns.

 “What?!” Dick whines.

 “T-t.” Damian scoffs.

 Alfred sets down a delicious smelling cooked brisket, with garlic mashed potatoes, buttered corn on the cob, and side salads that look like they came from Olive Garden. My mouth waters at the sight of the food.

 “What’s wrong with Paris?” Tim asks Bruce.

 “Nothing is wrong with Paris, but I guess Jason’s too good to take Y/N to Paris!” Dick joins in.

 “Or maybe he has something else planned,” Barbara tries to reason with Dick.

 “It doesn’t seem like he has a plan at all!” Tim argues.

 “You all need to stop. Now.” Bruce threatens.

 “Tell us your plan! I want to know!” Dick demands.

 “Like I said before, we already have plans!” Jason answers annoyed. “And I’m not telling anyone!”

 I’m about to turn to Jason and ask why he’s so angry about being asked about the weekend, but Damian clears his throat and it stops the arguing as all eyes focus on the blood son.

 “Are we going to ignore the fact that Todd had sexual intercourse with Y/LN and we all watched last night? Are we going to address Y/LN’s role in our family now?” Damian asks curiously.

 It’s silent between all of us. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I glance over at Jason who’s face, and body has frozen with fear.

 And I’ve never seen Jason afraid until now.

 “Yeah...let’s talk about that. So, I gotta ask! What’s the sex like?” Dick asks, giggling like a child. He looks at Jason and then me repeatedly. He must be very curious to know. “Is he too selfish? Do I need to talk to him and give him pointers? Is there anything I can personally do for you, Y/N?”

 “Dick!” Barbara shouts. She looks humiliated!

 “Oh my God,” I mumble shyly.

 “That’s none of your fucking business, dickhead!” Jason snaps angrily. He stands up to glare at his older brother. “I fucking treat my Y/N like a queen. I fucking love to eat her out, make her cum every time, and hold her after because I know cuddling is a big deal for her when she’s weak and tired. I fucking worship her body, her curves, and her thick thighs because honestly she’s too good for me and I’m even lucky enough to see her naked. I fucking love her and I’m always going to please her. So, the answer to all your questions is: fuck you dickface!”

 Dick stares at Jason with an open mouth and shocked face. Bruce sighs, and rubs his eyes. Tim and Barbara shrug at each other. Damian continues to watch me while Alfred exhales stressfully at everyone.

 I decide I need to fix this before things get worse.

 “Okay, I’m going to answer every question and try to explain things better so everyone understands, is that okay? Damian, yes, Jason and I do have sex. You see, we have sex because we are...” I pause, trying to think clearly where to take his since Damian’s 14-years-old, and wouldn’t want descriptive details. Bruce nods his head in my direction to go on. “We have sex because we’re sexually attracted to each other. It feels good. It feels so good, I mean, REALLY good. We love each other so much that having sex is something couples do when they want to help each other feel good. What you saw last night was exactly that. We were celebrating our two-year anniversary and we didn’t think anyone would see. So, I’m really sorry about that. I can only imagine that watching us could have been a frightening and embarrassing moment for you, but I think when you get older, you’d find it perfectly natural and normal to do.”

 Damian raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t exactly frightened nor embarrassed, Y/LN. My questions are merely about why you and Todd have sexual intercourse like animals. Todd was on top of you like a lion gets on top of a lioness in the jungle, except he did not penetrate you from behind. You were awfully loud too, as if you were going to cry. And besides your specific choice of sexual positions is also questionable. You allowed Todd to dominate you. But my main concern is if you are using birth control. Because If I know Todd and I unfortunately do, I can honestly say he would try to impregnate you to keep you for himself. Now tell me, Y/LN, you’re not against having children, are you? And if not, are you both using all types of protection during sexual intercourse?” Damian asks with complete fascination.

 Whether he’s genuinely curious or if he’s trying to start more trouble, I can tell Damian is clearly naive about relationships.

 Jason spits out his drink. He chokes and hits his chest to clear his throat.

 “WHAT?!” Jason shouts.

 “I am merely asking because I want a nephew. I have already seen you two engage in animalistic sex, and everyone with a brilliant mind knows sex is purely for procreation. Now, when shall I receive my nephew?” Damian asks me. “Nine months, correct? I hope I don’t have to wait until next year for you two to start reproducing.”

 I can feel the sweat running down my back. All eyes are on me, and I can tell we’re all uncomfortable with Damian’s questions.

 “I-I... uh...you see, Damian...” I trail off unsurely.

 “Do you want children, Y/LN?” Damian asks.

 “Uh, of course I do. I just-” I ramble on until Jason touches my hand on the table to tell me I can stop talking.

 “We’re waiting for kids, demon spawn,” Jason finally answers. His hands clench into fists on the table, and I can see his strong jawline tightening. Jason finally is able to pull off the Bat glare because Dick, Tim, and Barbara are forced to look away from him.

 “Well, why the hell would you wait, Todd?! Y/LN is clearly out of your league, and if you cannot give her what she wants, then you have no business being with her,” Damian argues back.

 “Damian!” Bruce yells.

 “What? I’m just asking what everyone else is obsessing about!” Damian defends himself.

Alfred clears his throat. We all look at him and notice he’s not pleased with us. “If I must say, I believe Master Todd and Lady Y/N will discuss their future plans when they are ready to. And I have always been correct when it comes to you children so let me put your uneasy minds at rest: they will get married and have children. And do you know how I know that? Well, I believe after every tragedy or hardships a person must go through, there is a positive light at the end of the darkness for them. You see, darkness and pain are what makes us stronger, and when we become stronger, we are then gifted with the people we love. It’s as if it’s life’s way of paying us back, and I believe Master Todd is being given a second chance at life and he deserves it so. I believe you all deserve it as well. But I believe Lady Y/N is Jason’s gift from life, and I sure hope he doesn’t bloody well screw it up!” Alfred explains.

 Jason glances at me smiling. “I’d like to believe she’s my gift from life,” Jason admits.

 “You know Jason, we may have had our problems in the past, but I know for a fact she is your gift from life. Just follow your heart and be happy. That’s all I want for you and your brothers,” Bruce says kindly.

 “Thanks Bruce,” Jason says gratefully.

 Jason swiftly stands up as Bruce, and the two hug each other. Everyone smiles and tells them it’s about time they made up. Dick quickly grabs Tim and Damian, so they join in the family hug, as well as Alfred. Barbara and I laugh but stay seated since it’s a Batboy thing.

 “I’m sorry about talking about mine and Jason’s sex life,” I apologize to Barbara. “I just didn’t think we had animalistic sex, though.”

 “You know Y/N, if it makes you feel any better, Dick is definitely a mime in bed,” Barbara confesses laughing. “He’s just as dramatic in bed as he is with people.”

 “Hey! I am not a mime!” Dick shouts. He’s clearly offended, as he pulls away from the Batboy hug. “I just…make things interesting!”

 The men and boys return to the table to sit and serve themselves dinner, finally.

 “Sometimes there are no words or facial expressions,” Barbara continues to tease Dick.

 “That’s really creepy, Dick,” Tim admits.

 “I’m not a mime!” Dick protests.

 Even Bruce and Alfred get into it.

 “Try to say a few words and make some facial expressions, Dick,” Bruce chuckles.

 “Yes, Master Grayson. Do not frighten Lady Barbara anymore,” Alfred adds.

 As the rest of them continue to embarrass Dick, Damian scoffs and looks back at me. “Now Y/LN, shall I start seeing you as a sister-in-law, since it’s clear Todd is never going to let you go?” he asks.

 “I think you can,” I answer. I gasp when Jason kisses my cheek and holds me.

 “You definitely can, demon spawn.”

 Just when we are eating and enjoying each other’s company, Damian slowly looks up at everyone and smiles.

 “I would still like to know when I’ll receive a nephew since I would like to volunteer to train him and be the best Robin when I become Batman one day,” Damian confesses, and turns to Jason and me specifically. “Perhaps you should be impregnated soon, Y/LN. So that way my nephew will be born in spring; the significant birth date as a baby Robin being born in the season of beginning life.”

 “I like that idea a lot,” Bruce admits.

 “Can we just get through this dinner first?” I ask nervously.

 “Just give us a hint! A clue!” Dick and Barbara shout out.

 “No!” Jason yells.

 Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Damian all shout: “But we’re your family!”

 After dinner, I was graciously welcomed into the family. As Jason and I walk back to his car, he stops me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. Did we forget something?

 Jason kisses me. The way our lips fit, and touch makes us both breathless.

 “Nothing is wrong. I’m just appreciating and being thankful for life giving you to me,” Jason whispers.

 “Me too Jason.”

 “And I think when we get home, we should start practicing for…you know,” Jason chuckles and kisses my cheek. “I mean, if we’re going to have a baby in spring, it’s gonna take a lot of dirty fun to make it happen.”

“Oh Jason,” I sigh, and roll my eyes.

“Remember doll, life gave me you,” Jason reminds me. “I’m never letting you go, Y/N.”

“And life gave you to me, and I would never let you go.”

Never.

[angelofthequeers]

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 21

Kung Food

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

I’m so salty at canon for not giving us the sarcastic/snarky Adrien and Kagami duo that we needed.

@miraculousl4dybug @trainflavor @residentteenidle​ tagged as requested :)

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22

“Thanks for helping me, Kagami,” Adrien says as they approach Marinette’s front door. “I know I’ve been learning Mandarin, but…”

“Yes, I get it, you’re a pasty white kid,” Kagami teases. “You’re lucky it’s one of the languages that Mother wanted me to learn when I was young.”

“How many languages do you know?” Adrien says.

“Japanese, French, conversationally fluent in English and Mandarin, and now Mother’s having me learn Arabic,” Kagami rattles off. “Specifically, the Egyptian Arabic dialect, even if I’m learning MSA for reading and writing.”

“Uh…”

“What?” Kagami raises an eyebrow. “You think you’re the only one who has a parent with high expectations of you? Sorry, Agreste, but I think I’ve got you beat there.” She reaches out and rings the doorbell, and there’s immediately the sound of shrieking and thumping behind the door. A moment later, it’s opened by a wild-eyed, flustered Marinette.

“Alya!” she says. “So glad you could – uh…oh!” She laughs and scratches the back of her head. “Sorry. I’m a mess. What are you guys doing here?”

“Alya called,” Adrien says. “She said you needed someone who speaks Mandarin? Well, here we are! Translators, at your service.”

“Uh…” Marinette looks from him to Kagami.

“I’m more fluent than he is,” Kagami says. “Call it an educational field trip for him.”

“Right. Ah…you must think I’m totally lame, being part-Chinese and not even being able to speak any of the dialects…”

“Not really,” Kagami says. “It’s not as uncommon as you think.” She heads inside with Adrien, who takes the opportunity to look around at Marinette’s house, what with this being his first visit. It’s small – his mansion is probably triple the size of it at least – but it’s nice and cosy and looks lived-in, rather than cold and empty like the mansion or suffocating in lavishness like Chloé’s hotel. The living room has pale pink couches, and the kitchen is a little cramped, and it’s the most beautiful house Adrien’s ever seen in his life, and he would actually sell his soul to live here for just one day.

“Uh…should we go?” Marinette says. “My uncle’s competing in the World’s Greatest Chef tournament at the hotel. We were just about to head out!”

“Gorilla can drive us,” Adrien says.

“Will he mind?”

“His job’s to protect me.” Adrien lets himself smirk. “If I’m with you, he’ll be protecting me, won’t he?”

Marinette giggles, and Adrien would literally do anything to hear it again. “Very true. Let’s go!”

Once they’re in the car, with Adrien sitting in the front to allow Marinette and Kagami to sit in the back on either side of Marinette’s uncle, Kagami speaks.

“A pleasure to meet you, Cheng Shifu,” she says in Mandarin. Adrien can understand her, sure, but it takes his French brain a few seconds to process and translate. In the meantime, she’s moved on. “Is this the first time you’ve visited Paris?”

“Oh, I came once before thirty years ago,” Master Cheng replies. “You speak Mandarin fluently.”

Kagami bows and replies, “Thank you, Cheng Shifu. My mother wanted me to learn it.”

“I speak a little,” Adrien says in Mandarin slowly, paranoid of making a mistake after Kagami’s smooth conversation. “Not as good as Kagami.”

“Ah. My French is very bad.” Master Cheng suddenly switches to French. “Not like your Mandarin.”

Adrien, Kagami, and Marinette blink at the same time.

“I thought you couldn’t speak French,” Adrien says.

“Me too!” Marinette says with a self-deprecating giggle.

“Oh, no, not good,” Master Cheng says. “My French is very bad.”

At the hotel, they’re greeted by André Bourgeois while Alec Cataldi commentates from nearby. Adrien’s totally unfazed by the cameras and the crowd, but Marinette looks way out of her depth and Kagami’s shoulders are rather stiff as she holds herself tall. Adrien wants nothing more than to grab Marinette’s hand and squeeze it to reassure her, but that would be the silliest move with all the cameras and people around. The last thing he needs is to start rumours that she’s his girlfriend.

Not that he would be opposed to the idea. But that’s not really his call to make.

“Cheng Shifu, what dish will you be honouring our panel with today?” Alec says, appearing next to them in the blink of an eye. Adrien, the first to gather his wits, quickly translates for Master Cheng.

“My dish is Celestial Soup,” Master Cheng replies.

“Wow! I've heard so much about your legendary Celestial Soup, but today we'll actually get to taste it!” Alec says.

“Would you like me or Adrien to accompany you, Cheng Shifu?” Kagami asks in Mandarin.

“No thank you, Kagami,” Master Cheng replies. “Cooking needs no words.”

As her uncle follows Alec to the kitchens, Marinette turns to Adrien and Kagami and says, “Thanks for this, you two. I’m totally sorry I bothered you for nothing. I really thought he couldn’t speak French!”

“Hey, it wasn’t any problem,” Adrien says. “I’m always happy to help you, Marinette.”

Everything’s all well and good until a certain blonde mosquito shows up.

“Ah, it’s my favourite person in the world, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé sneers at Marinette. “I mean, seriously? Does your uncle really expect to win the contest with a soup? It’s not even a main dish! Please! Doesn’t he know how to make sushi like everyone else?”

“Confusing Chinese and Japanese people?” Kagami says, crossing her arms with a stony face. “I’m not surprised, from someone as blonde as they come.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Chloé crosses her arms as well and leans into Kagami’s space, smirking. “Oh, did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry. I tend to get like that when people I don’t like crowd my Adrikins.”

Adrien clenches his fists. Why is Chloé so adamant that he’s going to come crawling back to her? Is she really that self-centred that she doesn’t see that he’s got other friends? Or is she just in denial? Before he can tear into her, Kagami beats him to it.

“Marinette, are we holding a gun to Adrien’s head and making him be our friend?” she says. Marinette pretends to think.

“No! I don’t think we are!” she says. “Wait, are we constantly throwing ourselves on him and threatening him that we’re his only choice of friends?”

“I don’t believe so.” Kagami and Marinette exchange smirks.

“Hmph!” Chloé flips her hair. “Well, you should know that I’m on the jury. Your uncle won’t be getting my vote, that’s for sure!”

“Well, he doesn’t need your vote to win!” Marinette says. “There are other judges with much better taste than yours! Huh, silly me, you don’t have any taste! I mean, you can’t even pick the right makeup for your features!”

Kagami’s smirk widens as Chloé snarls and stomps off in a huff. “And that’s the match to Marinette. Nice work.”

“Thanks!” Marinette says. “Let’s go sit down and wait for the judging!”

.

Adrien smells a rat. Or maybe it’s the soup. Either way, when the judges start spluttering and spitting out their soup and Chloé doesn’t even taste it, he’s immediately on guard.

“Uh, I don't think this soup would fare well with our guests!” André says and holds up a dinner plate with three stars. “I'll give it a three out of ten.”

“Seeing as it's pretty unappetising, maybe I'll pass on the tasting.” Chloé holds up a blank plate. “But I'll still give it a zero!”

“Ugh! It's like kissing the singer from the Zombeats!” Jagged Stone gags. “Negative zero!”

“I'm sorry, but it's inedible,” head chef Marlena Césaire says. “I give it a one out of ten.”

Alec also gives it a zero, giving Master Cheng an average score of point eight out of ten. Adrien despairs for Marinette’s poor uncle, but when Chloé stands up and walks off with a smirk and a purple petal falls onto the table, his despair turns to sheer rage.

“You see that?” Marinette points at the petal. “That brat’s got something to do with this!”

“I’d like to say you’re wrong, but after everything she’s done lately?” Adrien seethes. “I’m sure it was her.”

“She can’t even accept her defeat,” Kagami says coldly. “What a pathetic coward.”

They notice Master Cheng leaving the room with slumped shoulders, and Marinette runs after him. Adrien and Kagami arrive just as Master Cheng is saying, “Shame is on Celestial Soup. I will never be World's Greatest Chef!”

“No! Uncle Cheng!” Marinette starts to follow him, but she stops herself after a moment. “Oh. Losing face in China is shameful, isn’t it? My mum told me that once.”

“You’re right,” Kagami says. “Giving Cheng Shifu some time alone is the best thing you can do.”

“Some time alone” seems to constitute akumatisation, judging by how the sound of Chloé screaming from the dining room pierces the air only minutes later. The three of them exchange startled looks.

“I’ll go and check on my uncle and make sure he’s not…” Marinette leaves the sentence hanging as she dashes off around a corner. Adrien and Kagami, meanwhile, investigate the dining room, only to find Chloé surrounded by the judges while her father holds her in a death grip. When the judges turn to look at him and Kagami in unison, Adrien notices that their eyes are now orange with yellow pupils.

“Good idea, Hawkmoth!” says a large man with a chef hat on his spiky blond hair, black skin, a sleeveless orange suit, and red and white face paint. Okay. Whoever Hawkmoth is, he must be just as much of a damn anime nerd as Adrien is, except that Adrien wouldn’t even dream of doing something like…this. The man points at Adrien and Kagami. “Seize them! Ladybug and Reine Nuit require incentive!”

“Hey, I’m incentive enough for Ladybug!” Chloé snaps. Before Adrien and Kagami can react, they’re grabbed by Jagged Stone and Marlena. When the akuma marches to the elevator, the three prisoners are dragged along with him; once on the roof, Chloé is tied up above the pool, hanging from a makeshift pulley system, while Adrien and Kagami are bound and tossed onto poolside deck chairs. With a little wriggling, Adrien manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and tap to start a livestream on the Ladyblog, then angles the camera towards the akuma.

“Cut off all exits!” the akuma orders, summoning large cauldrons of orange liquid from his food bag. His possessed servants grab the cauldrons and pour the liquid down the sides of the hotel; it looks very sticky, judging by how slowly it trickles down.

“Sorry you got roped into this,” Adrien says as the akuma’s servants start to add summoned ingredients to the pool water to turn it into a yellowish soup. Kagami death-glares him.

“For your health, I’m going to choose to believe that wasn’t a deliberate pun,” she says. “But I don’t see why you’re apologising. You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“You are going to taste Kung Food’s soup!” the akuma says to a recording drone. “Everybody will become my servants, and Kung Food will become World’s Greatest Chef!”

“Kung Food?” Adrien stares at the akuma and his hideous outfit. “Wait, is Hawkmoth a weeaboo or something?”

“You’d think I’d be used to people like him just acting like Chinese and Japanese cultures are interchangeable because we’re both East Asian,” Kagami says flatly. “Clearly, I underestimated my capacity for rage.”

“And really, making him look like a cross between Naruto and Dragon Ball Z?” Adrien says. “Neither of them even have anything to do with food!”

“I’m guessing Hawkmoth saw that he was Asian and decided that that equals anime,” Kagami says. “Because as you said, Adrien, he is a weeaboo. If anyone Naruto-runs after this atrocity, I’m going to throw myself off this rooftop.”

On the screen of the drone that Kung Food is watching, Adrien catches sight of the tiny figures of Ladybug and Reine Nuit in the lobby of the hotel. A purple butterfly mask outline appears over Kung Food’s face for a few seconds.

“Superhero flavour will make Brat Soup even more powerful! You!” Kung Food points at Jagged Stone. “Go capture them!”

“Yes, Master Kung Food!” Jagged Stone runs off…Naruto-style.

“Uh, Kagami, let’s not do anything rash,” Adrien says cautiously when Kagami eyes the railing.

“Death would be better than this pain.”

“If you die, you can’t stab Hawkmoth when Ladybug and Reine Nuit finally find out who he is!”

Kagami pauses, then slumps in her deck chair. “For once, you said something wise. Fine. I’ll live for now.”

.

“I spy something yellow and orange –”

“Kung Food,” Kagami says. “Like the last two times. Why are we even playing this game, anyway?”

“Because I thought it’d be more exciting to be a hostage,” Adrien says. “But we’ve just been sitting here for the last half an hour. I’m bored.”

“Tragic,” Kagami deadpans.

“At least your hair isn’t totally ruined!” Chloé snaps. Adrien ignores her. “Oh, come on, Adrikins! Why haven’t you come crawling back to me yet?”

“Uh, because I have other friends?” Sure, Adrien’s supposed to not be on speaking terms with her right now, but it’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

“What, so you just dropped me the minute you went to school? Like I’m nothing?”

“I never wanted to drop you. But considering that you bully everyone else, I didn’t have a choice.”

“I wonder how long it’ll take her to realise that you’re still live-streaming this,” Kagami mutters.

“Ah, temperature is just right,” Kung Food declares. “Time to add main ingredient!”

At his words, Chloé starts to descend into the soup. “Nononononononono!” she cries, while Adrien grimaces and looks away because he may not be friends with her anymore, but he doesn’t exactly want to see her boiled alive. But in a fraction of a second, there’s a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye and then Chloé is plummeting, into the soup if not for a blur of red snatching her up and landing on the other side. “Ladybug, what took you so long? Just wait until I tell everyone –”

Ladybug ‘accidentally’ drops Chloé. “Oops,” she says innocently, while Kagami snickers.

“Uh, you two seem fine over there,” Reine Nuit calls as Ladybug tries to reason with Kung Food. “Just…sit tight, yeah?”

“Sure, now that there’s finally action to stream,” Adrien says, bouncing in anticipation. Kagami raises her eyebrow at him. He just grins back sheepishly, then whips his head back around to take in the action as the heroes charge Kung Food. “Finally! Thank god I’m not on YouTube anymore.”

“Are YouTube comments really that bad?” Kagami says.

“Put it this way: the comments telling me to kill myself were the mildest ones.”

Kagami blinks, then seems to make the decision that she’d really rather not know.

“Ow!” Reine Nuit yelps when she gets red dust blown in her face after reaching for Kung Food’s chef hat.

“Haha! Like it spicy?” Kung Food says.

“Should we provide a running commentary for the Ladyblog?” Adrien says.

“It would feel more productive than just sitting here like a useless hostage,” Kagami says. Her eyes widen when Kung Food pulls a humongous pizza sword out of his food bag. “Buon appetito, I guess?”

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug catches a cheque machine.

“You know, I was about to laugh at how ridiculous that is, but then I remembered that Ladybug’s had weirder Lucky Charms before,” Adrien says. “I remember the first ever one she got was a wetsuit!”

“Cataclysm!” Reine Nuit says as Ladybug wraps a long strip of cheque paper around Kung Food, pinning his arms to his side. She slashes his food bag, making his pizza sword dissipate, and knocks him to the ground, allowing Ladybug to grab his chef hat and free the akuma.

“Your days are over, little akuma! Time to de-evilise!” Ladybug catches the dark butterfly with her yo-yo, then purifies and releases it. “Bye, bye, little butterfly!” She throws the cheque machine into the air and cries, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Adrien stretches when his bonds are dissolved by the ladybug swarm, then snatches up his phone to catch them as they envelop the hotel to get rid of the sticky yellow substance coating it.

“Pound it!” Ladybug and Reine Nuit declare. As Ladybug comforts Master Cheng, Reine Nuit waves at Adrien.

“Heya, Ladybugreste!” she says. “Love the new blog, by the way! Too many YouTube comments telling you to go kill yourself?”

“Eh, those were the tame ones,” Adrien says, trying not to throw himself off the rooftop in sheer joy at the fact that one of his idols keeps up with him. “And the site kept nuking my videos for graphic violence.”

Reine Nuit snorts, then grins at Kagami. “You got tangled up in this? You might wanna be careful or you’ll end up an adrenaline maniac like Agreste here.”

“There’s a difference between me and Adrien,” Kagami drawls. “I have more than one brain cell.”

Reine Nuit gives a long, loud laugh as Adrien glowers at a smirking Kagami. The cat hero then salutes with her beeping hand. “Later, weirdo.”

Ladybug helps Master Cheng to his feet, then waves at Adrien and Kagami and swings her yo-yo. “Bug out!”

.

“Master Cheng's delicious Celestial Soup has received the highest marks overall, making you the final winner!” Alec announces after the jury has tasted the soup in Master Cheng’s recompense round. Adrien, Marinette, and Kagami beam at each other and give a round of applause. Nearby, Chloé is scowling with her arms crossed, no doubt still sulking after Adrien’s jab about her getting kicked off the jury for sabotage.

“Ah, and it will soon be the Mayor's Special on the restaurant menu of my prestigious hotel!” André says, taking another sip.

“Rock ‘n’ roll!” Jagged Stone bellows. “I can’t wait to get home and write a song about soup!”

Master Cheng bows to the judges and says, “Thank you, but no longer Celestial Soup. Now called Marinette Soup.”

Marinette gasps, while Adrien and Kagami clap harder. “Thank you!” she stammers in Mandarin. Her accent is appalling, but it’s still understandable.

“You’re welcome,” Master Cheng smiles.

“Come over here and stand alongside your uncle, the World's Greatest Chef!” Alec says to Marinette. Adrien nudges Marinette, who dashes to hug her uncle, and Adrien’s heart skips a beat because with that dazzling smile on her face, Marinette has never looked more radiant than now.

“You’re a lost cause, Agreste,” Kagami smirks.

“Shut up, Tsurugi,” Adrien shoots back automatically.

[marauders70s]

So I just watched Crimes of Grindelwald and I have a huge rant list.

Spoilers (obviously). 

Also, I did not like hardly any of it, so I’m sorry. Don’t pick a fight with me after reading a post entitled rant list and then be upset that they are all rants.

- wow AMERICA yeah jo we know what you think of us. it’s obvious in our de-tonguing geneva-convention violating (i know it’s not around in 1927 okay) inhumane treatment of not just grindelwald but apparently all the prisoners and animals we keep in cages (i know our prison system is inherently terrible i’m very aware) but to transport him like a paralyzed stroke victim drooling to a thestral carriage on a Dark And Stormy Night really just is lazy writing on why we should dislike aurors without giving anyone a plot, dialogue, or exposition

- this guy who has been posing as Grindelwald....since the beginning? since when? they cut out his tongue?? but then? it’s just forked? there’s magic? like? could they grow the tongue back?? they can regrow bones in harry’s arm but okay

- this thestral carriage chase scene is really CGI explosion heavy turned actioned film and mostly consisted of me being like what. what. WHAT. wait what. wait who is that. what. why wouldn’t he just disapparate. what happens to these thestrals. okay. what. grindelwald can just dissolve wands since when can people do that why didn’t voldemort do that why didn’t harry do that this presents problems

- okay look david yates and co. you had this incredible opportunity to create an entire wardrobe of WIZARD FASHION in THREE COUNTRIES, most notably the fashion capitol of the world and what did you do you put every single person in trench coats and random muggle garb. Also, not even cool wizard hats. No. Just muggle bowlers and mobster hats.

- Does Newt have a job. If so, what is it? How can he pay for this lovely house with magical modifications? Don’t you have to get a contractor to put that in? Did he do it himself? How does he pay Sad Girl In Love With Protagonist tm? Does he pay her? How did they meet? Why do we never see her again?

- For a movie entitled ‘Fantastic Beasts’ we really gloss over looking at any of the in-house beasts, learning anything about them, or doing anything except a CGI palooza.

- Wow Queenie and Jacob are here ‘hope you don’t mind we let ourselves in’ ah yes rude american trope again. who on earth would do that. also this entire time jacob acts like a goon and newt is like let’s take the enchantment off and i’m like hi that’s hella nonconsensual you’re basically raping and kidnapping him and jacob is somehow okay with this. newt is somehow okay with this. 

- ‘please don’t read my mind’ um dude you’re talking AT her??? 

- movie glosses over how jacob got his memories back with a throwaway line of unbelievable dialogue. If obliviate only worked on bad memories, Hermione Granger really needs to go to family counseling with her parents. 

- mysterious postcard is exposition over really dumb journalism error that could have been easily fixed within seconds by sending an owl because owls don’t need addresses, something queenie conveniently forgets by not knowing how to find her sister

- queenie is a Dumb American for cheap laughs by letting a woman say something in french, laughing, and saying she doesn’t understand anything only for the droll French woman to repeat it in the exact monosyllabic voice. Apparently everyone entering/leaving a country needs to register a visa or something, which is conveniently circumvented by going through a muggle port? It’s unclear. Queenie herself does not seem to have registered.

- French Ministry of Magic is gorgeous. Has a cool roots to iron elevator. It is also probably improperly named as they put ‘American Ministry of Magic’ despite America not having ministries or ministers outside of some serious religious stuff. They put all this effort into creating MACUSA but didn’t use it.

- Is it just me or does the MoM change the interior every time I see it.

- Queenie is devastated she can’t find her sister in a city of millions despite having magic, a means of communication that is foolproof, and enough money to find a hotel and wait to meet up. Queenie is overwhelmed that other people think in their native language. Instead of finding this helpful for tuning out a crowded city (like she does on the daily in New York), she somehow finds it overwhelming even looking for Newt/Jacob. 

- Random woman is Silence In Queenie’s Head. I literally never learned who she was except Hard Bitch Kills Toddler. Or why Queenie can’t hear her thoughts. (Plot twist she’s Bella Swan).

- Toddler didn’t get his own little casket in the French mourning cart. Nice of Grindelwald to give a supposedly muggle family a funeral cart when he could have transfigured their bodies into armchairs or something. (Muggle supposed after he makes the remark about a ‘thorough cleaning.’)

- No one in Paris uses French in spellcasting. Spells are still English-based. 

- Dumbledore is a dramatic bitch for gloves and rooftops. It’s a very specific brand of Gay. 

- Don’t kill me but I don’t...hate? Jude Law as Dumbledore. He was still kind. But he wasn’t auburn and that was dumb. 

- Unclear why Jacob and Queenie have to live in shame and secret when they could move to another country especially when Jacob loves bread and would like Paris. This seems to be Queenie’s motivator which is thin as hell and I didn’t follow her ‘logic’ at all. LAZY WRITING.

- Queenie immediately doesn’t disapparate upon seeing Grindelwald. Queenie somehow gets into this rhetoric. Later Queenie does not get disgusted with apropos wizard-Hitler being like ‘they are lesser beings’ and she, who wants to marry one, is like ‘yeah they totally are because I’m basically Jacob’s mom.’ 

- Grindelwald, in addition to being played by Johnny Depp, is albino, has one mutilated eye with a bad color contact clearly visible in multiple scenes, and is British when it is specifically stated he went to Durmstrang and was expelled for Dark Magic (at Durmstrang, which is noted for its Dark Arts program). As an allusion to wizard-Hitler, I always inferred that Grindelwald was German or Austrian. 

- Wow Paris street magic carnival gave me LIFE and WOW and MAGIC feels. I loved the ducking through the barrier. 

- Weird freakshow circus gets blown apart but Newt only manages to catch one creature that is helpfully foreshadowed it can leap Paris in a single bound. It is a Chinese creature when no mention of Chinese magic, Chinese handlers, or any sort of Asian magic is referred to (except in the cringe-worthy case of the ‘South Asian blood curse of Nagini’ which is a whole other can of worms). In all likelihood, as China is one of the oldest civilizations, their magic and dragon worship would be more paramount. China cat’s serious Great Beast’s weakness is a cat toy. 

- Why is Nicholas Flamel....like that. Sure he’s like 600 years old but (a) is Jacob literally breaking his hand what the hell, (b) as much money and life as you could want does that mean he has to be like 100 years old forever that sucks that’s not even worth being immortal. (c) Where’s his wife. (d) When he goes to battle I thought he’d drink some elixir and be young again but...no.

- Nagini has no purpose in this movie other than to be snake slave and love interest and run around in a circus outfit with tits out bra off. She did not do a single useful thing.

- Wait I’m sorry WHAT you can like...fuck house elves now?? There are half-elves? How....you know what no thanks I don’t want to know.

- Credence, despite the last movie setting up an obscurial as like a suicide bomb, can relatively control mega destruction now and get back into his body fairly easily. No one even wonders why this lacemakers roof apartment exploded.

- Are he and Nagini in love? Are they escaped carnival freak bros? Why isn’t Nagini heading for the hills? She literally has no personality of her own at all.

- Paris is suspiciously white in this film. Especially for the 20s art renaissance. 

- I don’t know why Credence falls into Orphan Must Know Parentage Trope because it’s really overused and boring. And frankly the superfluity of ravens was really beating me over the head. Credence can like...do anything. He could get some money and go to a wand shop. He could just...disappear. I don’t know why he has to be so easy to track.

- By the way who is this weirdo tracking him for Grindelwald/the ministry. It’s very unclear. I never got his name. It’s probably one of the many death eater names they throw in to make sure you know these families great-grandparents are also running around being evil instead of, you know, regular people doing it. So he could be Travers. I guess. LAZY WRITING. 

= Now is a special segment on Hogwarts = 

- The layout of Hogwarts changes every time I see it. Why are the classrooms always different. Why would the wood still have carvings. Why is there a bridge over this lake which is different than the covered bridge leading towards the Forest that Harry and Lupin have a Serious Chat on. 

- YOU CANNOT APPARATE IN HOGWARTS GROUNDS. And don’t you try to tell me Dumbledore instituted that because it’s directly stated in Bathilda Bagshot’s Hogwarts, A History as being a longstanding charm with muggle repelling. 

- Everyone apparates onto the bridge and walks through the castle without anyone bothering them into the correct classroom right away?? Like did they get a copy of the teaching schedule? Did Peeves show them?

- Dumbledore did NOT teach DADA. Dumbledore taught transfiguration. He was still teaching Transfiguration when Tom Riddle went to school. So if Dumbledore is teaching Transfiguration, Minerva McGonagall would not be at Hogwarts because she taught transfiguration after Dumbledore. Pretty sure mcgonagall was too young in 1927 to be a professor. LAZY WRITING. 

- Just looked it up. Pottermore (official JK writing, btw) states that Minerva McGonagall was born in 1934. So she’s officially negative 7 years old and a professor. That’s GOT to be a record. Poor Rowan Khanna will never beat preconception tenure.

- Despite me being ecstatic to hear/see a young McGonagall, the camera never held still long enough for me to see a young McGonagall. Any far away shots only demonstrated despite this being 1920s, she was still dressing in the 1890s. McGonagall, despite the obvious laughs it was going for, would never use magic against a student.

- Haha this dumb neanderthal student is Grandpa McClaggen. 

- Dumbledore, being known for wearing really flamboyant robes, dresses in conservative three piece suit. 

- Why would you not go home for the holidays when you have to take care of a baby raven you can just put it in a box or your pocket for christ’s sake you’re carrying like 6 niffler babies at one time but you never even show them again

- Will say that young Newt’s casting is A++

- WHY ARE THE UNIFORMS NAVY BLUE. WHY DO THEY WEAR RED TARTAN SKIRTS. WHY DO THEY HAVE PHD EMBELLISHMENTS ON ACADEMIC REGALIA? Why do they have colored hoods when the original films (and books to boot) say all black robes. Why are these robes not even proper wizarding robes but just like...cambridge robes. 

- To be honest this boggart lesson is like?? insane?? how did it last for 70 years it’s honestly so unethical and cruel. I’ve ALWAYS thought this even reading it for the first time in POA I was like “people’s worst fears are spiders and mummies?” like my greatest fear even at 12 was people I love dying. The fact that Newt is more scared of a desk than Theseus dying is weird.

- “I don’t want to talk about my boggart” Leta LeStrange means there was an Incident where Dumbledore realized that some students don’t have Great Home Lives and yet persists in this lesson for the next 70 years knowing that multiple kids are going to have their parents abusing them as their greatest fear. 

- Corvus, as a name, just means Raven. How stupid. “Is your house crest a raven?” “Yes. Also my brother. Like if you were named Badger McHufflepuff.” “Oh don’t worry my name is just Lizard Lizard.” “Cool."

- No background or even hints at future background (e.g. they haven’t written it yet) on why Leta gets with Theseus even after the first film where he has a picture of Leta in his suitcase. 

- Theseus and Newt have no screen time interaction. They do not behave like brothers. They have no flashbacks. Even young Newt never interacts with his brother. There is no realism here that Newt says they have a complicated relationship or is annoyed by his brother. This exposition is just lazy writing with nothing on screen to back it up. 

- So you’re telling me Dumbledore had the mirror of erised for SEVENTY YEARS and yells at harry for looking in it for three nights. How did Dumbledore not go mad? Where did he get it? I feel like 70 years is a long time to have it. 

- I guess when you think about it yeah being 40 in the 1920s does put you on the mark to be 110 when Harry meets you but fuck the books did NOT explain HOW OLD Dumbledore was to me I always thought he was like hale and sprightly 70s/80s

- Okay so you’re looking in the mirror and going to just BRAZENLY FLOUT CANON and say his deepest desire looking in the mirror is to relive the memory of the blood oath? That’s exposition. That’s a memory. That’s a pensieve not a mirror. Your greatest desire has ALWAYS BEEN saving Ariana. And even if it was loving Grindelwald this is your GREATEST DESIRE like being together not reliving a blood oath just for the sake of audience explanation. LAZY WRITING. 

------ Back to other rants

- Most of this movie was me squinting being like ‘what’s the plot??’ and if there was a whiff of plot (”we all have to find credence’s birth records!”) most of it was me being confused “why does this matter?” “how did they all get there?”

- The confession of Newt trying to talk to Tina in the records room was painful. Not cute. Not even funny. Just so painful. It was like secondhand embarrassment but like...pity embarrassment. 

- I don’t know why Grindelwald has a map of a Parisian cemetery. I don’t know why he had to give it to Credence except as a big reveal. I don’t remember how Queenie got there. I genuinely DO NOT understand how Jacob got there much less passed through to the secret wizard place as a muggle. 

- No idea why the records lady was attacking them when Leta checked in twice (once as Tina). NO CLUE why they were the worst animated cats of all time or why they became multiple cats or even why when taken out of the French records they became even worse animated ‘real’ cats when they could have just used real cats. The entire chase scene was baffling and unnecessary. The records lady was not an agent of Grindelwald so no idea what’s up with her bee in the bonnet sorry for wrecking all your shit bye.

- I saw this movie less than an hour ago. I’m still confused how Leta, Newt, and Tina all teamed up or why they were cool teaming up or what. 

- This mausoleum has a Greek hellenistic statue of a man reclining for no apparent reason and these shelves are supposed to bear ashes right so why are you putting a dumb pop up book there. Why would Grindelwald’s agent remove the record in drag as an old lady? It was weirdly unnecessary. 

- Yosef’s exposition on how a white man literally imperiused and raped his mother was like WOW NO ONE IS GONNA EVEN TOUCH THAT???? and then for her to die in childbirth it’s like...my dudes wizards have cured so many diseases muggles haven’t you know they’re up there inventing the c-section with Julius Caesar and accio’ing babies out of utero like ‘gimme that catcher’s mitt she’s fully dilated.’ This whole “oh it was the 1900s” nonsense does NOT apply to magic. LAZY WRITING. 

- I immediately forgot what happened to Corvus’ mom. but whatever right? she’s just a disposable woman! this movie does NOT care about consent! much less women! haha they’re just flowers!

- ‘I killed my brother’ yeah i mean we saw that coming she was REALLY SURE he was dead. But I was 90% sure it was going to be a child accident like dropping him down the stairs or shaking him too hard to get him to stop crying and then swapping him with a live baby but no? so i don’t know i feel like you didn’t really kill him.

- this steamer going down is confusing. is it a muggle ship? if it’s a muggle ship than is Credence swapped a baby with...a muggle born wizard? Are their other wizarding families on the ship? If so then why did they drown? you can all magic out of there? your lifeboat wouldn’t go down? why even take a steamer ship to america? you can...apparate or portkey or floo or fly like this titanic nonsense makes NO SENSE. And if Papa LeStrange hates muggles so much why put his only children on an all muggle ship with a half elf (again why) who can’t do magic to protect them

- Finding Credence’s identity REALLY doesn’t need to revolve around the LeStrange’s sordid past. Steamer ships keep passenger logs. So. We really should leave the mausoleum now to go find that. 

- Yosef took an unbreakable vow to kill this white baby and it’s dead so is he released? He was released like...20 years ago. Why does he continue to hang out with these people? Your endless vengeance has rested? No need to team up with the sister you never knew? apparently (their family dynamic was also poorly/not explained). 

- Why is this mausoleum an underground amphitheater. Literally why it makes no sense. Is it supposed to bring up the first David Yates film OotP? I don’t know. It also has a lot of blue fire and people rapturing the fuck out of there (literally when did apparating involve staring up at the sky and blasting off in rocket smoke). Also in re this movie how can you be tracked after apparating (Newt/Dumbledore’s tail). 

- So if you touch this curtain do you automatically teleport to this amphitheater. Also what if you touched it by accident and were like OH SHIT HOW DO I GET OUT. Like wow this guy wasn’t kidding when he said there’s no wizard that can match him magically. This is like Charles Xavier Magneto Level 1 Mutant Power kind of shit. Not even Voldemort could do that. Big Power Too Big trope. Again. How did Jacob even GET there. 

- Johnny Depp wears leather pants. Costume department, get your act together.

- Grindelwald, continuing to be British, shows clips of the Great War, approx 1914-1918. While the tanks and biplanes were appropriate, there were also lines (assumingly?) to concentration camps and the nuclear bomb of Hiroshima, which wouldn’t take place until 1945. So is Grindelwald also a prophet? Is he a seer? They kept referencing this book of poems and prophecy but without letting us see it? it went along with my general ‘I’m getting the gist of this but not really the why because it doesn’t make sense.’ And then Grindelwald rumor mongers and uses fear tactics when one of the police aurors straight up KILLS A WOMAN like wow can we cool it with use of force/police brutality is this guy going to get written up or is he fire now? 

- Ethnically ambiguous Grindelwald supporter (only person of color) gets immediately incinerated for not being 100% sure of his side. When Credence feels the same way, he gets a couple of gifts. 

- Look, I didn’t start this way but I stan Leta LeStrange. She was honestly one of the only people and the only woman in this film with a personality. 

- Queenie stands still as weak, silly, expositional, dumb American. For those of you about to be like ‘She’s spying on Grindelwald! She’s the greatest legilimens that ever lived!’ I just want to beg you to reconsider because if you’re right and if the writers get wind of that you know they’re going to have her like teach little Tom Riddle something just BECAUSE everything has to connect. 

- Poor Jacob he seems okay with being stranded in another country. Is his bakery okay? Do his friends know he isn’t dead? He is super super super brave throughout this movie despite his main comedic strength in the other movie being nervous. But this time he’s like meh firefights and large monsters.

- Credence I understand going over. Nagini continues to not be a character and did not go with Newt and Crew. 

- Wasn’t even sad for Theseus because again, Theseus had little to no character development except being a Whipping Boy to authority. Theseus and Leta never interacted in any meaningful way. Their relationship didn’t even seem real. I wasn’t even sad.

- I feel like Leta isn’t dead though because who the fuck else is carrying this LeStrange line to give birth to Rabastan and Rodolphus. 

- At this point everyone apparates AGAIN to Hogwarts. This time I guess a ghost went and alerted Dumbledore because he’s waiting. But yeah like come on in for tea Newt but fuck all those kids they can wait here. 

- What is this plot?? Is there a plot?? What is going on??

- Who gives someone a wand like this hi I hid it up my sleeve touch me my boy I long for your touch.

- This is a phoenix, not a Raven. Newt is a sad ordinary bird but you’re a bright beautiful phoenix. Apparently phoenixes can grow up in ONE DAY. Foreshadowing Dumbledore is foreshadowing. LAZY WRITING this is so stupid. The books would have been EXPLICIT about a fourth child. 

- Maybe he’s a cousin. Close relative, perhaps? *Pleakley voice*

“He hasn’t got a brother?” 

Dobby shook his head. 

Literally where I’m at right now. 

- ABRUPT ENDING IS ABRUPT I didn’t even realize this was the end of the film because the score, cinematography, and writing did NOT cue me that this was winding down. I literally was like ‘how long does this last’ and then it was like DAVID YATES. Okayyyyyyy. 

- Anyway my sum feeling upon the lights going on was: what the fuck. was there a plot. there were so many loopholes. i was confused about many things almost the whole time because nothing was fleshed out and if they threw enough CGI at me I’d be patched up. 

Final rating: It matches up pretty well to the middle film of The Hobbit trilogy. 

[dornishsphinx]

twenty-two meetings that never happened (4/22)

4. THE EMPRESS 

The first hint she picked up on that this really wasn’t going to be like any of her other jobs had been when the maid who took her jacket, a woman as exquisitely beautiful as everything else in these rooms, had brought her the most expensive looking tea set she’d ever been trusted to handle unsupervised, bowed, and slipped off noiselessly. 

She shifted, the sound uncomfortably loud even here, in what might very well have been the grandest, classiest room in which she’d ever had reason to sit - though Kei would be affronted by that thought, if she were ever to bring it up to him. Still, even he might have deemed the mansion acceptable enough, if not the family who owned it. His feelings on that point were crystal-clear. 

He’d first mentioned the name “Kirijo” to her over lunch in a Nanjo-owned restaurant in Sumaru City (they’d ended up there since it meant the high-end cuisine was gratis, neatly allowing for a compromise between Kei’s frankly ludicrous standards and her budget.) Between bites of lobster thermidor, Kei had mentioned that the Kirijo were looking for someone to photograph the CEO’s granddaughter, and that he’d brought up her name - if she was interested in helping him get an in on the company. 

Kirijo, he’d gone on to insist, wasn’t the oldest name on the block and could not and would never be more impactful than Nanjo. Nonetheless, they’d come up on his radar thanks to the CEO’s newfound interests. After some digging, Kei - who among them was the best equipped to handle corporate-level espionage, even that which tinged on the mystical - had uncovered records on some object which had entranced the Kirijo patriarch and reportedly driven him to power-crazed madness. What was clear, at least according to Kei, was that they were either far too close to contacting Philemon or, failing that, to bringing about the end-times. 

Yukino didn’t particularly feel like going through a third doomsday scenario, but hadn’t really needed such an exorbitant incentive to take the job. The Kirijo, no matter if they were going to destroy everything, paid better than Kismet Publishing ever had. 

On that thought, the ballroom-style double doors across from her swung open and a gaggle of maids came through en masse, swarming away like a flock of pigeons from the tall man at the centre of the group. Slightly behind him was a girl, tiny and solemn. Presumably the latter was Mitsuru Kirijo, who she was here to photograph. She was less sure of the man. Her father? A bodyguard? Maybe it was even a valet (though she never bothered to pay attention to Kei’s exacting explanations as to the difference between one of those and a butler.) 

They came striding over to her, though she noticed the man shortening his strides to let the girl keep up. He rose a few places in her estimation. 

“Yukino Mayuzumi?” he asked. 

“That’s me." 

"I’m Takeharu Kirijo. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” So, it was the girl’s father then - and more pressingly, the son and heir to Kouetsu Kirijo. She stood up, unsure whether to bow or shake hands. You never knew with these international jet-setter types, and Kirijo’s house was decorated in a western style. 

He bowed. Decision made, she mirrored the gesture. Kirijo waited for her to rise before introducing his young companion: “This is my daughter, Mitsuru." 

"Enchantée,” said the girl, politely bowing in turn. 

Yukino must have looked dumbfounded, because Kirijo smiled proudly. 

“Mitsuru has been learning French from her tutor." 

French? She barely spoke English, let alone some other western language. Why hadn’t they sent Eriko along with her? She’d lived in Paris, for God’s sake, she would have been perfect in these surroundings - well, unless they somehow got her onto the subject of demonology. She’d never been great at hiding her weirdness about mystic bullshit and considering the Kirijo family’s dealings… 

Actually, maybe it was good she’d been sent alone. The thought calmed her down, and she smiled at the girl, trying to exude a friendly air. 

"Hello, Mitsuru-san,” she said, deciding to go a little politer than she usually would for a kid of her age - besides, kids liked being treated as if they were competent individuals, she’d found, on the few occasions she’d had to deal with them in previous photoshoots. “I’m here to take some photographs of you, if that’s fine?" 

Mitsuru inclined her head graciously. "Of course,” she said. “I put myself into your care." 

She spoke in such a polite way, it put Yukino ill at ease. Was this how Kei had sounded as a kid? When she’d been the same age, she didn’t think she’d ever broken out the perfectly proper grammar. 

Yukino was quickly shepherded through the mansion to the room they wanted to show off in the photo. She’d thought their waiting rooms were nice, but her breath was taken away at the place they took her: it was spacious, with far-apart walls and a frankly-unnecessarily high ceiling; but more than that, everything in it was so impressively detailed and expensive-looking that she was scared to move in case she accidentally displaced swirls of gold paint, or something. 

Kirijo gestured towards a great, oaken armchair. "We were thinking maybe here, if that’s suitable?" 

"Yes, this should work,” she said, forcing herself to look straight at him instead of swivelling her head around and gawping like a tourist. “Though Mitsuru-san will appear rather small in comparison, if that’s all right with you?" 

For a moment, she wondered if he could pull out a phone and have an exact replica in miniature made for the express purposes of the photoshoot. He probably could. Her question wasn’t to be answered though, as he just nodded.  

"That should be fine. Now, I’m afraid I do have a meeting I have to get to - business, you understand. I leave the rest in your hands. If you require anything at all, please, just ask Saikawa-san." 

One of the maids, an older woman, bowed. Kirijo, sending a final smile over to his daughter, left the room. And now she was alone with her subject - or as alone as she could get with a dozen inconspicuous but clearly curious maids lining the walls. 

Still feeling a bit overwhelmed, Yukino set to work trying to find the perfect angle. She walked around the room, examining the way the light and shadows fell. It was morning, and thanks to a set of windows built high into the east-facing wall, she had natural sunlight to work with - and plenty of it too; it poured into the room, making the silver-glazed ornaments and varnished floorboards gleam. Perfect conditions, really. 

Mitsuru was quiet during her examinations, standing like a tiny, painted statue: her back was straight and her hands were clasped loosely in front of her in a pose that would have fit a noblewoman from days long past. Her gaze followed Yukino around the room. In some sudden burst of paranoia, the thought popped into Yukino’s head that she was making sure she wasn’t going to steal anything. She brushed the thought off immediately. She was here on a job. They were hardly looking for a reason to throw her out. 

"Mitsuru-san? Can you come over here?" 

"Of course,” said Mitsuru. Daintily, she settled herself into the chair. What she’d told Kirijo was even more true than she’d been expecting: with her little white dress, porcelain-pale skin and ringlets that gleamed almost red in the sun, she looked like more like an bisque doll than a person, the kind that were never taken out their boxes for fear of breakage or devaluation. 

Yukino directed her to move her head slightly back, so the tresses would fall in a more pleasing way, then to tilt it slightly to the side so so the lighting would fall in a more slanted angle across her cheeks and neck. Mitsuru complied, but there was still something off, something she couldn’t quite get right. 

“Mitsuru-san, do you mind if I-” Mitsuru nodded, allowing Yukino to delicately place a hand on her head and move it slightly to the side. For a moment, she hyper-focused on her own hand. If I was still like how I was back then, they’d not have let me in here at all, let alone near the second-in-line to the company. 

“Is this chair all right, Mayuzumi-san?” Yukino jerked her head up, to see Mitsuru looking at her, her previously poised, almost blank face giving way to something like concern. 

“Huh?" 

"I suggested this room to father, but I don’t know a lot about photography. If it won’t work, I’m quite happy for this to move elsewhere." 

She was good at hiding it - a lot better than many kids her age - but there was something about the way she asked it that made Yukino suspect she really didn’t want to move. And Yukino thought she knew why. She glanced up at the walls once more. This room had been designed around a line of portraits, placed just out of the reach of the sun’s rays so they wouldn’t get damaged. Each pictured a woman sitting in a painted replica of this very room, each capturing a generation with different fashions, hairstyles and even room decor. The newest, one of a stunningly beautiful woman with a coy smile, looked very much like an older version of the girl in front of her. 

She looked back down at Mitsuru, who hadn’t taken her eyes off her the entire time. "It’s my job to make it work,” she told her. 

Mitsuru let out a tiny noise of satisfaction that Yukino suspected she wasn’t supposed to have noticed. She laughed, under her breath - whatever had happened to the kind of upper-class brat she’d always been told about, the ones who used tantrums to get what they wanted? Mitsuru must have heard her, because she went bright red and automatically ducked her head. When she peeked back up again, Yukino smiled at her. Mitsuru responded with her own small, appreciative one. 

Well, if her wish was Yukino’s command, she had to see about fulfilling it. Yukino closed her eyes, and took a few moments to re-visualise the room and the way the light streamed into it. She considered her options. It would mean sacrificing the deeper shadows she’d been planning on having around the girl’s face, but she could try to put the subject’s entire body at a slight angle towards the sunlight. It was worth a shot, if nothing else. She told Mitsuru what to do, and when she shifted, Yukino all but snapped her fingers in triumph. There it was. 

After that, it was a simple matter of snapping the photos. The little Kirijo made for a fine subject, at once elegant and capable of following Yukino’s instructions to the letter. 

“That should do it,” she said, after taking pretty much every shot she could. “Well done, Mitsuru-san." 

"No. Thank you, Mayuzumi-san,” she responded, with a little bob of a bow. Rising from the chair, she glanced over to the portraits on the wall and then turned her attention back to Yukino, coming closer to her. “Truly,” she said in a low, hesitant voice, “I have no brothers, and Father has told me he never wants to get married again, no matter what Grandfather says, so it looks like my official portrait is going to be with father’s and grandfather’s, not with mother’s. So, thank you accommodating my request." 

Yukino felt the strongest urge to ruffle the kid’s hair, but she fought the urge. Instead, she lightly touched her shoulder and, as quietly as she had, murmured: "Like I said, Mitsuru-san. It was no problem.” Mitsuru nodded, minutely, and returned to a normal volume. “Father ought to be back shortly. I shall wait with you until he arrives. Shall we have some tea together?” 

Right. The middle Kirijo. The reason Kei had brought up this in the first place. Yukino gritted her teeth in determination and smiled widely.

"Lead the way, Mitsuru-san.”

[flashinglights-rp]

Thank you for your audition, JEANNE. We are thrilled to welcome you into the group as the Third Smythe who you have chosen to name GABRIEL ALEXANDRE, with the faceclaim of Grant Gustin, and we truly cannot wait to meet them. Please send in your account in the next 24 hours, and read over the new members checklist before sending in your link.

ABOUT YOU ➝

NAME/PRONOUNS: Jeanne. She/Her AGE (18+): 23 TIMEZONE: EST ACTIVITY LEVEL: 7/10. I work part time three days a week and I have other rp things but I like to be on as much as I’m able, and give a head’s up if something gets in the way of that. TRIGGERS: Removed. ANYTHING ELSE?: Removed.

CHARACTER BASICS ➝

CHARACTER NAME: Gabriel Alexandre Smythe FACE CLAIM: Grant Gustin GENDER/PRONOUNS: He/Him AGE/BIRTHDAY: 24. October 1st. BIRTH ORDER: Third. Twin. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic JOB ROLE: Lead psychological researcher for Out of Mind, a hit crime show  that focuses on the underlying causes of behavior and the field of criminal psychology.

FAMILY STATS ➝

HOMETOWN: Paris, France, but they moved to the States when the twins were 7 (approx. 1999). PARENT NAMES/STATUS: Victor and Anaïs Smythe. Recently separated but not divorced.   NUMBER OF PLAYABLE CHILDREN: 4. NUMBER OF NON-PLAYABLE CHILDREN: 0. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Victor is a high-power lawyer, based in France but who has (over the years) branched out his law firm into the States.

Even without his successful career, the family comes from old money

The family moved to the States when the twins were 7 (in 1999)

After a tumultuous marriage marked with constant arguing, Victor and Anaïs have decided to separate this past summer.

REQUIREMENTS:

All childrens’ first name, middle name, or (preferably but not mandatory) both names must be French.

Middle names must begin with a vowel.

There must be at least one girl in the family.

ADOPTED SIBLINGS ALLOWED?: No HALF-SIBLINGS ALLOWED?: Yes but they would have to be older than the twins.

BIOGRAPHY ➝

Wealth, power, status – growing up, Gabriel Smythe was the picture-perfect example of what a child born into the upper class should be. He grew up in Paris, France, surrounded by his nannies and servants who almost exclusively watched over him and his siblings while his parents were working. His family came from old-money, dating back as far as anyone could tell, and his father’s choice of going into the law field only blessed the Smythe children with more money than they would possibly know what to do with. They were spoiled, that much is something Gabriel wouldn’t ever deny. It never even bothered him that his first word had been the name of his nanny rather than ‘momma’, or that the only time his family was ever together for meals were on the occasions when the Smythe children were whisked away to some fancy dinner party to be shown off as trophies and told not to do anything to dishonor the family. Really, it all became second-nature to Gabriel. He took it all in stride, not caring that he barely knew his parents. He had everything he could ever want, and his older siblings who he loved more than almost anything else in the world. For the first decade of his life, Gabriel was a perfectly content child.

The Smythe family moved to San Diego, CA when Gabriel was 7, thanks to their father opening up an American branch of their Parisian based law firm and wanting to overview the development. This was when things started to take a turn in the wrong direction for Gabriel. He was whisked away from his friends and the city he’d spent his entire life falling in love with, the family workers who’d been more like parents to him than his own could ever even dare to be… It was a change, to say the least. Whereas most of his nights in Paris had been spent barely registering his parents absence, now he was all too aware of how empty and quiet their new home was late at night when everyone else was asleep and his parents were out working on establishing some sort of social status. He slowly became acclimated to the new language and culture that he really had no choice but to accept, improving his English over the years as things around him started to settle, albeit temporarily.

With adolescence came a new area of adaptation Gabriel had to learn to navigate, and by the time he was 13, he had picked up a rather intense sense of perfectionism that managed to worm its way into every aspect of his life, putting an unprecedented amount of pressure on him. His parents weren’t much help, unfortunately. They had very high ideas of what their children could and should accomplish, and they made sure to let these thoughts be known. It wasn’t long before Gabriel started to crack, desperately trying to hang on to any sort of control he could find in his life. If he’d thought he’d had pressure from his parents to be perfect before, it was nothing compared to the unrealistically high standards he set for himself. Perfect grades, perfect body, perfect self- that was his goal, no matter what the consequences.

It took a drastic toll on his body and mental state, both of which have never been able to reach the level they were at before his gradual decline. It wasn’t just his eating habits and body that he wanted to control, it was every single aspect of his life. It didn’t help that, back at home, his parents were starting to show signs of breaking under the pressure as well. It wasn’t uncommon for him and his siblings to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of angry French being yelled downstairs. About his mother’s numerous affairs or about his father’s inability to think about anything other than work…. It never mattered to Gabriel what they were fighting about, just that he had to listen to it and act as if it were a perfectly normal thing. It made it harder for him to maintain the picture-perfect image of his family he’d deluded himself into thinking was real.

His life came to a complete stop when he was fifteen. One second, he was arriving home after his usual morning jog, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital with doctors surrounding him, using words like ‘malnourished’, ‘dehydrated’, and ‘anemic’. It wasn’t long before a few answers from his parents and an impromptu meeting with a psychologist that it was finally revealed the damage Gabriel had done to his body over the last two years. His parents immediately placed him in therapy, demanding he ‘get over himself’ or risk being disowned for the way he’d been acting. He did as they ordered, hoping to maintain the perfect family image and keep them happy, though with every pound he gained and every meal he finished, he hated himself more and more. By the time he was 17, he was working his way back to normal, though his attitude towards food and his workout routines were still cause for concern. Nevertheless, Gabriel did everything in his power to keep himself above the water. He graduated top of his class, and after a bit of deliberation about exactly what direction he wanted to go with his life, decided to make the very long journey to New York to make his way in the Ivy League following his admission to Columbia University with a concentration in psychology, hoping it would help him put the past behind him. It did for a bit, but he would be a liar if he said his time in undergrad didn’t tend to have an overhanging thread of relapse throughout the majority of it.

Through the aid of summer classes, Gabriel managed to complete his bachelor degree a year ahead of schedule, graduating shortly after his 21st birthday. From there, he was admitted to USC’s master’s program in neuroscience, and promptly made his way back to California, though he would be lying if he tries to say that it didn’t have a less than ideal result on his recovery attempts. Although much more difficult than he’d anticipated, Gabriel completed the program in the estimated two-year time frame and earned his LLPC soon after. He was fully prepared to apply to a doctoral program when he was, instead, contacted by an executive who had received his name from a former professor.  The man was in the middle of creating a new tv show, focused on the criminal aspect of the law system and meant to shed a new light on human behavior. They had a crew set up, producers, writers… the only thing they needed to pull everything together was someone who knew psychology like the back of his own hand, and who would be committed to spending hours every week researching and helping along side the writers to make the show as accurate as possible.

After a big of deliberation, Gabriel accepted the job and made the incredibly tough decision to push back his goals of obtaining a doctorate. There was no guarantee he would have been accepted into school in LA, and the thought of having to move yet again was incredibly hard to think about, especially after his parents broke the news to him that they would no longer be living together, neither one wanting to be the one to actually draw up divorce papers. Taking the gig seemed to be the safest bet for his own sanity, and the facts certainly don’t prove that thought wrong. Out of Mind was an overnight sensation, with many critics praising the accurate portrayal an representations of behavior and illness that the show quickly became known for.  Having recently ended its first season with critical acclaim, Gabriel has already been asked to continue helping the show into it’s picked-up second season. He has also been approached by a handful of other directors and writers, willing to pay him big to bring to their show what he did to Out of Mind.

Although it means that he does not have time to invest in a doctoral program as much as he would need to, Gabriel has actually found himself quite content with where this strange yet fulfilling road has taken him. With his limited license, he is able to supplement additional income  with the occasional counseling client, though between money he still receives from his parents and what he earns from his research,  it is far from needed. LA is a city he never thought he would find himself in, but it’s soon become his home as he delves into the world of entertainment. He still has plans to achieve the title of Dr. Smythe one day, that has never stopped being his dream. He considers this to be a temporary side road, that’s all. If that road has had the unexpected consequence of allowing him to slip into a few old, less than healthy habits in regards to his body… well then, that’s not really something anybody else needs to know.

AESTHETIC ➝

Gabriel prefers to find the fine line between style and comfort. Blues and greys are the main colors of his wardrobe, always keeping himself clean cut and dressed to impress, should he be leaving the comfort of his home. He likes to carry himself tall yet relaxed, hoping to give the impression that he is more sure of the world around him than he actually is. He has glasses, though he can often times be found opting for contacts instead. He has a tattoo on his left wrist, the symbol of the NEDA as a reminder to himself.

[sleeplessandstubborn]

Emily in Paris episode 3 or it’s still more accurate than American media recent coverture on France.

Ah, I had to write that title. And I am not even talking about American Twitter. But yeah. Feel better. Somewhat I have the impression that this is going to substitute the still a better love story than Twilight in my mind. But, I’m sorry, Stephenie Meyer, I am not here for that but to make a belated, totally improvised, not at all completely planned recap of Episode 3 of Emily in Paris, your favourite Instagram version of the French capital.

So episode 3 starts with our heroine running, as she usually does every morning. Why this Paris is more empty than the town where I live which has like 25,000 inhabitants? So many questions about where did people go. The case is her boss in Chicago calls. Yes, the one who speaks French and should be now best friends with Sylvie but it’s stuck in Chicago with her pregnancy.

I know, Madeline, I know. It would be frustrating for me too that the main trait of my personality was I’m pregnant and on my bed. They both exchange about how now that Doug dumped her Emily’s life is full of croissants and sex, when actually is about sex. Also Emily meets street furniture. As does Madeline, too. I guess that’s not the kind of idea she had of meeting French men. Thanks Anne! Hidalgo of course.

Madeline is sending Emily the corporate commandments for Savoir. Yikes, I thought again, a cultural clash is coming and what are corporate commandments anyway (I don’t know, sounds tacky, I’m just a puzzled European), but for now there are another problems to solve. Emily’s shower breaks, the building manager only speaks French and of course our leading lady is still struggling with understanding it. Also, sidenote: manager building is right with Miss Cooper. Only problems.

Fortunately Gabriel exists and he helps her to break the language barrier. But this isn’t going to magically repair her shower and so Emily has to wash her hair in one of humanity’s wonders, one apex of civilization, the bidet. It’s supposed to be a bad hair day for her afterwards but... Does she look that different? Well, not for me! Discuss:

This shows... A character development! At last! Emily is trying to learn French, and even if her beret isn’t going to help in the task, is good to see she’s trying to adapt. Still, she’s overdoing a bit with that Gioconda bag.

I mean, girl. Relax. In order to improve her knowledge, she tries to trick her teacher - who considers a working place full of French people must be an interesting environment where to study the behaviour of the Emily Cooperius Chicagoensis but refuses the pleasure of her company if there’s not a 50 euros banknote in between. Business is business after all. Cut to Emily reuniting with my adored godess Sylvie, whose elegance and beauty only can be matched with the flag of the twelve stars in the background. Ah, Freude, schöner Götterfunken/ Tochter aus Elysium,/ Wir betreten feuertrunken/ Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Well, the case is they are going to film the advertisement for De l’Heure today and it’s an important thing Emily keeps her mouth closed and unsmiling because she looks stupid, at least in Sylvie’s opinion. I’d say more scary but well.

Luc and Julien receive them with the enraged face of every European citizen who just met an aggresive attempt  of being forced into the American Way of Doing Things. Which they refuse naturally. Madeline just sent the corporate commandments and everyone is pissed at nonsense like giving praise in public and critizising in private. But off to filming the spot for the perfume. The location is the Pont d’Alexandre III that has featured in like 20,000 advertisement for fragrances. Here they met Antoine and Emily has the twentieth humiliating experience with languages telling she’s horny out of a sudden when she wanted to mean excited.

Emily meets the model, a Serbian blonde beauty that doesn’t speak French, that’s her personality trait. Our heroine seems rejoiced to find at least a kindred soul but we won’t have more time with the model, whose task is to walk across the bridge naked - or wearing the perfume, Antoine says - , while surrounded by men in costumes. The campaign Dream of Beauty, in short. Emily’s reaction is this:

Antoine argues this is meant to represent the woman’s fantasy, to be desired by all these men. Emily doesn’t think this is going to be appreciated by women at the other side of the Atlantic ocean and says the idea is sexists rather than sexy. Filming stop for they to debate, which seems expensive. Stopping, not debating. Without entering on what fantasies are valid or not and who actually pays attention to advertisements for fragrances - I am not one of these people - we don’t get to learn if Emily knows who Cocteau was.

The following morning the plumber can’t fix Emily’s shower. His gestures are pretty easy to understand, as it’s an universal fact that often the pieces needed to repair are not immediately available. Anyway, Emily asks Gabriel to help her with translation again. She must pay him or something. The thing doesn’t get to be fixed and Emily gets to shower in Gabriel’s appartment.

Maybe he has a fantasy of some sort here? Who knows. At the office and after her class, Emily’s first conversation of the day with Sylvie goes, as usual, for a rocky start. She has made lost money and time to the company, her boss argues, and on top of that she’s the prude police. The final straw for Emily immediately after that is that someone (called Luc) drew a dick on the Sacred Corporate Commandments. Having forgotten the fact that drawing penises is part of the human nature since the dawn of times, Emily doesn’t take well the profanation. It’s too much so she goes to lunch with Mindy.

Mindy - who is celebrating a party later and invites her - rolls her eyes at the corporate commandments and more or less say she deserves the hate because she could not expect French people were going to receive that gladly because they are against all. Well, it’s one of their multiple charms. “People like me! That’s my thing!” , Emily argues. Oh my sweet Summer child... Once back at the office, the commercial is as nonsensical as your average perfume commercial. Emily suggests a poll on Twitter to decide if it’s sexy or sexists. Bad or good, they’ll have publicity. Sounds about right?

One day I want to be Sylvie when she answers, after Emily invited her to Mandy’s party: Sorry, I’m busy. Also when she goes on with a mini the reason you suck moment: “You come to Paris. You walk into my office. You don’t even bother to learn the language. You treat the city like it’s your amusement park”. Apparently Emily can’t wrap her head around the idea of not everyone liking her and that you don’t have why to be friends with your bosses or workmates. Girl, just a civilized relationship with them is enough. Anyway... Emily does invite her, incapable of taking a no for an answer.

As predictable - don’t say you didn’t predict it - the party is a bit crowded and, leaving aside Mindy, Emily doesn’t know anyone there. Because, Sylvie knowing better, she didn’t show up. Well done Madame. Out of water again, Emily finds an apparently cute boy who engages in a conversation with her. With hand kissing at the balcony at all.

All it’s very romantic until, when they are strolling the streets and after flirting a bit, Fabien I think was his name - sorry, not checking again - tells her he likes American pussies. This is too much information all of a sudden for Emily - even if it could lead her to learn another the meaning of a new French word, equally related with felines - and storms off to Gabriel’s restaurant. Why is a thing the chef is there, available to serve her a glass of wine, I don’t know, I didn’t write this thing. But finally, finally, FINALLY our heroine says she’s going to stop trying being liked by everyone. Thank you Paris, you inspired some adult realities on Emily’s brain. It’s also a productive night after all because Gabriel says he likes her. So... yay? Since many of you have already seen the complete season, you know that things are... more complicated than that.

Of course the last three minutes of the episode are reserved for Emily Was Right After All moments. The poll is a success even if the commercial is not universally liked - but as Emily has learn this is not that important anymore -, she takes revenge on Luc bringing a dick shaped bread, or cake - I don’t know exactly what it is - which is a funny and irreverent way to respond him aaaand... finds a present from Antoine on her desk, lingerie from La Perla. Which is, ew, a bit creepy.

Aaaand that was all. I had to rewatch it because it had been eras since I last wrote about this series. I promise to be more disciplined with the next ones. Until then.

P.S. Down with Corporation Commandments.