#not that i am under any illusion this post will reach much audience at all

[cypheragent]

i think to claim US citizens are privileged over those in the global south is almost always but not inherently true. whenever this subject comes up the first thing i think about is the fucking abysmal conditions on many reservations, of the fact that native people in this country still live under occupation, are citizens of their own nations but forced to be US citizens as well, under which they are gravely oppressed and their cultures and sovereignty threatened. one could argue that these are unique cases, if even willing to concede at all the extent of native oppression in this country. but to me, as a native, these individuals and experiences are not simply an afterthought. as i said, they come to my mind immediately. the fact that most people do not even consider them at all in these discussions only proves my point about how utterly fucking dire the oppression of this country's indigenous population is. we, especially those of us who struggle the most, are forgotten and erased constantly.

when some people are only US citizens by force, when they are among the indigenous population and live under occupation, i simply could not agree that these individuals benefit from that oppression. how could they? occupation is not a privilege. tell me, are you aware at all what the conditions are like on many reservations in this country? i'd also like to emphasize that native genocide is an ongoing project. it has not ended. it continues to this day.

[kittydemon9000]

The Beginning of Heatstroke, aka Red's Villain Origin

* crashes down from the ceiling * I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF MY 5+ CURRENT WRITING PROJECTS! BEHOLD, A WRITTEN VERSION OF THE 'Red's Villain Origin AU', also known as RVO / Heatstroke AU

To summarize the AU for SPBNR for those that don't now it: 

“Who'd be the biggest conspiracy theorist out of the M!Ninja? The one who drinks 5 hour energy at 3am and spits off the craziest theories and then actually gets it right but nobody gives the theory any merit because the rest of the theories are too crazy?”

The answer: Red / M!Kai

Red: Okay hear me out: Smith is actually an alternative version of one of us sent here from another dimension.

The other M!Ninja: You’re just saying that because Smith’s cool and you want him to be your counterpart

Based on the M!ninja making red cork boards trying to figure out ‘What Is Up With Smith’: Red gets increasingly accurate and nobody will believe him (all pre shogun reveal) and he eventually snaps and takes up a secret villain persona to fight Shogun like 'if they won't believe me I'll do it myself' and it gets awkward when he accidentally does too much damage and catches not only Shogun's attention like planned, but also the rest of the Ninjaforce, and now he has to keep his own identity a secret

So, without further ado, I present... Heatstroke

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

Red blamed the 5-hour energy coffee blend at 3:00am for this.

It was no surprise that between ‘Operation: What’s Going on with Smith’ & the sudden appearance of Shogun that the resident Bounty red-stringed ‘joke’ cork-board doubled in size and seriousness. It also was no surprise that Red had a corner all to himself and that his theories were… in the words of the others, ‘wildly inaccurate and implausible’.

But this time, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

Smith is Shogun sent here from another continent/planet/dimension with the goal of protecting Ninjago City.

The latest string of laughs and scoffs at his theory was the last straw. He’d show them. He’d prove it!

Which was why he was currently standing on the roof of a noodle house, awkwardly adjusting the spare motorcycle helmet he’d ‘borrowed’ from Nya and painted black and orangey-yellow (red had seemed too obvious). He’d exchanged his Ninjaforce outfit for a soot-burned cross between a bomber jacket and a leather jacket. Down his back jutted a row of flames like the spines of a monster, courtesy of one of Nya & Jay’s unfinished inventions Red had modified- surely nothing bad would come of that!

For tonight, the Red Ninja was off-duty. For tonight, it was Heatstroke’s turn.

He fiddled with one of the weapons he’d ‘lent out’ from Master Wu. It resembled a small arm canon, like a smaller version of the Ultimate Weapon. The plaque under its post had read ‘Elemental Focuser’, which, in cryptic Wu speak, probably translated to ‘you can use an elemental power like something out of Avatar: The Last Airbender’. So far he’d only figured out how to activate a focused jet of fire. Well, at least it was on brand. He hoped it would help him catch Shogun’s attention so he could unmask him.

He’d tried confronting Smith at school, of course. But there were only so many ways of saying ‘are you the new vigilante helping the ninjas’, and Smith has a genuine talent for dancing around the topic. Red could confront him with the name Shogun to get a proper reaction, but that would mean explaining how he knew the name and outing himself as the Red Ninja.

So fake villainy really was the only way.

His plan was to use the Elemental Focuser to cause some minor petty damage, just enough to attract the new vigilante. Perhaps set a trash can on fire, block an alleyway with rocks (if he figured out how to change the setting from fire to earth), small things that could easily be repaired.

Of course, plans were never actually stuck to. One way or another, something was always improvised.

Red’s improvisation just happened to involve him accidentally setting the entire alleyway on fire.

He’d only been aiming for one dumpster, honest! And maybe he’d spotted a couple fliers for a SoG meeting on the ground and happened to burn those too. And a newspaper article blaming Lloyd for the recent Garmadon attack, again. And an article about those ‘Damn Ninja Menaces’ by a S. Sonah Sameson. And-

Okay, so maybe Red had aimed the fire at a few small targets. But just a few! And with good reason and good care, but…

Well, fire liked to burn. Give it enough kindle and it’ll continue to grow, stretching like reaching branches towards each other to join in a massive bonfire. 

So now the entire alleyway was on fire, and Red was panicking. 

He’d luckily chosen an abandoned part of town near the beaches where Shogun sightings seemed most frequent, but with the stupid Elemental Focuser not switching from fire mode to water mode or ice mode or something that didn’t have the potential to burn Ninjago City to the ground, Red had no way of stopping the flames.

And more flames meant more destruction which meant a bigger audience.

Which was why his previously muted comm suddenly flared to life, the only warning Red had before Nya’s water strider mech slid around the corner.

Red scrambled onto a roof as the mech drove past, spraying water at the bonfire to dose it. His sigh of relief was just as quickly dosed as Lloyd’s voice came over the comms; “Status, Grey?”

“Flames are out,” Nya replied. “Pursing the joker that set it ablaze.”

Uh oh. Red took off across the roof, leaping from building to building. Tiles creaked, pebbled and dust scattering underfoot. The sounds of the mech’s engine roaring behind him echoed through alleyways below to create the illusion the mech was everywhere at once. 

As the chase grew on, more mechs started to join in. Red ducked into a narrow avenue to avoid Zane’s tank, then under a cafe overhang to throw off Jay and Lloyd. His heart hammered in his chest and he groaned, filling the inside of the motorcycle helmet with steam. Saying this was going ‘bad’ would be the understatement of the century. 

What had he been thinking? Oh wait: he hadn’t. Seriously? ‘Oh I’ll just pretend to be a villain real quick, that should get Shogun’s attention and not the attention of literally my entire team of fellow ninjas!’ Stupid, impulsive, this was why everyone was always calling the red ninja the ‘hothead’ when he really tried not to be- Lloyd’s voice over the comms snapped him from his thoughts. “I can’t catch them! It’s like they know our every move!”

Red winced as he climbed up a banister and leapt from balcony to balcony. Sorry, Lloyd. 

He didn’t miss how the others asked Nya where Red was. And how she made up excuses the others bought so easily- granted, he’d told those excuses to his sister before setting his plan into motion, but still, ouch. They acted like he was simply being at best too busy and at worst lazy and selfish.

He just wanted them to know the truth! Why couldn’t they at least try to believe him when-

Of course, that was when Shogun dropped out of the sky and tackled him.

Red shouted with surprise as he tumbled down from the second floor, slamming into a few softer bags of garbage to break his fall before rolling and slamming into the unforgiving concrete. A crack formed in his vision as the visor of his motorbike helmet smacked into the concrete ground. One of the fire jets on his back sputtered and sparked, sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air.

Shogun pinned his wrists to the ground and growled. “Who are you?”

Red tried to break free, agony turning his muscles and bones to fire with the movement after his fall, but the vigilante was too strong. Damn, how often did this guy train?

“Who am I?” Red said, a nervous tinge to his voice. He quickly smoothed it over with faked confidence. “Who are you? Who are all of us, really?”

Shogun narrowed his eyes behind his hood. “Did Garmadon send you? Or someone else?”

Red sputtered. Really, the nerve! Garmadon? The thought turned his insides to disgusting mud. “Nobody sent me!”

“Then why are you here?” Shogun spat.

“Why am I here?” Why was he here again? Oh right, the bright idea on how to reveal that Shogun was Smith. “It’s, uh… a valid reason! That I don’t have to tell you!” He tried for a villainous laugh. Stay in character, don’t blow your cover, you got this!

Shogun was unimpressed. “Nearly burning down my home was a valid reason?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to set everything on- wait, WHAT?” Uh oh. “You LIVE here?”

Now it was Shogun’s turn to look uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly wiped from his face. “Nothing wrong with this district.” 

Red nodded. “‘Course not. Uh, sorry about that… wasn’t my intention, I swear.”

Shoot, he could hear Jay’s jet getting closer. He had to get out of here, but Shogun, annoyingly, didn’t seem to be in the mood to simply let him go. “Then what is your intention?”

“Well, for starters, it’s getting out of here. This really isn’t going to plan and I’d rather just be home right now, or even inventing a time machine like in that book ‘Hands of Time’ to slap my past self in the face for even thinking about this stupid idea in the first place-“

Jay wasn’t the only one that could ramble under pressure, it seemed.

Shogun leaned closer. “What idea?”

Red shrugged as best he could with how he was pinned to the ground. “Well, for starters, I just wanted to prove to my friends that you’re Smith, and things just kinda escalated from-”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said. 

Shogun lurched back, letting go of him. His eyes betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, worry, suspicious, hurt, fear, realization. 

“…Kai?”

Well, f!ck.

“I-“

Red was about to badly attempt to bullsh!t his way out of his identity reveal before it suddenly dawned on him that Shogun had not denied his theory. 

Which meant Shogun was Smith.

And it also meant Smith instantly recognized him as Kai, which, considering his disguise, was aptly concerning. Sure, he was the first one in his group of friends people would think to do something this extreme but give him some credit! Zane was a regular detective, he’d do the same if it meant answers! Or, well, at least something similar. And Nya could be an adrenaline seeker. And Lloyd- well, maybe not Lloyd. Or Jay, either. Cole had his head just enough on his shoulders that he probably wouldn’t do this either.

But come on, instantly guessing it?

Well, at least Smith/Shogun didn’t know Kai was the Red Ninja. That would be a catastrophe.

Right. Back to the current catastrophe at hand.

Shogun- Smith- still had a look as if he’d been slapped, and Red hated it. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend. Shogun… Shogun hadn’t wanted them to find out his identity. And then Red had gone and done it, just to prove that he could be the smart one, or a leader, or the protector so they didn’t get hurt, or literally anything but just the ‘hotheaded one’. 

…And he’d done it in the most hotheaded, impulsive way possible.

He really was an idiot.

The cracked helmet hid the look on his face, a twisted mess of distraught and shame. But it didn’t help hide how he took stumbled to his feet and away from Smith, nervous that any second he’d spill another mistake and mess up again, like how he always freaking messed up on everything. Don’t pick this fight, interject there instead, no, not there, idiot, there, FMS why are you so useless-

Focus, focus.

Lloyd’s voice, sharp in the intercom and full of static from his tumble, snapped him from his thoughts. “Anyone got eyes on the arsonist?”

Red caught Smith’s eye as he raised his hand to his own communicator. He was so screwed, so busted, so doomed… Smith would report it, and the others would know, and they’d think he was just messing around in an alleyway with some stolen devices and weapons out of curiosity or rage, - and-

“None yet, still looking.”

…What?

Smith stared at him, gaze searching. He looked shaken, more so than Red- who’d just taken a fall from a second story, mind you, it was a miracle he wasn’t more injured than a couple small scrapes and some future bruises-, yet everything from the set of his jaw to the softening of his furrowed brows suggested a change in emotions. Well, not quite change; more like repress and replace.

“You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you.”

Red flushed, hand instinctually clamping into a tight fist at his side. The still-working fire jets on his back ignited without him pressing any buttons; faulty activation from the fall or something. 

Palms up and hands raised, Smith silently asked to defuse the situation. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. This wasn’t about venting some anger, was it.”

Red’s lack of response only confirmed it. Smith continued. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? I know finding it out was important to you, but-“

“Deal,” Red interrupted. Guilt ate away at his core, like a wave of water dousing a candle. “Smith, I-“ He swallowed hard and stared at the alley floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Smith’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as Smith didn’t move further, nor did the grip tighten. “I’m a little hurt, you’re right. But I’m not mad. And I won’t tell the others, so you can relax. But you better get out of here and get yourself an alibi. We can talk at school or something.”

Wow, he was handling this rather calmly. Red was struck by the sudden memory of- what did Jay call the word? Right. Compartmentalizing. That… wasn’t healthy. But at the roar of Lloyd’s mech somewhere nearby, he didn’t comment further. Instead, he shot Smith a grateful nod and ran down the alley, sticking to the shadows and blind spots of the flying mechs and the tight alleyways where the land mechs couldn’t reach him. 

When he got home, miraculously without further incident (though Shogun leading the others on a wild goose chase over the comms certainly helped there), he ditched the outfit in a bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the shed. He’d return the weapon to Master Wu’s ship later, and… well, hope Nya never searched for the missing supplies. There wasn’t a way of fixing it without involving her or Jay, and neither was an option.

Heatstroke was back off duty, and so was the Red Ninja.

For now, he could just be Kai Smith. And there wasn’t any issue with that.

…

Right?

—————

yooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS AMAZING REHJJGFHDESFXJVZ

and ah yes, good ol trauma and compartmentalizing, we love to see it

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 16: Familiar Enemies

A Miraculous Fan-Fic

Written By 

AJ Dunn

It had been years since the four of them had done this, it made them all feel like children again as they walked around Paris looking for Andre. The sun was beginning to descend casting hues of pink and orange across the blue sky.

“It’s the most romantic time of day.” Marinette said. “I bet we’ll find him by the Seine.”

“I agree, Andre never could miss a romantic opportunity.” Alya agreed. Nino took her hand as they ran like children towards the bridge. This was where the Liberty used to dock all the time. Adrien remembered when all of their friends would gather on this bank to eat Andre’s ice cream and listen to Kitty Section. He had always wanted it to be Marinette that he shared an ice cream with, but she always denied having feelings for him, no matter how hard he fished for it. He smiled down at her as they waited behind Nino and Alya to get their ice cream for the first time. 

“Uhh… Marinette, what a vision of perfection, and Young Adrien is a man fit for her protection���” His face seems more delighted to see them together than pretty much anyone else. “Mint for his emerald starre, Black Cherry for the beautiful lives you will share, Your love is as destined as the stars astuc upon the sea. You two were always meant to be.” he handed Adrien the cone as Marinette and Alya giggled. They sat down by the Seine for old times sake as they reminisced. 

“Wait, you finally proposed?” Nino wasn’t quiet. “Did she say yes?”

“Well, no, she kinda just babbled for a few minutes until I just kissed her and that was the end of it.” Adrien looked at her cheeks now flushed then spooned a bite of ice cream into her mouth. 

“Do you guys hear that?” Alya said as everyone quieted to listen. There was music playing nearby, band music. They all stood up and headed down the bank of the Seine until they found the source.

“The Liberty.” they all shouted in unison as they ran towards it. The gangplank was up and they could see their old friends playing. Luka and Julek on guitars. Ivan on the drums. Mylene, and Zoe, seated on actual seats rather than box’s. There were two small square tables now on the deck with four chairs each. Mylene and Zoe were seated at one table. The song came to an abrupt end as Adrien crossed the gangplank with Marinette’s hand in his. They were following Alya and Nino, but when the song ended it was the moment Luka’s eyes caught Adriens. 

“It’s about time.” Luka set his guitar down and ran to the couple. He threw his arms around Adrien’s neck pulling him tight into a hug. They were nearly the same height but Luka was still rather thin compared to the musculature tone of Adriens chest and shoulders. “I knew you two were roommates, and there had been rumors that you were more.” he said as he pulled away. The turned his attention to Marinette giving her a hug, stooping to reach her shoulders. 

“Adrien...Adrien...Adrien.” the band called to him urging him to join them on stage. Adrien blushed as he pulled out a seat for Marinette. Alya and Nino sat down at the empty table with Marinette. Zoe and Mylene moved their chairs and pushed the two tables together so they could all sit together. Adrien stepped up to the keyboard.

“I haven’t played in so long.” He confessed. “But uh, can you guys do this.” he hit a few notes mimicking a tune for a song. 

“Bad Romance, hell yeah.” Luka said.

“I don’t know the words to that one.” Rose said, as she was the main singer.

“Let me handle this one.” Adrien smiled. He looked over at Marinette. She hadn’t been listening so he started playing out the tune. The audience stopped talking and watched. The upbeat music took over as Adrien began to sing the lyrics. Juleka almost missed her beat as she was caught off guard. Rose stood quietly listening to him before she too began to sing, didn’t know all of the lyrics, but she knew the harmony. 

“Adrien, I always knew you a lot more rock & roll and a lot less piano solo.” Luka smiled. “Another one?” Adrien smiled at Marinette who’s eyes locked on his. Adrien nodded. Adrien started playing a tune, Luka recognized it and began playing along with Juleka as Ivan stilled his drums to watch. 

Adrien's voice rose up as he sang a song that often played in his mind when he was with Marinette. It was Perfect, by Ed Sheeran. The crowd awed as the words slipped softly from his lips as he played his eyes lost in hers. He watched her face glow. Her hands folded together under her chin. He almost lost his words as her eyes twinkled with the love he felt for her. When the line about having children came, she blushed and turned her eyes away. He hadn’t gone that far with her, not yet. He wanted to, so badly it hurt, but he was holding on to the one thing he had never given anyone, he wouldn’t give it away that easily and he was sure she had never experienced it either. 

The night out on the town had been a well needed break from the twins. They were spending the night with Tom & Sabine, in Marinette’s old bedroom. They were happy to get to bake cookies and Tom was excited to teach them. Adrien mused over what it would be like to have grandchildren and this was his trial run.

Adrien and Marinette made transformed into Cat and Ladybug for a high rise tour of the city. A means to get back to the people they used to be. This time, as they ran from rooftop to rooftop with Adrien’s cat puns and jests, Marinette returned his jokes with snarky playful comments in response. Adrien was happy she had stopped shutting down his playful side and let herself enjoy it. The one hesitancy he had to let her have all of him, was her inability to accept all of him. He had worried that she only saw the sunshine boy that his father had made him out to be, and that she wouldn’t accept him for who he really was. 

“I hope you can love this side of me,” He said as he collided with her in mid-air. He hung by one arm suspended under a street lamp as he clung to her with the other. “Because this is who I truly am. Not that.” He looked up to see an old poster of him from his modeling days sprawled out on a street advert. It was from his fragrance commercial. Suddenly and before their eyes, the images changed to photos from the days his father made him pose with Lila. She was kissing him, but he never kissed her on the lips. A pink heart was around their faces as the close up showed them locked in a loving embrace.

“What the…” Adrien lost his grip on the lamp post as he and Ladybug slipped to the street below. 

“Adrien.” Marinette said, staring at the image. “You and Lila?” 

“I never have,” he said angrily. “This is fake. But how.” Ladybug swung her yo-yo angrily at the poster knowing that vandalism was a crime didn’t change the ache in her heart. The image dissolved into smoke and an image of Kitty Section took it’s place. 

“A mirage.” Ladybug said. 

“Vulpina?” 

“But how, Hawk Moth was the only way she could receive her powers.” Ladybug thought for a second. “Trixx.” She called Alya, 

“Do you have Trixx, are you still wearing your…”

“Slow down girl, yeah of course. Why?” Ladybug sighed and told her about the mirage. They heard a maniacal laugh coming from the rooftops and quickly descended, letting her phone call go. They scout the town until they saw her coming towards them. It was Rena Rouge. 

“I came as quickly as I could.” Rena said. “Where…” they could hear the laughter again coming from an adjacent rooftop.

“You will never be as powerful as me, Rena Rouge.” The voice came from the supervillain Vulpin. 

“You’re just a bad copy from an old book.’ Cat yelled back. The three stood on the rooftop ready for whatever she would send their way. 

“Hawk Moth will give me any power I want,” She sang into the air. 

“Hawk Moth?” the three said together. In an instant, the maniac was gone. She was just another illusion. The three separated, agreeing to meet up later to discuss what just happened. 

“Felix?” Marinette asked as they sat on the couch in his room. “I hate to think he is Hawk Moth, but…”

“It fits. I mean he was the last one to have the broach, he disappeared before the end of the tempest battle, and…” 

“He’s been missing ever since.” Marinette finished. 

“I uh, had someone make up the next room for you…”

“OH…” Marinette folded an arm over her chest draping her hand on her shoulder. “Okay.” 

“I mean, you said…” Adrien scratched the back of his neck for a minute as he stood up looking at his childhood bed. They had slept together before, but it wasn’t a regular thing. He stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Looking back down at her as she sat on the couch. Her face slowly turned up as her eyes traced the lines on his belly to the lines on his chest. Her face glowed brightly until they locked eyes. 

“Well?” He offered her his hand. She took it as she stood up. He guided her to his bed. He pulled back the blankets on the side she normally slept on and pulled her to it laying her down. They had already put on their pajamas, however, he liked to sleep with as little on as possible when he slept alone. However, with her in his bed, he didn’t trust his own self-control without a few layers between them.

She clung to his hand as he stood at the side of the bed. He dove over her making the bed bounce. She giggled as he playful rolled around messing up the blankets. She scruffed his wild blond hair before he straightened himself laying his head on the pillow only centimeters from her face.  

“Silly Kitty.” Marinette rolled to her side and faced him. 

“I hope this doesn’t BUG you.” he played. 

“You’re imPAWsible.” she giggled. He loved it when she used cat puns. He kissed her lips as his hand weaved through her hair. He pulled her into him as her hands wrapped around his waist, throwing one leg over him. She maneuvered her body till he was on his back with her straddling him. He shuddered as he felt her warmth on him. Her kiss, hungry for his. 

His hands held her at her hips as her chest lay flatly on his, her hands now in his hair. Oh, if only he had his Cat suit on. It enhanced all of his senses and was the kind of protection he needed right now to give him the resolve to not go too far. He twitched his fingers into her sides tickling her in hopes of breaking this hold, knowing he didn’t have the will to stop it. She began to squirm on him. Her hips moving from side to side as they rubbed on his…. He gasped. Had he known she would move like that he would have thought twice about it. 

“Adrien.” She stopped to look at his face. She must have seen the look on his face as she settled down putting all of her weight onto his hips. Suddenly she shot up on her knees lifting her weight from him. He gripped her hips so she wouldn’t go too far. 

“Shh.” He brought one hand up to her face cupping it gently before bringing it to meet him. Their lips locked again as she settled herself back down to his hips. Her face had brightened to a red he had never seen before and it broke him, he didn’t think he had the will to stop. Suddenly there was a noise at the window. They both jumped from bed to see what it was. The light in the bedroom blocked out the view of the darkened city outside. Adrien ran to the switch, turning the light off. There was a figure standing on the rooftop across the street, someone was watching them. They ran to the window but the figure ran from the rooftop. 

Marinette sat on the bed shivering. Adrien put his arm around her trying to comfort her. 

“Someone was watching us.” She squeaked embarrassed at the compromising position they had been seen in. “Were they taking pictures?” That is certainly what the sound was, a camera click without a flash. Adrien often kept the window open but he closed it and set the lock. He noticed something attached to the window. A note. Attached to a suction dart clung to the window. 

‘Enjoy what you have now

Before I take it all

YOU WILL BE MINE!

“What is it?” Marinette asked from the bed. He handed her the note. She dropped it the instant her eyes saw the words. A shriek left her mouth. “Do you think it was meant for you or me?” Adrien looked back at the window. 

“If it was Vuplina.” He paused.

“Then it was meant for you.” Marinette finished. “Lila has always wanted you, and would do anything to get rid of her competition.” 

“What do you say? We check out the room across the hall, the windows there are less visible to outsiders.” He took her hand and led her across the hall. 

Marinette left the house before Adrien woke up. She had spent all morning searching the internet for someone. Alix wasn’t in France anymore, in fact she was participating in extreme sports in Florida. Marinette pulled out the horse miraculous and merged it with Tikki. She used a portal to plop herself into Alix’s bedroom. She was still asleep but at least she was alone. Pegabug woke her up. Alix sat up rubbing her eyes trying to make out the figure before her. 

“Is it time?” Alix asked as she sat up. 

“I think it is, Someone has the Butterfly Miraculous, and now Vulpina is back.” Alix was suddenly awake. She remembered how much chaos the illusionist caused especially during Heros day. “I think you will know when to use this.” She handed her the pocket watch then went over the instructions for how to use the Kwami’s power after introducing her to Fluff again. 

“Should I come back to Paris?” Alix asked. 

“I think you will be fine, better safe to keep your distance, just monitor everything from here.” Pegabug then made another portal. Good thing she had built up the strength to use her power more than once before needing to recharge. She returned to the manor and found Adrien standing in front of her. 

“Did you give Alix the bunny?” He asked. Pegabug released her transformation and nodded. “Good, we need to call Luka.” He said picking up his phone.

“NO, we need to call EVERYONE.” Marinette said. “NO one but us can know about Alix. and only because you have known as long as I have that she would one day be Bunnyx.” Adrien called Luka while Marinette and Alya. They were calling a team meeting at the one place Lila didn’t know about. The Barge. 

The band was playing by the time Adrien and Marinette arrived. They had to stop by the bakery to make sure the girls weren’t causing too much trouble. Luka, Juleka, Rose and Ivan jammed out a beat as Mylene, Zoe, Alya, Nino, Max, Kim, and Kagami, sat at the tables. The music died down as the band set their instruments aside. 

“Shall we all go downstairs.” Luka walked everyone inside. The Living room area was large enough for the whole group with a large sectional style couch wrapping around the wall leaving a large enough area for the band to practice if they chose too. Everyone but Marinette and Adrien sat down. 

“We have an announcement to make.” Adrien started, his arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “We are getting married.” 

“Finally.” the whole group said together as they all began to mutter amongst themselves about how long it had taken for them to finally see the moon through the stars. Something that was so obvious, that everyone else seemed to know but they were always too blinded by the stars to see it. Adrien could feel the heat in his cheeks as a shy smile spread on his face. He was still kicking himself for being so oblivious of Marinette in high school. He knew she liked him, but thought it was only his model status and her desire to become a designer, nothing more. She never thought she was good enough for him. 

“That isn’t the only news.” the crowd hushed as Marinette spoke up. “Mylene wasn’t the first of us to receive the Mullo, the mouse miraculous, I was.” Marinette confessed. Alya, Luka and Adrien were the only ones to know the truth of this group. So keeping Ladybugs secret was imperative. 

“And I am Aspik, I held Sass before Luka did.” He said with a shy smirk. “I wasn’t very good at it, but I am close friends with Chat, we play video games together and…” 

“Talk about how horrible the rich boy's life is together?” Luka jokes. “You rich boys were probably skiing in the Alps.” 

“Wait, Cat Noir is rich?” Ivan asked. 

“Richer than I am.” Adrien confessed scratching the back of his neck. 

“Ladybug and Cat Noir found us this morning, they had followed a suspicious person to our window. Where they found this.” Marinette helped up the note. 

“So it was Vulpina.” Alya said. The group began to mutter worried about the illusions that nearly ruined everything for everyone. 

“Who is Vulpina anyway?” Kim asked. 

“Lila.” Marinette said. “The master of Lies and illusions.” Shock fell on the faces of the group. They had all believed her lies and coddled her even against Marinette who they all agreed was the most honest of them all. 

“We will all stand together again.” Luka stood up putting his fist into the center of the room. Zoe and Juleka joined him. Kim, who was always up for a competition, was next. Soon everyone stepped in as Adrien and Marinette refrained. “Get in here.” Luka smiled knowingly at them. They added their fists to the bump.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Phantom Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Dedicated to Victor’s lovely @litteidiot 🌹🥰

The date begins with MC in Victor’s office to present her weekly report. While waiting for him to return from a meeting, she thinks about how she plans to invite Victor to a dinner event.

This event includes a fashion show, and has been organized as a collaboration between MC’s company and a magazine company.

While she’s thinking, she falls asleep on the sofa.

Victor: MC? Wake up…

I wave my hands impatiently, wanting to chase away the pesky voice at my ear.

Victor: Looks like you don’t need to give a report for your proposal.

MC: !! I’m awake! I wasn’t sleeping!

MC takes out her documents.

Victor: Hair.

MC: Hm?

Seeing my puzzled expression, Victor reaches over to the top of my head, and presses down the hair that’s standing up.

Victor: You can begin now.

After she presents her report, Victor nods.

Victor: Not bad this time.  

MC: That’s great!

I release a huge sigh of relief at the rare praise. Only now do I have the mood to think of a new goal.

MC: Victor, are you free this Saturday?

I secretly hold the invitation card that was sandwiched in between the documents in my hand, prepared to hand it to him once he responds.

Without giving it much thought, Victor answers.  

Victor: I have to attend a Finance Talk on Saturday. What’s happening on that day?

MC: Oh… nothing! I was just asking.

I shake my head, quelling the disappointment in my heart, and stuff the invitation card back amongst the documents.  

Victor seems to have noticed that I’m hiding something, but he doesn’t press further.  

~

On the day of the event, stress levels are high. After checking the flow of the event yet again, MC finally relaxes a little and decides to send Victor a message.

MC: You can come over to the dinner event if you still have time after the talk!

Even though I didn’t invite Victor in person, I still sent an invitation card to LFG on behalf of the company. However, I’m unsure if Victor saw it.

After pressing the “send” button, I hold onto my phone and wait for a response. As the minutes and seconds trickle by, the disappointment in my heart swells.

MC: Maybe phones aren’t allowed in that venue.

I find random excuses for Victor. At this moment, Anna walks over frantically.

Anna explains that the mystery guest they planned to have as the finale model just met with an accident. Anna insists that MC replaces her. 

After a full makeover, MC gets stunned by her own reflection in the mirror.

The person in the mirror is wearing a glittering silver dress which outlines her good figure. A white mask covers half of her face, revealing seductive red lips. She looks extremely foreign.

I suddenly feel a little glad that Victor didn’t come.  

~

In the resting area of the venue, Victor looks at the message on his phone and freezes in place.

Victor: Did MC’s company recently organize any dinner events?

He turns to Goldman and receives an answer.

Soon, an elegant champagne-coloured invitation card is placed in his hands.

Seeing the neat handwriting on the card, a smile flashes in his eyes.

~

Back at the dinner event, MC feels incredibly nervous. She notices that everyone looks similar because they’re all wearing masks. 

However, I see an extremely familiar profile with just a sweep of my eyes.

--What is he doing here?!

My eyes widen, and I mess up the actions I had rehearsed earlier.

That tall man standing near the window and wearing a black mask – who else could he be if not Victor?

I try to maintain my cold posture, but my line of sight involuntarily falls to him. My earlier nervousness is completely forgotten.

Victor looks as though he just arrived at the venue, standing against the window and facing the stage.

As though sensing my gaze, he lifts his head towards the stage.

He halts his movements, then raises his hand to peel the mask off his face. He meets my eyes amongst the crowd.

He is illuminated by the white light from outside the window, casting him in an extraordinarily cold glow.

I hear my heart beating out of control, and even my breathing becomes messy.

While I’m panicking on stage, the audience is calm.

It is unclear if he has recognised me or not.

A mixture of shyness and embarrassment flood my head. I use my remaining willpower to grasp my reason, turning around to finish the final half of the catwalk.

The gaze that follows my back carries a certain warmth, making my ears turn red.

~

After the fashion shows ends, I can hardly wait to head backstage to change out of my outfit, but I’m stopped.

Artistic Director: This outfit suits you! The celebratory dinner is about to begin, so there’s no time to change.

I look at the time and resignedly admit that he’s right.

After taking a quick break backstage, MC returns to the venue. She’s unable to recognize who anybody is because of the masks

Just as she wonders if Victor has left, she spots him in the crowd…

His head is lowered while he talks to a model. She is wearing a skirt similar to mine and is wearing the exact same mask. As though they are talking about a common interest, he smiles.

An inexplicable emotion overflows from my heart.

Victor seems to have sensed something, and he turns his head in my direction.

I hurriedly lower my head and hide behind someone’s back. I inch away slowly.

MC: Why do I even need to avoid him?

She decides to go back, but the Artistic Director stuffs a glass of red wine into her hand and asks her to celebrate together with the group

Because people keep offering her toasts, she eventually finishes the entire glass

MC: I will… leave for a while. Please continue.

I find a random excuse and stagger to an empty corner. My head feels dizzy, as though someone had twirled me around in circles.

Several thoughts run through my mind: Why did Victor appear? Did he see the message I sent? Is he waiting for me? Why was he talking to someone else – did he mistake her for me?

The more my mind wanders, the more I’m unable to control my heart, and it bubbles like champagne from an open bottle.

MC: I should change out of this outfit, then look for him…

I shut my eyes, my mind working especially slowly in my drunken state.

The music from the hall becomes modified, and the weird series of notes makes me forget what the original song was.

In my dazed and hazy state, I sense someone coming towards me. A nearing warmth suddenly appears in the ice-cold air.  

Victor: What are you hiding here for?

A deep voice enters my ear. I am compelled to call out his name, but I’m unable to tear myself away from this dream-like drunkenness.

Victor: You’ve been drinking?  

A familiar scent is within reach, unhappy with the mildest resistance.

Searing fingers lift my chin. Slightly rough fingertips brush my skin. In my dazed state, I tremble involuntarily.

Victor: Are you okay?

A low voice accompanied by warm breaths descend on my ears and bare shoulders, making my back go weak.

With no time to think, I reach out to push away this warmth that messes with my senses and heartbeat.

I open my eyes unhappily, and the person in front of me looks like an illusion, swaying in my vision. He is basked in a heavy shadow, and I can’t see him properly.

MC: Victor?

Am I dreaming? Or is this an illusion caused by drinking?

Victor: You can still recognize me?  

One hand is pressed against the wall, trapping me between the space between him and the wall.

The light muslin of the curtain swishes in the wind. I follow the movement of his fingers and lift my head, as though I’m a prey that has fallen into a web.

Why is the Victor I hallucinated not gentle at all?

I look at him, my mind still imagining things. The playfulness that I usually suppress suddenly bubbles to the surface.

My tone is laced with boldness when I think about how he might have confused someone else for me earlier.

MC: Have you gotten the wrong person?

Victor: Hm? What are you trying to do?

Victor arches an eyebrow, the slight huskiness in his voice stirring the heart.

I suppress my accelerating heartbeat and continue this performance to the end.

MC: I never thought CEO Victor would make time to attend these types of fashion dinner events. Are you on a date with a beautiful woman?

Even I myself fail to realise how sour my tone sounds.

Victor purses his lips and does not respond. The warm light sharpens his features, making him appear slightly cold.

If it were a typical day, I would have backed down. But under the influence of alcohol, my boldness has grown, and I even feel wronged.

MC: Why aren’t you saying anything?

Victor: What do you want me to say?

He lets go, the corner of his lips raised. The sense of resignation he exudes carries with it a tinge of tenderness. 

I stare at him in a daze, telling him what is in my heart.

MC: You look good when you smile.

This time, Victor is the one who looks at me in surprise. He doesn’t speak, waiting for me to continue.

As though enchanted by his charm, I smile and reach out for his palm, happily asking him a question.

MC: Victor, let’s dance!

Victor: You still want to dance in such a drunken state?

MC: Yes! I… I’m amazing at it!

While saying this, I raise his hand up high and twirl gracefully in front of him. After that, I toss him a provocative look.

Victor: You win.

Just when I thought he would reject me, he places his hand on the small of my back and applies pressure to it, gently closing the distance between us.

Music from the hall travels to this corner where nobody would disturb us - mellifluous, romantic, and gentle. Even the aura surrounding Victor turns tender.  

My steps are light and messy, but in the space within his arms, our Waltz carries on steadily.

I lift my head to look at his expression and meet his especially deep and serious eyes.

It’s as though they own the entire cosmos.

They continue dancing, and MC tries but fails to hide her smile.

Victor: You no longer step on people’s feet when you dance now.  

Taking two seconds longer than usual to respond, I raise my head and respond arrogantly.

MC: That’s a given! It’s because I have a good teacher, and I am a good student!

Victor: A good student… you’re not wrong.

Victor lets out a low laugh. The magnetic sound has a crispness to it.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or his breath, but whenever I turn or when we draw near to each other, my breathing becomes increasingly hurried.

Even before the song ends, I have already stopped my movements.

MC: I don’t want to dance any more, I’m feeling very dizzy!

Victor furrows his eyebrows and releases a sigh.

Victor: If you’re feeling dizzy, stop moving about. I’ll bring something over for you to sober up.

MC: Don’t go-

Seeing that he is about to leave, I quickly grab hold of his sleeve, then stand on my toes and lean in, stopping just a few centimeters from his face.

A faint smell of alcohol mingles in our breaths, but it isn’t a bad smell.  

A darkness flits across Victor’s eyes. His breathing is deep and steady, but it quickens slightly.

I hold onto and observe him for a while, then open my mouth with hesitance.

MC: Are you really Victor?

Victor’s face blackens.

Victor: Then who do you think I am?

MC: Oh, this tone is really like Victor’s!

I duck my neck, letting go of his sleeve reluctantly. I sit next to the window obediently and watch him as he leaves.

MC slowly starts to sober up:

Victor: What’s wrong now?

The sudden voice pulls me back to reality. I turn my head to see that Victor has returned. I suddenly realise — it truly is Victor.

It’s neither a dream nor a hallucination. I really asked Victor to dance with me for no reason at all!

Victor: There’s only honey water. Drink this first.

MC: …I think you’ve got the wrong person. So sorry about that, my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good!!

Victor lapses into a short silence. The gaze he is shooting me with very clearly spells the word “idiot”.

I slowly recall that I had already used this “wrong person” phrase before, so I cover my face with my hands.  

MC: …I was just kidding.

I laugh in embarrassment, looking at Victor’s expression through the spaces between my fingers. He seems to be a little angry, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m drunk or because of the words I just said.

Victor: You think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you?

There is a bright flash of danger in his eyes. Borrowing the leftover courage from my drunken stupor, I mutter incredibly softly.

[Note: The word “danger” might seem odd, but it’s the literal translation of the term used (”危险”)]

MC: Weren’t you talking to a girl who was dressed like me just now?

Victor: What girl?

Victor pauses for a few seconds, then seems to recall who I was talking about.

Victor: You’ve been vexed about this issue all this time?

MC: Not really vexed. Just a little…

Victor: Is there an issue if I asked the staff where you were? It’s all because someone went missing after sending me a message.

My eyes widen. The tone of Victor’s voice changes.

Victor: Is that why you went into hiding after seeing me?

MC: This, um, there’s a reason for that.

Victor’s eyebrows arch in interest as he waits for me to continue.

At this moment, my stomach suddenly lets out a weird noise.

MC: Ha, haha…

I cover my empty stomach and let out two embarrassed chokes of laughter.

Victor: You haven’t eaten anything tonight?

MC: I ate a small bun. If I ate too much, I wouldn’t look nice in this skirt.

Victor sizes me up with his gaze. I’ve long since forgotten that I initially didn’t want him to see this outfit. I even continue complaining.

MC: These high heels are very high and my toes hurt. The necklace is very heavy and my neck is about to snap off. Ah, this is the price of beauty!

Victor: Do you like this style?

For some reason, I suddenly sense a dangerous aura, so I quickly respond.

[Note: Again, I personally feel “danger” is too strong a term, but it’s the literal translation of the term used (”危险”)]

MC: I don’t. If it weren’t for the sudden accident, I wouldn’t have been roped into the fashion show!

Victor: In future, don’t agree to these sorts of things.

MC: Mm, I wouldn’t do such things again next time!

I nod my head immediately. Seeing his expression become warmer, I release a sigh of relief.

Victor: Next time, don’t drink. Learn how to reject when too many people offer you a toast.

Victor hands me the glass. I gulp it down obediently, and the sweetness on my tongue dispels the bitterness of the wine.

Victor steps closer to me, his hand moving to the back of my neck. It is only when his fingers brush against the skin on my neck that I think of dodging.  

Victor: Don’t move.

With a sweep of his gaze, I dare not move.

MC: What are you doing?

I ask softly. He doesn’t respond, lowering his head and patiently unhooking the necklace.

His breath descends on my eyelashes, and I can’t help but blink a few times. Yet, I don’t want to tear my gaze from his face.

The pressure on my neck becomes lighter. I lower my head and see that Victor has removed the heavy necklace in front of my chest, putting it at the side.

Victor: Let’s go and eat.

With this, Victor pulls me in preparation to leave.

MC: Can I have your cooking?!

Just when I think he is about to reject me, he turns to me and nods.

Victor: Sure.

My eyes light up. The moment I think of listing down a series of delicacies I wish to eat, I immediately recall an issue.

Victor: What’s wrong? You haven’t thought about what to eat?

My face crumples as I struggle between the choices of having delicacies or work. Logic triumphs in the end.

MC: I’m one of the persons-in-charge, so I have to wait for the whole event to end before I can leave.

I feel like crying while saying this. While I look at Victor, I can only feel my delicacy sprouting wings and flying away.

Victor: Since I already made a promise, I won’t go back on my word.  

MC: Really? Then let’s make a pinky promise!

I stretch my finger out in front of Victor and stare at him in anticipation.

He lifts his hand, not to hook my pinky, but to give my forehead a gentle flick.

Victor: Childish.

I pout while covering my forehead. It is only now that I see a mask. Recalling how Victor looked when he had his mask on, I hurriedly go over to take it.

MC: I’ll help you put it on!

I stand on my tiptoes, raising both arms as I help Victor wear the black mask.

Victor doesn’t move and lets me put the mask on for him. I didn’t realise that my entire body was basically pressed against his.

The black mask gives Victor a different kind of colour, mystery and unpredictability.

The deep eyes beneath the mask are comparable to the darkest hour of night, and like a vortex that can swallow me up whole.

I’m left dazzled, and yet also instinctively feel like avoiding them due to the danger within.

MC: This way, you wouldn’t be recognized by other people! I’ll be the only one who can recognize you.

I accidentally let the words in my heart spill out. My voice is very soft and contented.

Victor: And you still say you aren’t a dummy.

MC: How am I stupid! I…

I retort, but my words are forgotten once I notice Victor’s tender gaze.

This moment feels like an imagination. His voice clearly and steadily enters my world.

Victor: If you can recognize me, why do you think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you? All you have to know is that in my eyes, you are different from other people.

I let Victor take my hand as we walk into the crowd. The light outlines his profile.

In this strange world created by my remaining stupor, only Victor is real. 

In this gorgeous masquerade, nobody knows who lies under the mask.

At this moment, everyone is immersed in opulence.

Under the masks, no one looks like their original selves. 

But he is still himself, and she is still herself.

Two genuine hearts are mutually drawn to each other, and draw nearer to each other.

🍷

Calls: First // Second

[fiercyy]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

.

.

"You skipped training," Kakashi's one visible eye is narrowed in a foreboding expression. His large body takes up the whole doorframe when he holds himself up at full height.

Sasuke turns back to his book, earmarked not him but by Sakura, who the book belongs to. It's a historical account of the longest battle of the First Ninja War. For something so violent, it's extremely boring. "What's the point?" He asks petulantly.

"What's the point in training?" Kakashi asks incredulously. Surely Sakura's win hadn't hit him that hard.

"What's the point in the training we're doing? I'm not getting any stronger!"

"I'm teaching you restraint," begins the lecture he's heard what feels like a hundred times, "The Chidori is powerful and dangerous. You could hurt someone without meaning to."

Sasuke scoffs, "Sakura can beat me. I don't need restraint. In a fight, I'm trying to hurt someone."

"If your ego is so fragile then you're not ready for the responsibility of power."

"I am!" he argues. "But if power is such a burden then why can Sakura and Naruto keep getting stronger and now me?"

"They don't want power for power's sake!"

"Neither do I, I want power so I can use it."

Kakashi's eyes narrow, "I'm your mentor, not theirs. If you want my techniques you'll do things my way."

"Then I don't need you!" And desperate to escape the conversation, he jumps out the window.

"If you had control you wouldn't have hurt Sakura!" Kakashi shouts after him.

"I don't care!" he screams back. But that's a lie.

.

.

Sakura, for her part, has never been so thrilled to lose a fight. It doesn't feel egotistical to think that she basically won. She's just a softy who couldn't let him fall. It's a good thing, isn't it? That her instinct was to protect her teammate. (Even if, had he been thinking properly, he could have grabbed onto the wall with chakra.) That was what Kakashi was always ragging on her about, no? Not putting her team first?

She managed to surprise Sasuke and get the upper hand. She never thought she could do that. Never would have thought to… before.

Thinking about her parents brings her down. She can't do it often, it hurts too much. Since her heart to heart with Kakashi, she's being trying to focus on what she does have, not what she lost.

Her life has been in a quagmire since the attack, but at least she isn't alone. For that reason, she pities Sasuke. They both lost so much but afterward he had nobody. And she had so much. She's learning to be grateful for that, honest she is. She just gets so mad sometimes.

It's like when she was little. She was an angry kid. Her parents worked with her and taught her all the calming techniques; breaking deepy, counting, shoving it all into a box… The box worked best. All her longterm furies shut up where no one could see them. She let the bullies hit her as hard as they wanted. She wouldn't strike out. They could tease her all they liked, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

She can't hold in that inner Sakura anymore. She won't be contained. Instead she's trying to come to terms with it all; work through it as best she can. It's freeing, to be a being who can feel anger again. The fight now, is to not allow it to consume her.

.

.

"Hey," Naruto starts, only for Sasuke to stalk right past him and slam the door to their room. He glances at the clock on the VCR. It's 11:00. The lock clicks. Shit. He's terrible at picking locks. "Aw man, what am I gonna do now?"

Sakura—who sits on the opposite side of the table, books open and post-its at the ready—is unsympathetic. "Sleep on the couch."

.

.

Alone in his room, the nightmares plague him worse than before. The prophecy of being swallowed by the earth came true. He finds new things to fear.

Sasuke wakes in the middle of the night.

The voices no longer reside in sleep. Orochimaru's whispers reverberate all around him; promises of power, of bargains. How will you kill your brother if you keep you as you are? He asks with condescension.

Sasuke shakes his head and for now, the pressure in his skull is dislodged. He rises and leaves the bedroom for the living room.

The apartment is dark. There is just enough moonlight to see by. He treads softly into the living room and stares at Naruto's slack body, thrown over the couch and covered in the red wool blanket. It's large enough that all three of them fit under it but in the heat of sleep he's kicked it off his feet. His soft snores, so familiar, settle Sasuke.

He didn't want Naruto to hear his nightmares. They've woken him before, but he never seems to grasp what the nightmares are about. He knew he'd be talking in his sleep tonight. It's always worse when he goes to bed angry. Orochimaru is preying on those feelings, he won't be taken in.

Except he's told no one. They might see it as a sign of weakness, or Kakashi might try and reseal him. What power reserves would be taken from him then? The temptation of more than a taste of what the curse can give him… He's stagnating here, while others flourish. He needs to be stronger. Now. And Orochimaru wants to give him strength. It's that simple.

He'll kill him before fulfilling his end of the bargain.

That thought, formulating a plan, is what makes it too real.

.

.

Sasuke's birthday is last in the calendar year and on the first morning of his 13th year, he wakes up to yelling and the sweet smells of an unhealthy breakfast.

"I made you an omelette actually," Sakura assures, plating her pancakes. It's dry and over seasoned, but he eats every bite slathered in ketchup. There's candles in it and they make him blow them out.

The day is spent in his favourite manner: outside, training. They read together in peace in the grass, for a while after that. (Sasuke and Sakura read. Naruto doodles crude caricatures in the margins of a magazine.) They go to lunch, then the baths. They henge into adult versions of themselves, laughing all the while at their absurd visions of the future. They use the illusions to sneak into a bar that's hosting a pub quiz. A jolly civilian in his 20s hosts. Naruto's only correct contribution is a question about the minutiae of the Teenage Mutant Firefighting Turtles lore.

They win second prize—a pitcher of beer. Their weak, 13-year-old tolerance ensures than they're unable to hold their henges for long after that. Once one breaks, the others do too and laughing all the while, they're kicked out of the bar.

"Technically this is your fault for giving it to us!" Sakura argues, "We didn't order any drinks!" The bouncer is unamused.

They stumble home, leaning on each other.

And when Sasuke stares at the spinning ceiling that night, he doesn't think of his childhood, his anger or the future. For the first time, he relives the same day he'll relive for years-the best birthday he ever had.

.

.

"Teach me how to unlock the Magekyou Sharingan," Sasuke demands. He doesn't know what he's asking.

Kakashi tries to tell himself this, but when he reaches inside himself, looking for compassion, he finds only rage. "No."

"It's my clan's legacy, the next logical step. I need it if I ever hope to-!"

"If you're very lucky you will never have the Magekyou," Kakashi warns, "The cost is too great."

"I'll pay it!"

"If you do," he replies, enunciating carefully, "I will strike you down myself."

.

.

They ambush him in the evening on his way home from another seemingly useless session with Kakashi. The Sound Four and all of their formidable strength and second-hand arguments (such as they are) meant to persuade him to defect on his own. Or to take him by force.

His curse seal burns, curling across his body.

The time has come to remember his purpose.

.

.

Sasuke strains against his restraints, spitting and snarling at his teacher. Kakashi's impassive eyes rove around, but his fingers are tight on the wire. The bark itches and the blood trickles down his arm where the wire has cut him.

"What's this all about?!" He demands.

"Sorry, but I knew you wouldn't want to sit still for another lecture." The second today. "Let it go, forget about revenge. Trust me, following the path of revenge never ends well. You'll only tear yourself apart. Even if you succeed, what will you have then? Nothing. Emptiness."

"Shut up!" Sasuke's blood boils, "What makes you think you know anything about it? You have no idea! Maybe if I were to kill the most important people in your life, anyone who's ever meant anything then you'd understand," he threatens cruelly, uselessly.

"Interesting theory, but everyone I've ever loved is already dead," he says it so calmly. Sasuke never knew that about him. "Besides you. And Naruto and Sakura."

Sasuke's sharp intake of breath is the only indication that his words have any effect.

"You and I are lucky. We've found new people to love, who love us."

The boy looks so small, his head drops so Kakashi can't see his face anymore. He loosens the restraints.

"That's all I wanted to say. You'll do what you want."

.

.

In the room he shares with his teammate, only feet away from his bed, Sasuke packs a bag in the dark. There's a photograph on the desk that he considers taking with him, but that wouldn't be wise. He lays it face down and leaves the room.

He hesitates at the front door and doubles back.

He doesn't know which cousin Sakura's bedroom belonged to. He never visited them before the Massacre. It's one of the reasons he feels safe here, it's untouched by death. They died at the compound with everybody else.

He opens her door a crack. The hinges are well oiled so they don't creak.

Asleep in bed, Sakura's back is to him, arm tucked under her chin and hair falling over her shoulders. He watches her for longer than he should, heart hammering in his chest. He's really going to do this.

He stays until he can't stand it anymore, it's too much.

Outside, the village is quiet. The streetlamps haven't been fixed in many neighborhoods, so he passes through the light and darkness with equal swiftness. His unhurried gait stops at the gates. They loom in front of him, a portal into his future.

"SASUKE!" Sakura shouts, breaking the stillness of the night.

He turns and can't hide his surprise at seeing her. He's a fool. He must have woken her with his goodbye. "What are you doing here?"

"This is the only way out of the village," she evades.

"Go home Sakura."

Before I say things we'll both regret.

"No," her voice breaks. She darts in front of him to block his path. "Why? I thought I understood you but I don't. I just don't. How can you throw everything away?"

"You could never understand me," he replies coldly. "I'm throwing away everything that doesn't matter. Anything that doesn't help me accomplish my goals."

"I know in the beginning you couldn't stand me. You probably hated me. But I thought-" here Sakura hesitates and the tears drip from her chin. "I thought that things were different now. You told me once that I have no idea what it means to be alone, well now I do. I do and I wish I didn't. It's horrible. But it's a little less horrible with you." She chokes on a sob and slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle it.

"You're just as annoying now as you were then." He steps up to her, so they're standing close. "Move," he commands.

"No."

"Move or I'll move you."

Her stance widens but her knees quake. "Try it then."

"Don't you understand that I'll kill you if I have to?" Move!

She laughs, so sad, "For the sake of your revenge."

"I'm travelling a path that you can't follow," in telling her so, he hopes to be kind.

Sasuke pushes past her. Like a willow branch, she moves aside then springs back to watch him walk away. All the fight has gone out of her. "You don't have to be alone. You don't think we would help you?" She cries, "Naruto and I would do anything for you. Why won't you let us?!"

"I don't need you!" He roars. "We aren't the same."

"I love you, don't you understand? Please don't walk away!"

With his back to her, neither can see the effect their words are having on the other, but they can hope. They can imagine.

"Stay," she whispers brokenly. "Or take me with you."

He turns. "Where I'm going, I have no use for you. Forget you ever knew me."

"No. You know that I can't," she says with force. He advances and her speech quickens. "If you move I'll scream, I swear I will, I-" In a flash, he's behind her. A sharp pain in her neck. Darkness descends.

Whispered words. Thank you.

.

.

.

.

12 hours earlier…

Though some ninjas choose to work under the cover of night, many realize that it's far easier to work in plain sight, in the day, hidden by the crowd. Sasuke has only been to Kakashi's apartment once before, but he remembers the way. It's not so odd that a student would visit his master in the day time.

He knocks and Kakashi's surprised to find him at the door.

"Can I come in?" He trusts that his sensei's home is secure.

"Sure, Sasuke," Kakashi replies in his usual breezy tone. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get me a covert meeting with the Hokage."

In under an hour they're in her office. Shizune, their only witness. Tsunade surveys the boy over her steeples fingers. "What can I do for you, Uchiha?"

"I need you to assign me an S-rank mission, to infiltrate Sound." Kakashi's eye cuts to him, "As a double agent."

[karliesbuzzcut]

When art really speaks to you, pt. 2: probably just a coincidence but idk

Disclaimer: all these theories are rabbit holes on their own, so trying to explain them in a couple of paragraphs is, automatically, doing them a disservice. Especially since I’m only going to be primarily addressing the part of the theory that focuses on the artist communicating with their public through their work.

Since I’ve already dedicated paragraphs to the introduction in part 1, let’s just jump into it.

Leonardo Da Vinci’s fuckton of theories.

Let’s start with the daddy of all conspiracies. After all, not many can gloat about their reachings becoming a movie starring Tom Hanks.

The thing with Da Vinci’s conspiracies is that there are so many of them, and they range from “maybe this is also a painting made by Da Vinci but he wasn’t credited because of reasons” to ALIENS. Which, I think, shows how different our interpretations of art can be, and how much it depends on an already established worldview.

But the most interesting part isn’t the conclusions, but how people look for clues. For example, just like people say Taylor Swift is obsessed with numbers or oranges (depending who you ask, I guess), Da Vinci was supposedly a big fan of reflections. So, if you want to decode his paintings you must mirror them... and then move then a little bit... there you go, you’ve just found yourself an alien...! Or a daemon...! Or someone wearing a funny hat! And that’s totally what he wanted us to find, right? Why else would he had shown any sort of interest in reflections if he didn’t want us to reflect everything!!

Shakespeare is an illusion... kinda, but yeah.

Personally, I think Kaylors would love to dig into this one. Sure, it doesn’t have many lesbians playing political spies. But it does involve a lot of literature analysis. Just like Kaylors don’t think a heterosexual woman could’ve written Taylor’s songs; some people (referred as anti-Stratfordians, thank you very much) don’t think someone from a lower class could’ve written Shakespeare’s plays. 

Here’s the tea... the very cold tea: because Shakespeare was the son of a glover, anti-Stratfordians say he couldn’t have had the knowledge to write his plays. They, instead, come up with a list of “more suitable��� writers that could’ve worked together. But they decided to keep their identities a secret because being a play writer, at that time, wasn’t respectable. Here, we will start noticing a trend with Conspiracy Theories: society, as a whole, can’t handle the truth, only a selected few. That’s where Francis Bacon comes in.

Francis Bacon was a very smart dude. He, also, worked for the state - giving him the credentials to be worthy of writing Shakespeare calibre plays. And also, also, he developed a method to conceal messages in the presentation of a text. To be able to do this, you would need to use two typefaces. Guess what has more than one typeface? Shakespeare’s plays.

I have to say - while I don’t believe either theory we have seen, they are somewhat understandable. We barely know anything about Shakespeare and Da Vinci beyond their work, so it’s normal that people are trying to figure out who they were; what did they believed in; where did they get all of their knowledge. We like theorising about the answers to these questions, knowing we’ll never get a confirmed truth. Not so the case with our next conspiracy...

Lewis Carroll was Jack the Ripper - someone had to be, right?

Now, allow me to fangirl all over this one. It combines my interests for conspiracy theories, true crime and pop-culture.

I’m assuming everyone here knows about Jack the Ripper: a serial killer who murdered at least 5 people (mainly prostitutes) in London, between the years 1888 and 1891. Well, someone looked at this and thought “you know what this murder-mystery is missing? Famous people”. Well, this theory says that the author of Alice in Wonderland did it He was the only celebrity living nearby at the time of the killings, so... 🤷‍♀️

This becomes a case of “I have already made up my mind about this issue, so I’m going to go ahead and search for proof that confirms it”. Authors and, now, internet sleuths went through his books, selected this random-ass excerpt from the nursery version of Alice and decided it was an anagram. And a crappy one at that. Supposedly, if you arrange the letters you get a detailed and gruesome confession. You, however, have to take away some letter and add others. Listen, I’m not an English major, but I’ve heard that’s cheating.

This theory also has that characteristic we mentioned: the “I don’t want to admit it out loud, so I’m going to come up with convoluted ways for my audience to figure it out” - which almost borders on psychotic behaviour. But at least it, somewhat, works with the serial killer narrative, you know? Not very much with Taylor, a woman who simply wants to chill with her girlfriend.

The moon landing was fake and directed by Stanley Kubrick.

I’m not going to dig into the moon landing conspiracy, this post is going to be long enough already. Just know that, when the USA government was planning to fake the whole thing, they had just watched ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ and they were all like “that’s so cool! That’s how we want our fake moon landing to look!” So they contacted its director, Kubrick.

According to the theory, Kubrick felt really guilty afterwards but he couldn’t say anything about it because he signed an NDA? it would be dangerous, I guess. So he did the same thing Taylor would do decades later: he “spelled it out” for us on his work, under the excuse of “I didn’t explicitly said it, did I? My most intelligent and attractive fans just happened to figure it out for themselves”. 

The movie ‘The Shinning’ has been analysed to shreds. Think ‘Look What You Made Me Do’ music video, but 2 hours and 26 minutes instead. There are many theories about its underlying theme, but we’re only focusing on the moon landing one. The biggest piece of evidence, according to believers, comes from that famous scene in the hallway. Basically, the kid, Danny, is on the floor playing and wearing an Apollo 11 sweater. He stands up = the rocket launches. He walks to Room N.237. Which is almost an anagram for MOON - but actually, a perfect anagram for MORON - I didn’t come up with that joke, I’m just sharing it. Anyway. In the book, the room number is 217 but Kubrick changed it to 237 because there are 237,000 miles between the Earth and the Moon... except that’s not exactly true, but this is their Kissgate, you see? 

“Paul is Dead” aka “the granddaddy of Kaylor is Real”

Now, this is THE conspiracy theory. Kaylors would love to have the amount of evidence this theory has. Give them 50 years, they’ll get there. 

Our story starts in 1966, Paul McCartney dies in a car accident. The British Government panics, “this will drive our teenagers into a massive suicide!” So they cover it up. They find this guy who looks like Paul and hire him to replace the original. 

You might’ve only heard about those stores where pop-stars get their beards. But there’s also a branch that focuses on celebrity look-a-likes.

The rest of The Beatles went along with it (because that’s how these artists seem to operate, they’re always the victims of their circumstances) but they did not like it. So - you guessed it - they used their music, artwork, photo-shoots, etc. to communicate the truth. Faux-Paul might’ve felt a bit awkward about it, but he’s a nice chap and let the other guys work through their grief. 

Kaylors might have agreed on blue being the colour of breaks up and yellow is for Karlie-Sunshine; but the Paul-truthers concluded white is the colour of heaven, jeans are for gravediggers and black for morticians... oh! And not wearing shoes means you’re dead. Taylor being near a door symbolises her leaving the closet; Paul being near an open trunk symbolises him being in a coffin. Is the letter K, for Karlie, surrounding Taylor? Well, there’s a 28IF in the plaques of a car, for Paul being 28 IF he hadn’t died. People hear a phantasmagorical “she” in ‘Call It What You Want’; just like people heard “I buried Paul” in ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’.

If you have never looked up this theory, I seriously recommend it. There are so many parallels with Kaylor. Here’s a 30 minute video, if you’re interested. It summarises the theory neatly while discussing the effects that these, seemingly innocent, conspiracies have on the way we absorb information.

Paul might be dead but 2pac is very much alive.

If I haven’t made it clear by now, I think it’s very deceptive to use a musician’s lyrics to back up your alternate version of events. As confessional as these verses can be, they’re still a form of art. Which, in terms of music lyrics, they need to follow certain parameters, as well as a desired sound. And, as many other forms of art, they might focus a bit more on transmitting a feeling, rather than an accurate portrayal of reality.

Why am I stopping to say all of this now? Well, because this specific theory relies a lot on Tupac’s lyrics.

A bit of context: In 1996, Tupac Shakur was shot 4 times while at a stoplight. He died from his injuries days later. While there are theories, to this day, no one knows who killed him. Unless you believe one of those theories, which claims no one did.

The believers of this theory cite Tupac’s lyrics to argue that he was explicitly telling his fans that he was going to fake his own death. Here are two examples:

I’ve been shot and murdered, can’t tell you how it happened word for word but best believe that n*****’ gonna get what they deserve. - Richie Rich’s N***** Done Change

I heard rumours that I died murdered in cold blood, traumatised pictures of me in my final states — you know mama cried. But that was fiction, some coward got the story twisted - Aint’ Hard 2 Find

Just like anti-Kaylors don’t necessarily oppose the idea of Taylor being gay; I bet the “antis” of this theory aren’t happy Tupac died and weren’t against his existence on the first place. It’s more of an argument about confusing your feelings with facts, just because they can be more comforting or exciting.

“Avril Lavigne is dead”... or “every artist you think is alive is, actually, dead and, the ones you think are dead, aren’t” I guess.

After everything we have seen, this one isn’t that interesting. The real Avril died in 2003, right after her first album. Her record label bought a new one. Proof? She says ‘dead’ in ‘My Happy Ending’, blah, blah. A poor man’s “Paul is Dead”.

I added it, mainly for the lulz, after the last entry, I needed them. But also because it all started with a blog. What’s hilarious is that the guy who created it admitted he only did it to show how gullible people are but, at that point, he had already convinced people about. The conspirators didn’t need him anymore. So they discarded him but not the Theory... which just reminds me a little too much of how TCG, HBH, Jennyboom &co. have been excommunicated from the Church of Kaylor.

Beyonce and Jay Z are members of the sexy sexy Illuminati.

I did not save the best for last. But maybe I’m just biased because the Illuminati theory bores me to death. However, if you allow me a bit of social criticism... remember how the Shakespeare Conspiracy started because a bunch of classicist people didn’t believe a lower class citizen could write such good plays? I think this one has a bit of that. I’d bet my life that this one started when a bunch of white dudes got super uncomfortable by black people being so talented and earning their successful.

What this Conspiracy shows, too, is the amplifying effect the internet has had on the proliferation of such theories. Most of the conspiracies I’ve mentioned were huge... but how were you supposed to communicate your ideas and add to the old ones, before the internet? You could publish a book. Talk about it at parties. And, at some point, there were internet forums but, still, you can’t compare that to how widespread Social Media is nowadays. 

Today, we can watch someone ramble for 2 hours on YouTube about how Beyonce looks like a robot if you watch Single Ladies in reverse; read someone’s dissertation of ‘Apeshit’; or spend all night looking at those pictures where someone has drawn a red circle around anything that resembles a triangle. 

It might look like a lot of evidence but that’s only because there are a lot of people very attached to this theory. Wanting - for whatever reason - for it to be true (perhaps because it would confirm that their fears about the world were well founded). And all those dozens or hundredths of people were working together to form as many patterns as possible.

Unfortunately we are going to keep talking about the Illuminati in Part 3 but also about Taylor, so that should be nice. Because - to the surprise of absolutely no one - there’s a bunch of people who also think they understand Taylor better than the rest. That they have figured out her secret codes and her ultimate message. Only, not all of those theories involve lesbian supermodels, so they aren’t as popular on Tumblr.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Masquerade/Why So Silent (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: This chapter contains the culmination of something I hit on back in “Music of the Night” because word association is fun. Also dictionary definitions/examples used in a sentence. Word Count: 2372 Content Warning: None Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @joz-stankovich @sennextheassasinkingoflight Previous Chapter: All I Ask of You Cross-posted to AO3: here

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The right whispers in the right ears, the right stories told, and the problem would soon go away.

~

Over the weeks that followed, Valdo withdrew to the shadows to wait for his trap to spring. As he watched his flower grow closer to the loathsome witcher, he seethed. But he took comfort in the fact that it would all soon come crashing down, and then Jaskier would have no one to turn to but him. He would be the one to win in the long run.

~

“It’s obviously the witcher who did it,” the Countess snapped. “Everything only started happening when he showed up, and he’s not called the Butcher of Blaviken for nothing.”

She scoffed at the stunned and rapt audience she had gathered as she ranted.

“Strangulation. Real subtle. I appreciate the poetic nod though. ‘Gorgeous garrotter’ indeed.”

“What?” Jaskier frowned, glaring at her.

“Isn’t that what you called him in your little diddy about his lust affair with the Vengerberg bitch? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s helping him get away with it. Never trust a mage after all.”

“No.”

“What’s that minstrel? Don’t want to believe your precious wolf is just another rabid cur?”

It took all of Jaskier’s willpower, and Y/N’s white-knuckled grip on his arm, to keep from launching at the woman as she spewed her filth.

“We’ll prove it,” Y/N said, voice far firmer than she felt. “Jaskier will bring Geralt to the Masque as his guest and while he’s out of his rooms, the guard can search it. When there’s no evidence to connect him, you’ll drop your ridiculous theory.”

“Fine.”

As the Countess stormed off Y/N leaned in to hiss in Jaskier’s ear. “You are sure he didn’t do it, right?”

“Geralt would never.”

“Good. Now let’s go. We have a party to prepare for.”

~

“There’s a masquerade tonight,” Jaskier said, nervously twisting his fingers as he paced. “I’m expected to attend, as the hall’s rising star, but…I don’t want to go alone.”

Geralt stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Now I know what you’re thinking Geralt, that you hardly have a costume for it, but it would not be difficult to go and find you one, or have Yennefer magic something up…or you could go in your armor and we would just need something to cover your face. That is the beauty of it being a costumed party, no one will know who you are and you can do whatever you like.”

“Actually I was thinking that we’ve never attended a formal event together that hasn’t ended in disaster.”

“But we’ve also never attended one together.”

Geralt hummed, hands reaching out to pull Jaskier closer until the bard stumbled onto his lap, an arm thrown around his neck as Geralt’s ensnared his waist.

Jaskier giggled, burying his face in soft silver hair. “Please Geralt? This is the first grand event the hall has put on since…well it’s been weeks since anyone’s heard a peep from Valdo and I think it might be…”

“A trap. That makes sense.”

“I was going to say fun. Maybe even a new beginning. A beginning I’d like you to embark on with me.”

Geralt sighed. “This is one of those things I’m not getting out of, isn’t it?”

“Well…”

“Fine. Unless you have some idea, and clothes that would fit me, I should go see Yennefer then I suppose.”

“Oh Geralt thank you! This will be great fun, you’ll see.” Jaskier kissed his cheek as he stood excitedly.

“Also, the Countess may have been spreading rumors that you were the murderer, and Y/N tried to defend you by offering to let the guard search your room while you were at the party with me,” he muttered quickly as Geralt was leaving.

Geralt whipped around to stare at him incredulously. “What?”

“Everything will be fine. I was going to ask you to come anyway. Trust me?”

The glare he was given could have cut glass. Jaskier smiled what he hoped was his most convincing grin. Geralt sighed.

“You had better know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you Geralt,” Jaskier clasped his hands over his heart. “Now I will meet you at the music hall, under the third lamppost from the left, at exactly eight.”

Geralt nodded and, with another sigh, went to see a witch about his wardrobe.

~

It wasn’t hard to find the witcher’s room or get inside. The harp string stolen from the orchestra’s stock was wrapped around a fist and pulled tight between his hands. If his rival died today, all the easier. He would see Jaskier through his grief, as he had before.

But the room was empty when he slipped through the window. He rummaged about the clothing and armor, fondling the swords for a moment, but they would be too noticeable to take. Besides, the irritating stagehand had been strangled. Any proper artist would tell you that consistency was key to a good story.

Content in his inspection of the room, Valdo carefully coiled the thin wire around his fingers, twisting the end in on itself to keep it in place. Then he laid it gently in among the strange potions the witcher kept around, knowing they would be personal enough only he would have access.

He settled the stylized ram’s head over his face and slipped back out. Invite or no, there was a party to attend.

~

Jaskier smiled as he saw Yennefer and Y/N walk in, hand in hand. It was not often that the wives were able to be together, the couple kept apart by the day-to-day realities of their respective positions within the company, so it brought his heart joy to see them taking the opportunity they had. It was almost enough, in fact, to distract himself from the apprehension in his heart at the prospect of stepping out, quite publicly, with Geralt for the first time. Geralt, who rumors were beginning to spread about, who more than one had suggested might be the murderer, the Phantom. His stomach roiled with nerves.

And then Geralt appeared at his side and the twisting became for an entirely different reason. He had always admired Geralt’s looks, but this…this was something special. His broad shoulders perfectly filled out the black doublet with silver embroidery, the sheen and style making it ripple and sway like a shadow mirage. Rich plum purple lace peaked out over the collar, the barest hint of a colored undershirt hiding beneath. His stunning locks were braided back from his face in a pair of thin, complex braids which flowed into the gentle waves down the back of his neck. His filigreed mask, silver with black detailing in counter to his doublet, finished out the look, a breathtaking enigma. Jaskier compared it to his own costume of reds and golds, more sultry and playful than this stylized elegance. Day and night, sun and moon. Oh Yennefer was good.

Jaskier mingled, and Geralt hovered, occasionally pulled onto the dance floor for a song or two, both of them getting handsier and more creative in their dance steps as the evening wore on and the drinks continued to flow. At one point, the witcher found himself nuzzling into the bard’s neck, no longer caring so much about discretion or carefulness nearly as much as he did about having Jaskier so close and looking so beautiful.

Shortly after, a familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries floated over the couple as another couple approached to cut in, the two women claiming their partners for a chat as they looped about the floor.

“You look happy Geralt,” Yennefer purred, blood red lips curled in a smirk.

“I am,” he admitted, looking at her earnestly from behind his mask. “You do too, you know. Marital bliss is a good look on you.”

“I owe you that. I would never have become the woman that deserved Y/N, or been lucky enough to meet her, without you.” She smiled, glancing over his shoulder to watch Y/N and Jaskier as the ever-graceful pair claimed the center of attention. “I’m happy for you.”

“Really?” his lip curled up in a teasing smile. “The way you’re keeping me from him right now, I thought you might be jealous.”

“My beloved wife wanted a moment with her friend.” She quirked an eyebrow. “And you looked about ready to strip him down and devour him right here. I do have an interest in maintaining a degree of…decorum around here.”

Geralt stammered, flustered and unable to find a reply before Jaskier was swept back over and gracefully deposited into his arms and Yennefer stolen away, a partner trade made into a dance move. Y/N smiled smugly and murmured something in Yennefer’s ear, too low for even his witcher senses to pick up, and Yennefer laughed again.

Suddenly someone screamed, and from seemingly nowhere, a figure appeared. Great curling black horns rose back from a skeletal face; shadows cast and lights danced on the beading of the caped black costume, creating the illusion that flames licked up around him. Standing where he was at the top of the stairs, he towered over the crowd which fell hushed and still with fear.

“Terribly sorry that I’m late,” the figure drawled, arms thrown wide, a performer before a captive audience. “My invitation appears to have been lost.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through the listeners. “Do not fear. I have…missed you all.”

Yennefer moved to stand in front of Y/N, arm curled protectively to keep her back as the figure leaned over the banister to cast his eye over the crowd.

“I have written a performance.” He held something up in his gloved hand before casting it down to the ground below where it, a folio made of pale leather (a few close by noted that it looked sickeningly close to the color of flesh) spilled open at the managers’ feet.

“For it to be quite right, there are of course a few specifics to take care of.” From his sleeve he drew a long, thin knife and he began to make his way down the stairs, speaking as he went.

Geralt squeezed a hand on Jaskier’s hip reassuringly before slipping away into the crowd and shadow, hoping to reach his swords, checked at the door, in time.

“The Countess, first. She has her use but must be reined in, not allowed to undeservedly dominate the stage.” Valdo gestured at the woman in question with the tip of the dagger in a motion that less than subtly suggested the slitting of her throat. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he waved dismissively and turned to the next on his list.

“Her counterpart, Piangi,” he thrust forward, not quite making contact with the large man, who made a weak attempt to stand his ground defensively.  “A romantic lead needs gravitas, not buffoonery.”

“And my managers. You have been given several chances to do what’s right and stay out of my way. Do as you’re told, count your coins, and let those with proper knowledge run the show.” This time the dagger was swift and came close enough to graze the tip from Firman’s mustache and the two men cowered.

“And our star. Sweet songbird. Jaskier.” Valdo stepped down slowly toward where Jaskier stood, frozen as he always felt when he appeared. The dagger remained pointed at the ground, and his free hand came up as if to caress Jaskier’s face. “His talent is good, but he knows what he must do if he truly wants to succeed. Come back to me, his beloved tutor.”

Valdo’s eyes fell to the medallion which Geralt had given to him, normally worn tucked under his shirt for protection but now slipped through the loose laces of his collar to sit openly, almost a challenge. He snatched at it, breaking chain and jerking Jaskier forward.

“You belong to me.” Valdo hissed, face close enough that Jaskier could feel the air that passed between clenched teeth and count the flecks of gold in those haunting green eyes.

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, Valdo had dashed back up the central stairs and was gone in a puff of smoke.

Geralt and Yennefer both ran to inspect where he had gone, reaching it just in time to catch the edge of a trapdoor settling into place, invisible in the pattern of the floor.

He looked up at her, eyes full of confusion and rage. She returned his glance with sorrow. Partygoers began to scatter, and Geralt went to Jaskier’s side as the bard bent to pick up the now damaged token.

“Why is this happening Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was so small and an icy hand of fear, and of shame that he hadn’t been there to when Jaskier needed him (again), clenched over the witcher’s heart.

Before he could answer, a number of the city guard burst through the entrance, shouting for everyone to remain calm and stay where they were. They approached Geralt.

“Witcher,” the captain of them said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Master Joseph Boquet. Please come with us peacefully or we will resort to deadly force.”

Geralt frowned in puzzlement but knelt to place his sword on the ground and stood quietly, hands raised in a show of peace.

“On what evidence?” Y/N snapped, stepping forward before Yennefer could catch her.

“This wire, covered in old blood, found among the witcher’s personal belongings. He is a known killer, so the presence of what is obviously the murder weapon raises no question.”

Geralt frowned. He had never seen such a wire before in his life, but he knew better than to try and argue once someone had decided he was responsible. And so he surrendered to the guard and was marched out, to the jeers and murmurs of the remaining crowd, head hung low and heart sunk even further. Yennefer stood silently beside Jaskier who watched him go and waited until he could no longer catch even the slightest glimpse of silver before he let himself collapse, sobbing, into the mage’s arms.

“We’ll fix this,” Y/N said, “Right?” She glanced at her wife, but she remained silent, unwilling to make false promises.

[goodticklebrain]

Q&A August: David Prosser of the Stratford Festival

Remember back when I called Austin Tichenor my Comedy Fairy Godfather? Well, the subject of today’s Q&A August interview is my Shakespeare Fairy Godfather. David Prosser is the Literary and Editorial Director at the Stratford Festival of Canada, and is also indirectly responsible for much of Good Tickle Brain’s growth and success. (Also, if he’s reading this, I would like to sincerely apologize to him for all grammatical errors in today’s post, most likely related to misplaced punctuation, the correct disposition of which I have never properly mastered.)

I met David on Twitter a scant four months after I had started Good Tickle Brain. Fresh out of the gates, with few followers or readers, I was desperately trying to get my work in front of as many eyes as possible. To that end, I went on Twitter and promptly followed everyone I could find who was remotely associated with the Stratford Festival. One of the people I stumbled upon was David, whose wonderfully dry and witty tweets immediately attracted my attention. On day, embroiled in a bit of an ongoing brouhaha with some Oxfordians, David tweeted a riff on “Duke of Earl”, rewriting the chorus as “dupes, dupes, dupes, dupes of Earl”. Never one to shy away from a song parody, I provided the rest of the lyrics. David was amused enough by my efforts that he followed me, and started retweeting my comics. I cannot tell you how much that meant to me at the time.

Later on that year, I was visiting the Stratford Festival with my family, and (of course) tweeting about it when David slid into my DMs and invited me up to the Festival offices to have tea with him before that day’s matinee. I jumped at the chance, and we spent a wonderful half an hour or so chatting in the sunshine on the Festival Theatre balcony. It was like meeting my long-lost benevolent Scottish uncle. David was not only immediately supportive and encouraging of my work, but he also began actively brainstorming ways in which to help me reach a larger audience, specifically among the theatre community. To that end he introduced me to the Shakespeare Theatre Association, which quickly became my Shakespeare family and has helped me grow and develop Good Tickle Brain into what it is today.

There is absolutely no reason why the Literary and Editorial Director of the largest classical repertory theatre in North America should have given the time of day to a random person on the internet who drew sub-par stick figures and routinely committed egregious spelling errors in her text. However, David did not hesitate to lift me up, and has been a constantly warm, supportive, and thoroughly entertaining presence in my life since then.

But I’ll let him talk now. He’s much better at it than I am. 

1. Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

Who am I indeed? Isn’t that the mystery that haunts us all? “Who’s there?” asks Barnardo in the opening words of Hamlet, and that same question echoes down through centuries of subsequent literature. Call me David. Or Prosser, David Prosser.

I was born and grew up in Scotland, where, in early childhood, I first encountered Shakespeare as the author of the “Scottish play” and didn’t realize till some time later that he’d written anything else; came to Canada in my twenties; had a fourteen-year career at a small daily newspaper, where, among other things I was the theatre critic (boo, hiss) and editor of the TV listings (zzzzzz….); then quit in order to spend more time with my wife and cats and to pursue new opportunities for financial ruin; and finally washed up on the shores of the Stratford Festival, where, under various unconvincing job titles (most latterly that of Literary and Editorial Director), I have been an in-house wordsmith for the past quarter-century.

And why Shakespeare? As a nearly dead white male myself, I have a particular affinity for the work of dead white males in general—and Shakespeare in particular has intrigued me ever since childhood, when my father (an English teacher) showed me some black-and-white slides of scenes from a staging of that Scottish play referenced above. I’m sure if I could see them now, those images would prove cheesy; at the time, though, they haunted my imagination; it wasn’t till some time later that I began to discover that there were words to go with them.

As I started to discover the actual plays, I found to my excitement that they had the mind-expanding power of dreams, in which human life is transformed into something rich and strange—an alternative universe of experience, if you like, but one that brilliantly illuminates the “real” one.

2. What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

Sticking with the Scottish play, I generally laugh at Macbeth’s (oops, said it) “‘Twas a rough night,” and I always smile whenever an actor has to tackle the unsayable “O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart / Cannot conceive nor name thee!” Also, I’m afraid I can never suppress a schoolboy snigger when Mountjoy, in Henry V, comes in and announces himself with the words “You know me by my habit.” I can’t remember where I heard it or read it, but someone, somewhere, made a joke about the entire English army responding with rude gestures suggestive of that habit, and I have never been able to get that out of my mind.

3. What’s a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

See Mountjoy above. Also this, one of the many stories from the late Richard Monette’s memoir This Rough Magic: an autobiography “as told to,” er, well, me. Peter Ustinov was playing King Lear at the Stratford Festival in 1979; Richard was playing Edmund.

“At one performance,” Richard recalled, “Peter began, ‘We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage. . . .’ and then he dried. ‘We’ll sing . . .’ he repeated, ‘and then we’ll sing some more. Oh, we’ll laugh. . . . We’ll dance. . . . And then . . . we’ll sing some more.’ Realizing what had happened, I tried to save him by coming in early with my line: ‘Take them away.’ He regarded me with mild curiosity, then waved me away with his hand—'Foof, foof, foof’—and began the whole speech over again, determined to say it all.”

4. What’s one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you’ve either seen or would like to see?

In 1998, or thereabouts, at a theatre festival in Quebec City, I saw a production of The Tempest directed by Robert Lepage. More precisely, it was La Tempête, a translation into French by Normand Chaurette. What was novel about it were the settings, which were computer-created projections—but not just flat background images. The audience wore polarized 3D glasses throughout, which created the illusion of a three-dimensional landscape and objects (such as the royal ship) that seemed to come floating out into the auditorium. It was a stunning effect, perfectly suited to the magical powers referenced in the play, and it had a huge effect on me.

5. What’s one of your favorite Shakespearean “hidden gems”?

An obvious one, obviously, but it’s the “wretched strangers” speech from Sir Thomas More.

6. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

I am constantly on the alert for opportunities to work any of the following into my conversation:

“Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul, / And there I see such black and grainèd spots / As will not leave their tinct.”

“I’ll no pullet sperm in my brewage.” (Have to be careful about that one when placing an order in a bar or restaurant, though, or the server might spit in my Sauvignon.)

“For this relief much thanks.” (Always apt in washrooms.)

More seriously, I always get a wave of nostalgia for the homeland when I hear Macbeth say, “Light thickens, and the crow makes wing to the rooky wood.” For some reason that line evokes Scotland for me so strongly for me that I feel sure Shakespeare must have toured there when the plague was on in London.

7. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

When I was an undergraduate, a professor told me that Titus Andronicus was an absolutely dreadful play, what could Shakespeare have been thinking; and for many years I believed her. Then I actually read it, and thought, wow.

8. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

Wow, that is a question, isn’t it? Erm, well…. Oh, I don’t know: it might be…. Or, no, maybe not. No, shoot, I just can’t make up my mind. Sorry, I know I’m procrastinating, but I’m going to have to set this aside for a while, while I think on it more precisely. Maybe get a bit of sea air to clear my mind….

Okay, that’s better. I’d like to think it maybe would be Benedick, but I’m very much afraid it might be Falstaff. Or King John.

Actually, a few years ago, I really identified with the King of France, but, lacking a Helena, I had surgery for it, and I’m fine now.

9. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

I pop up from time to time on Facebook (though not Instagram, which I’ve never seen the point of). Occasionally I make snarky remarks on Twitter. Otherwise, I can sometimes be found in the lobby of the Festival Theatre, giving Lobby Talks before selected performances. C’mon down! They’re free!

(Back to Mya) Thanks so much to David for taking the time to answer my questions! If you can, pick up a copy of former Stratford Festival artistic director Richard Monette’s memoir, This Rough Magic, which David worked on. It’s a wonderful read.

COMING THURSDAY: My other self, my counsel’s consistory, my pocket dramaturg!

[southeastasianists]

Indonesian filmmaker Joko Anwar is making moves in a surging industry. He directed the first season of HBO Asia’s Jakarta-set supernatural series Halfworlds and some episodes of its new horror series Folklore. He joins other local auteurs enjoying both domestic and international acclaim for movies like last year’s Marlina the Murderer in Four Acts, directed by Mouly Surya. The so-called “satay Western” about a wronged woman out for revenge won raves at 2017’s Cannes Film Festival, and is the nation’s pick to compete for Best Foreign Language Film at next year’s Academy Awards.

Filmmaking in Indonesia dates back more than a century, and movies were first shown there in 1900. The current resurgence comes after last century’s bumpy journey for an art form that never totally took hold of audiences’ imagination.

“We hear about a once-rich Indonesian cinema culture, but it was an illusion,” Anwar told Southeast Asia Globe.

He’s referring to the sagas of Sundanese legends that were popular with Indonesian audiences in the 1920s, but were told from the point of view of the Dutch directors who made them on location in what was then the Dutch East Indies. In the early 1930s, elaborate romantic melodramas were all the rage, but they were created by Chinese entrepreneurs who were flush from the Shanghai movie boom and extending their market around the region. Heavily financed foreign productions discouraged local film production, which was scattershot and based mainly in Jakarta. The Great Depression and Dutch taxes made this dream all but impossible by the mid-1930s.

A handful of enterprising filmmakers dipped their toes in the water in the 1940s – just before film production was banned under the Japanese occupation. Government-approved political films saturated the post-Independence era until a string of indie domestic films enjoyed huge success in the 1980s. The 1988 political biopic Tjoet Nja’ Dhien was the first Indonesian film to be invited to Cannes. Soon after that victory, local filmmaking took a big hit when the government lifted a ban on the screening of foreign films. Indonesian moviemakers couldn’t compete with blockbusters from Hollywood and Hong Kong. During Southeast Asia’s economic crisis of 1997, Indonesia’s economy tanked, along with box office sales and investment in domestic film production. Just six movies were made in Indonesia in 1999.

The industry has been recovering since the mid-2000s, and in most Indonesian cities, air-conditioned multiplexes are seeing relatively healthy sales. John Riady, an Indonesian entrepreneur and editor at large of the Jakarta Globe, describes Indonesia as “the most invisible country in the world”, referring to the rarity of good English writing about the country and poor tourism marketing. It’s home to a quarter of a billion people, and its capital, Jakarta, is a gargantuan tech-obsessed metropolis that sends more tweets daily than any other city on the planet. Metrics like that are impressive, but local cinema isn’t quite keeping pace.

“Indonesians used to have a closer emotional relationship with movies and cinemas, mainly because there weren’t many alternatives to movie-watching at that time, and cinemas were not in high-end shopping malls,” explained Anwar. “Today, going to a cinema requires more effort since most of them are inside places which the average Indonesian person – someone who lives outside of Jakarta, for example, or the average Jakartan who doesn’t visit luxury malls – has no access to.”

Anwar, 42, is a solidly built man who dresses and talks with the confidence of someone who tours the international film-festival circuit and enjoys a lucrative career. He grew up in a poor part of Sumatra and spent much of his childhood watching horror and kung-fu movies. In 2003, he wrote Indonesia’s first gay-themed film, Arisan!, and went on to write and direct a slew of films throughout the 2000s. His 2007 film, Kala, was lauded at the New York Asian Film Festival. His 2009 thriller, Forbidden Door, was screened at film festivals all over the world, and the Hollywood Reporter compared it to the work of Alfred Hitchcock.

The biggest challenge faced by Indonesian cinema is getting audiences in seats, Anwar explained.

“There are too few cinemas, compared to the increasing interest in cinema-going. For the past three years, Indonesia has enjoyed a [rise in] ticket sales for locally produced films, and it seems like we are going to surpass that also this year. However, ticket prices have crept up to keep pace with demand, and this puts a visit to the cinema out of the reach of most Indonesians, who either don’t have or can’t justify spending that kind of money on a movie ticket. There’s also the fact that the older traditions of movie-going are gone, and so unless you’re an upwardly mobile Jakartan, cinema isn’t on your radar at all. You watch TV. You talk to your family.”

Anwar then produced something unexpected: the 2015 dystopian A Copy of My Mind, set in Jakarta during the tense 2014 presidential elections. The urban drama and love story about a low-rent salon worker and a guy who writes subtitles for pirated DVDs featured Jakarta as a character more than a setting.

“My vision of Jakarta in A Copy of My Mind was meant to be a love letter to the city I moved to 20 years ago,” said Anwar. “Back then, I was penniless but I fell in love with the city right away. It was a very diverse place and people were more tolerant. Preachers weren’t spreading hate in mosques. Nightlife was colourful. We even had a gay film festival – imagine that, in the world’s most Muslim-populated country!”

Unlike the Hong Kong of Wong Kar-wai or the Madrid of Almodóvar, Anwar’s Jakarta wasn’t venerated, there was no background razzle-dazzle. In A Copy of My Mind, Jakarta is a bleak and ominous place, akin to the Phnom Penh of the Cambodian filmmaker Rithy Panh.

“Now, it feels like I don’t know Jakarta anymore. I believe that the 2014 presidential campaign started a kind of hateful atmosphere in the city, and in the country,” he said. “There were so many black campaigns launched, and they seriously damaged our capability for logic and cultural expression. Now hate has been normalised: you hear it from religious preachers, on the street, even in schools by teachers. With A Copy of My Mind, I guess I wanted to make a time capsule of that one particular year so 20 years from now, when things get better or worse, we can watch that film and remember what happened, and reflect.”

There are no film schools in Indonesia, but it does have five filmmaking education programmes at universities and institutes. It has just over 1,000 cinema screens, compared to nearly 15,000 in the comparable economy of India, which has a robust national cinema culture. In the Philippines, the industry employs a quarter of a million people and 50 million Filipinos go to the movies every year.

So why does Indonesia lag behind?

“First of all, good and entertaining movies in Indonesia are so rare that momentum in viewership can’t be sustained,” said Anwar. “This makes it hard to argue for financing, it makes it hard to motivate people to join the industry or take up training, and human resources in Indonesian filmmaking are already so rare. This results in a lot of untrained people making well-intentioned but poor-quality films. But most films are likely to get a theatrical release to fill cinema schedules, thus glutting the market with low-grade product – and this turns audiences off even further.”

Anwar hopes the current successes signal a turning point. He spoke of the increase in new movie theatres and educational opportunities, including the workshops and training offered through the government’s Creative Economy Agency.

When Southeast Asia Globe caught up with him, Anwar was in post-production after a long shoot on location in Jakarta and West Java for his next film, Gundala, based on 1980s Indonesian superhero comic books. Promo shots and poster art for it are plastered on Indonesian Facebook pages and in that deluge of Jakartan tweets.

After his work with HBO Asia, it seemed possible that Anwar would follow the money and work internationally, but Gundala suggests the exact opposite.

“I believe what’s important is making films that you can inject your own personality into, your views of life,” he said. “I think I will be happy making movies anywhere, as long as I am doing movies which I care about, with stories that I believe in, and with interesting characters. It still has to be a personal experience for me. As long as I’m allowed to do that, making movies anywhere will still be bliss.”

[kalosian-writer]

**VERY IMPORTANT OOC NOTE** Jules’ freestyle is sexual in nature. Because of this, Tian and I have agreed that reading it is completely optional for everyone, overriding the ‘judges must read all performances’ rule. If you are not comfortable reading NSFW material, it is 100% okay to opt-out. If for any reason you need evidence please contact me and I’ll happy show you screenshots of Tian and I discussing this.

Also, I cannot post this as ‘nsfw’ because of tumblr’s now ruined tagging system. Apologies to everyone.

--

Participant: Jules Saint-Michelle (under the alias Mireille Bisset) Category: Freestyle Music:  But I Am a Good Girl-Christina Aguilera Props: A simple chair (Picture of costume at the bottom)

Pokémon:

Loic (Borzoi-variant Furfrou, Star Trim) Ability: Fur Coat Moves: Charm, Helping Hand, Cotton Guard,

Verna (Hawlucha) Ability: Unburden Moves: Sky Drop, Helping Hand, Feather Dance,

Nox (Pumpkaboo) Ability: Frisk Moves: Shadow Sneak, Light Screen, Trick Room, Bestow

--

Speakers thumbed softly to life as someone made a surprise announcement from the sound booth. The voice was pleasant, and probably familiar to more than a few people.

“Esteemed guests: we would like to take a moment to request that anyone under-aged or uncomfortable with suggestive theatrics please exit the theatre for the next performance, which will begin in two minutes. This act should only be viewed by consenting adults, so if you do not consent, please exit the theatre. Thank you, and enjoy~”

Glancing out from the corner of the curtain, ‘Mireille’ didn’t necessarily feel any apprehension about what she was about to do. There might be cameras, sure, and she’d certainly surprise a few people, but she’d already made her intentions clear. Being filmed was a risk she accepted. Rather, her eyes scanned the audience for Reiji, small smile growing into a smirk when she saw him. Good. She knew exactly where she’d be looking the whole time.

Lights went down-her cue.

When they came back up-dimmer now-the stage was fairly sparse. Just off center and towards the front of the stage, a woman stood with one foot elevated on a plain wooden chair, showing off bold pink pumps and sheer stockings of a paler hue. The shoes complimented her long silk gloves of the same color, each wrist adored with a rhinestone cuff that glimmered in the stage light. The brim of a pink bowler hat shadowed her face, keeping it hidden for the time being. Other than those, she worn a relatively plain black silk robe. On the other side of the chair, a large Furfrou stood on his hind legs, the front two placed on the seat of the chair like hers.

As the music started and the lights brightened, the woman leaned forward to peck her Pokémon on the muzzle, after which he grabbed the brim of her hat and took it off before jumping down. He passed in front of her before circling back, prancing and flipping the hat onto his head to Charm the audience before moving towards the back to give his trainer the spotlight.

Now without her hat, with her hair down and her makeup changed, there wasn’t much left that could be called ‘Mireille’. Jules stood tall and flashed the audience a seductive look before the lyrics started. She had a rhinestone choker on, with strands of rhinestones dripping down into her robe.

‘The dress is Chanel, the shoes YSL-‘

Hands traveled up her body, pausing a moment on her breasts to fondle them and draw attention to her figure as she arched her back for emphasis. Then the arm closer to the audience fell down to her raised knee, before sliding up her leg, tugging up the hem of her robe with it. Though it was just for a moment, something sparkled before she covered it again.

‘The bag is Dior, Agent Provocateur~’

In one smooth motion, she stepped her elevated leg down and spun forward on it, sitting herself down so that she faced the audience. Briefly her legs were spread, just enough to give everyone a long glance at bright pink satin panties before she crossed one leg over the other.

‘My address today-L.A. by the way-above Sunset Strip, the hill are the way.’

A pause in her teasing to play up the part, leaning forward with her arms on her knee. Then back again, twirling her hard innocently enough.

‘My ring are by Webster, it makes their heads twirl-

They all say, “Darling, what did you do for those pearls?”’

Now she was up again, skillfully strutting around until she stood behind the chair, her back to the audience. Her hands were doing…something, and after a moment it became clear-one hand pulled out to the side, holding the sash of her robe and sensually dragging it out of the loops until it dangled free. She dropped it beside her as the song continued, the shape of her body now completely obscured by the untied robe.

‘What?!’

Hands tucked in to her chest and shoulders hunched as she turned her head to look at the audience over her shoulder. A beat pause, and her posture loosened, along with her grip on the robe. Beat by beat it began to slide off-first one shoulder, then the other.

‘I am a good girl~’

The robe was falling now, dropping away. But before she could be totally exposed, a Pumpkaboo flew out from the wings, the eyes of his jack-o-lantern glowing bright and shimmering into a Light Screen to blind the audience and hide his trainer. As he flew back and forth across the stage and over the audience, the glow shifted to blue, then purple, then overwhelmed the room with red in a dizzying display as he set a Trick Room.

Gone was the previously bland stage, replaced instead by a luxurious room of white and pinks, satin and silks. Ghostly mirrors hovered in the air, while brilliant crystal chandeliers failed to illuminate the darker corners of the illusion. Stage lights moves about to take in the dreamy sight.

Hopefully, the change was enough to distract from Jules momentarily. If anyone were to look her direction, they might have seen her nearly doubled over, holding on to the back of the (now black) chair so hard that her knuckles were pale. Focusing on her breathing while the rest of the audience took in the transformation.

Breathe, Jules, breathe…

It had been her choice to set the scene using two psychic-type attacks. She knew it was coming, but the dizzy, disorienting sensation was heightened to her. There was a reason she hadn’t practiced it much.

Merde, how many bars had it been? Relaxing her pained expression, she stood tall again, giving the audience a confident, sultry smirk as she stepped out from behind the chair and all eyes began to fall on her. Stage lights, likewise, focused their gaze on the woman. It was a miracle she could even strut on unsteady feet, but under all the attention, she shined.

The robe was discarded now, left on a heap in the floor behind the chair. What replaced it left just enough to the imagination to keep things interesting. Those stocks ended at her upper thigh, where a blue garter belt with white rhinestones continued to lead the eye to ruffled pink satin boyshorts. A strapless blue bra completed the outfit, embellished with lace, chains of rhinestones (not unlike the ones dangling off her necklace), and a large white gem at the very front.

With a flare of her hand, she gestured back up to Nox, who took the opportunity to dive down and disappear into her shadow, before using Shadow Sneak to pop out behind her. Tiny teeth tugged at a large bow on the back of her panties, pulling it open and unraveling a bustle of silks in a variety of pink, blue, and white. Of course, it needed a little help falling into place, but Jules didn’t have any problem grinding her hips and shaking her butt for a little dramatic flair. If anything, she played it up, shimmying her upper body to get her chest bouncing as well.

To finish up the look, Loic came trotting back up, dropping his head down to flip her hat back into her waiting hand. With him came Verna, both ready to offer a little Helping Hand.

‘B.H I adore, Rodeo l’amour,’

Taking the hat in both hands, Jules held it up to cover her chest, then sharply turned her head to the side. Loic was laying a few feet away, turned attentively towards his trainer. With a little bounce, Jules bumped her hip in his direction, and on cue he rolled over and remained on his back, playing dead with his tongue stuck out like a love-struck fool.

‘Breakfast Polo Lounge and poolside for sure,’

Jules bat her eyelashes and blew a kiss to her dog, tossing the hat back to him as a favor for the time being. From there she marched to stand front and center on the stage, flashing the audience (mostly Reiji) a beguiling look before she turned her back to them. She spread her feet far apart as she bent over to give everyone a good look at her glittering bustle. Rhinestones flashed in the light as she waved it around a bit, but before anyone could get too comfortable with the view, a certain Pumpkaboo who’d been hiding in her shadow popped out yet again and flew out from underneath her. Nox’s exit flipped the fabric up onto the small of her back. Meanwhile, Jules looked out at everyone with a look of coy surprise from between her legs.

‘The Chateau for cocktails, The Courtyard at nine, Dan Tana’s for dinner, The Helen’s divine~’

Gloved hands reached back to cup and fondle her ass, and Jules could have made a whole show of grinding her hips in a slow circle. The squeezing and writhing continued as she righted herself, keeping her back arched. Once standing upright, she gave another hip bump and turned back around, hands crossing her stomach to rest on her hips.

‘You know I have found, the word’s going ‘round, they all say my feet never DO touch the ground-‘

Jules raised an arm high in the air, Verna soared down to perch. They exchanged a sweet moment, Jules reaching up to scratch her Pokémon’s beak, before Verna took to the sky-and took Jules with her. They fluttered up, up, up, twirling as they did so-

‘What?!’

And then Verna let go, sending Jules into a Sky Drop. Her landing wasn’t perfect, feet wobbling as she threatened to roll on her heels, but she managed to right herself just in time to cover her mouth again in mock horror on the fourth beat. Soon, the expression changed to one of coy confidence.

‘I am a good girl~’

Keeping her heels together, the writer spread her legs outwards in an exaggerated plie that again drew attention downwards-particularly once her hands trailed down her body to the front of her crotch. As she rose back up, one hand remained southwards, sliding even farther in between her legs. The other slid back up the curves of her figure to grope a breast. She took her time now, letting the instrumental play out a little while she played with herself. Still, her titillating show had to move on, so again she spread her legs wide. The hand that had been touching her panties came up and out as she raised it, giving the audience a ‘come hither’ motion before bringing it up to her face to touch her lips with one finger. As she shifted her weight onto one hip, she gave them a wink.

Now her attention returned to her chair, where Nox was seated. She approached him from the side, setting one hand on the back of the chair as she brought her near foot back up to the seat. Jules bent at the waist, sticking out her ass again as she playfully shooed her Pokémon from the chair. Nox floated off to find more interesting entertainment.

With her foot still up, Jules pushed her hips toward the chair, as if grinding against it. One smooth move was all it took to spin the chair around, and she took a seat straddling it and facing the audience-but not before a little more grinding. She leaned forward to rest one arm along the back of the chair, then sharply turned her head to watch something going on off to the side of the stage.

Over there, Loic and Nox had begun to squabble over her hat. True to the rest of the show, Nox used Shadow Sneak to creep into the shadow under the brim, appearing between Loic and the hat and beginning to fly off with it- but not before the Furfrou could bite the brim and flip it into the air. Both Pokémon lunged to get the favor.

Verna, however, was one step ahead. She bounced off Loic’s back and flung herself into the air. A tiny clawed hand grabbed the bowler, and held it close to herself as she rolled into a front flip, landing perfectly on Jules’ shoulder.

As her trainer stood back up, Verna placed the hat back on her head. She earned herself a peck on the beak while Jules returned to front and center. Around them, the Trick Room began to fade, the cherubic world of pink and white falling away in a swirl of sparkling diamond dust.

‘I am a good gir~l!’

The singer began to belt, and Jules slowly raised one arm like a wing as she did so. But her other hand was wandering, dancing up the center of her body until fingers found the white stone at the front of her bra. While the audience surely couldn’t hear it, her Hawlucha could hear-and see-her tug at the clasp as it began to come undone. If anyone were to look at Verna’s expression of shock, it would be clear that this wasn’t something that happened in the rehearsal.

She leapt into action immediately, pushing off her trainer and into the air. Her wings glowed silver before she unleashed a Feather Dance. A flurry of white feathers filled the room, providing a little modesty. Loic was right behind her, shaking his fur to release puffs of Cotton Guard just as Jules undid the clasp. The bra fell free, where she held it off to the side, but her Pokémon made sure that no one got too good a glance at what was beneath.

‘Oh! Uhh! Ahh!’

With the song drawing to a close, Jules turned sharply on her heels and began to strut offstage. She held the bra high, up under Nox (apparently the only one in on the plan) snatched it from her grasp. While Jules walked off, the Pumpkaboo flew out into the audience and Bestowed it to a certain idol in the crowd.

After all, this was a Valentine’s Day show, wasn’t it?

‘Yeah!’

The stage was quiet for a few seconds after the music died off, but the tapping of claws on wood signaled Loic’s return.

He paid no attention to the audience, simply grabbing Jules’ discarded robe in his teeth and strolling back to return it to her.

--

Body template (bc my brain wouldn’t work) from here, which sites the source as here.

[jasonfields]

THE GREAT RESET waged by the Elites

-jason fields

Soon, if not already, you are going to start hearing about the publicly known agenda now named #TheGreatReset. Re-Sloganed locally as needed. It’s a positive thing it seems at first.

Right now, VERY LARGE global organizations and governments are readying the roll out of far reaching plans to “save” our economy, and our Planet and our People.    These Super Orgs are hoping to get the opportunity to reset ALL things, and finally reign in the chaos.  Country by Country, State by state, City by City. A once and and for all time FIX to “save” the PLANET. Even in the U.S., under the guise of our democracy, for as long as the illusion holds. They have been salivating over the idea of a pandemic for many years, and China is leading the example in controlling populations.

Global Elites, leaders, heads of state, very large foundations and some billionaires around the world have loosely banded themselves together concertedly with the power of nations and a public vision to SAVE US from this current dire economic and covid crisis alike, while resetting all structures in order to control all things , and finally be able to control the "coming climate crisis” for good. And they are fully aligned to profiteer on the chaos. Their vision pamphlet at the World Economic Forum discussed in Davos this year reads “COVID 19 : The Great Reset”   Sounds positive.  And any negative associations will be considered lies of course.

We already know Covid is being weaponized as a tool by various power hungry Entities around the globe. HUGE RETURNS on investment for the ELITE Power Brokers gobbling up entire systems.  AND forever Affecting us.  Swooping up what middle class business owners could not hold together during lockdowns.  For Control of all sorts in the name of cutting emissions, but the acts will be played out by global giants in the spirit of greed and control.  Deals cut all across the globe to lockdown entire nations states to kill economies for reset. 

These global players have a plan to “save” things. It's going to be #TheGreatReset of everything globally. It is packaged as a plan to save the world from coming climate and economic disaster. And to “redistribute wealth”.  Killing the upper and middle class and feeding it to the poor while giving immunity to the Elites. Its mission is public. Not currently hiding.

This alignment would usually be a failure.  Normally it would be IMPOSSIBLE to achieve full government control in the US, pre-covid and post-covid. The ripe window to strike is during CHAOS.   They need to consolidate power in the business sectors in order to dial emissions to planet-saving levels. Even their own literature reads:

“COVID-19, the great reset”. Right now; done by 2030.

This is not a Theory. This is the open and searchable agenda of the World Economic Forum, as well as the International Monetary Fund, and this agenda was greatly discussed at the last world forum in Davos. IMF, by the way, has the financial means to “save nations”.  Many many poor nations are irreversibly indebted to the IMF.  It’s a type of hidden control and colonialism by elites puppet masters.

One of the slogans of the European reset campaign is that by 2030, “We will all own nothing, and we will all be happy.”

One of the key components of the agenda is to replace ownership of ALL things including replacing all businesses owners with government stewards, shareholders stepping aside.

This effort will solve the “imminent climate crisis” by perfectly dialing in global emissions for all businesses with ultimate state control.  By making these fundamental changes, they believe the earth will be saved from the “evils of capitalism” so that we can finally return all businesses to net zero emissions. Not some things... But this time, once and for all things.  From food to production to healthcare and education and you best believe all media and free speech.

With power brokers, the ends justify the means. With Planet Savers it will be the same. An army of young people indoctrinated with the word EQUITY.  And the fearful public will let the government break every process if they they believe their life depends on it.  Versus let's just agree we need to do something about our national crises together.

National production resources will be ruled by Government stewards and people who are supposedly not susceptible to greed and power and such. You wanna talk about fascism? This far-left agenda looks more fascist than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s about control.

This oldish globalist agenda would not usually concern me, because up to this point the USA has been IMMUNE and has still remained free. A beacon of hope, with its own issues. This agenda would be impotent. BUT not anymore post-covid.

Covid was necessary to pull this agenda off. It’s now or never. Regular and sustained chaos is required. Supply chains forever broken and remade. Numerous countries involved will lose some of their remaining freedoms. Many country leaders have been bought to join the Global Elite and Shut the Entire Country Down to cripple the middle class buffer.   

It will require these fascist tactics in order to fully control the regular people who were keeping the food on the table and keep running going efficiently. Don’t be distracted by the covid part. This is not a Covid argument. Nor is this an election argument.

You say: CHECKS and BALANCES will keep our Union together and free of Communist or Fascist rule.  Normally Yes, BUT NO!  The balance WILL be exploited Exactly during the Virus.  Control is never given back historically.  Who needs the house and senate when you have the fearful populist masses, a fixed system, and a common enemy painted by the coordinated state press as evil science denying viral killers trying to steal democracy.

Once FACIST or Oligarchy Control is achieved, historically, and 100% for all time, it is never given back.  Not without blood. And not without paying its global masters.  Free thinking lost forever.

America's small businesses were far too powerful for the elites to control. Our sense of freedom was too strong to give up. Our middle class was too independent. Chaos and hunger must strike first, in order to break our spirit and consolidate power; at least some, as much as they can get.

GREED is Thick and the elites just tasted it. For the last nine months, they tasted a little taste of the glory and GREED.Global elites in 9 short Covid months have added 20% to their billions. And Many doubling and tripling assets. And that is nothing compared to the power consolidated.

Could it happen here?

During the great depression era, the good average German people would have never let the Nazis take complete fascist rule without first experiencing deep economic devastation, confusion and disunity and CHAOS. Watch history. Chaos is required by the movement. They need us dependent, they want to feed us in food lines, and take care of our every need. Again, not a covid argument. They will create the chaos so that they can be the ones to bring it back into order as to their playbook. They will take whatever jurisdiction they can get their hands on. Entire countries and sectors under control.

They believe they would do a better job using OUR bodies as a national resource than we can.

And we will be happy.

Sounds blissful. If there was ANYWHERE ELSE IN THE FREE WORLD LEFT to ESCAPE TO.

I don’t know about you but I am deathly in love with FREEDOM.

And if THEY only succeed in fully controlling half or a third of the free world, they would be delighted. They will make millions of people believe that the Earth's future existence depends on it. And the time is now.

Here is how.   They have already cataloged each one of us individually, to destroy any little part of our lives if we don’t comply, and they will give their low ranking thugs access to the extensive harvested digital database of YOU.

Privacy is personal safety. Do I have something to hide? In the future, Yes a lot of things; like, the whereabouts of my children at all times, my business plans, my location etc.

Great Britain and Europe and Australia are already lining up to “reset” their countries unbeknownst to their people. It is just being slowly rolled out in a controlled message of HOPE . This is not a partial reset. This is the Great Reset.  US is looking at the face of its Manchurian Candidate.

Most Americans only get their news sources from comfortable and synchronized sources that have the deepest pockets of influence and legal team.   They don’t even know who owns that Media outlet, and who bought it for a billion last week. Follow the money.  Check your Media Bias Chart.    Compare notes with your friends who think differently and utilize far different news sources.   Is the media being fair?  What is not being told?  Who is the audience?

Fast forward. It will all seem innocent until we see political parties launch their own partisan police force just like all Fascists and communist movements do to ensure compliance in the streets. By then, the fight for freedom gets much harder, and completely underground.   At this point you actually will need Jesus to help you make it through.  Nothing in the natural will help you then.

This year, countries are soon to roll out with things like the Virus Passport and will use it with various levels of control of your movements and privileges. As the limit of each country's people is tested, other countries and governors will watch and be emboldened with this power grab      orgasm. (Excuse me). Governors who throw house party dinners with scientists and doctors while cancelling our Thanksgiving.  (not a covid opinion) just reality.

The enemy is not within. It’s not our neighbors. It’s not the Democrats, it’s not the Republicans. It's not the upper class. It is the Power Brokers, the global elite conveniently aligned to snatch power in this once-in-a lifetime grand opportunity of Covid. The Elites are also rightly afraid of the peaceful masses, after watching all these other countries be overthrown recently.

I challenge you to take a look at who’s in charge of the global economic forum, and what their beliefs are. Look at their collective capacity to make this GreatFlip. Do this, if only to be informed about what powerful people are doing and what other nations are doing. Hidden mass human rights violations around the globe...uhhh, Fox didn’t tell us that? A Fox would not kill a Wolf either. The Elites are almost powerful enough to destroy what’s left of the free world. Their power is YOU.

But not yet…

Do not be divided or you will give them the very Power they need to pull it off.

Ask yourself, “Why was 2020 so bad?” It's not just any one catastrophe, but hundreds and thousands of disasters. Chaos economics. Other elites may not align exactly to each others causes. Yet, they WILL AND ARE united by greed and are participating because it pays HUGE power dividends to the ruling class, and a large amount of wealth is transferred from the middle class and upper class as smaller businesses get gobbled up and destroyed by the economic blow. Again, not a covid argument. Chaos and public fear is necessary to pull this off.

Much worse, a common core value within the upper ranks of the World Economic Forum leaders is to seek solutions to keep the world's population down. It’s kind of a religion. Do your own research. But it’s important considering it’s the personal hope and mission of Bill Gayytes to save the world by lowering the population, and since he’s so involved in our vaxx-s. Will you be his sacrifice? “Do it for Bill?” This is Not a vaxs argument. I am just going to allow you to jump ahead of me in line. Please go first. I'll wait for round 2, But in many countries, you do not get to choose; you have to just trust that your leaders have your best in mind for your race while they catalog you and suppress your movements.….while any deaths in dark corners of the world will be blamed on covid despite the bullet wounds to increase fear and weed out dissenters. Follow these forceful tactics to their evil sources, the lowdown governor types and their nursing home horrors of fear.

Thank you for listening. Honestly, I predict that these global elites and the media outlets that they own will be greatly embarrassed, and the governors consolidating control, are going to overplay their hand in the USA and fail. God Save us! Maybe they’ll have another shot in 20 years. But we can’t go through this sleeping. Do not let yourself be split from your family and neighbors by Facebook algorithms. Stick with your people and love them anyway; they are not the problem. 

We must not be divided. Do not get caught up in rumors. If you watch the news,turn that Sheeeiiit off for a week and READ broad and various news sources. Challenge your current narrative as if you would have to defend professionally, what are your sources. Know your media biases. Do not limit your findings from only one bias. Hear the spin on both sides. No gaslighting allowed for yourself or your family members. Respect and love your family, aside from their perspectives.

Save your country by doing these little things. Build bridges to people nearby you that you could bless and let them know that you are looking out for them during this time. This will help cure the slow onset of mental illness for thousands of people around the world. if we did this contagious thing. Or maybe you think the govt would be better served mandating government workers to program the love work, the feeding, the monitoring and mental care, and the job placement? Maybe your grandmother won’t die alone if the government helps give company.

More importantly, SAVE AMERICA. Do not let 1-2 term politicians make you so filled with hate that you are willing to compromise and divide. Unless they divide us, they have no power.

Unfortunately, it seems we may have just handed over the KEYS of hate and division with one botched election; and half of America making partisan decisions to not hear the case or see it. 

Just gaslight it. Hear no evil, see no evil. The worst kind of case. Instant result.

Fair elections is all we have. No democracy without it. This is a dangerous problem. 60% of Americans think this will be the last hope of a real election. USA over. We handed them the blind hate they needed. Without hate, we can act with fair judgement and process. But, with mass public hate, the process can be subverted by the people. Hear no Evil. 

The news today covering this is an Act of War on American people. Must remove orange guy, shut down the evidence, perfectly divide the nation… Please do not go there in your heart. Not a perfect candidate nor a bad candidate is worth dividing people by subverting justice. These temporary leaders are not worth dividing over. If we let this happen it will be shortly followed by being herded and corralled by fear to full control. They will use the manufactured violence to justify taking guns, and voices forever silenced.  You then go to work for the dark side, or you starve.

Once the internet is fire-walled, we have reached the point of no return on the stranglehold of power. It's going to be a paranoid beast in its fascist infancy. But, right now, this is a hidden sneaky elite class war being waged and it’s being painted as hate amongst the poor and busy masses, who are freshly being divided by Facebook algorithms. You want to talk about woke?

I pray that the poor masses would not turn on each other to be used like pawns in the next six months.

It is important that you value freedom, and the process, MORE than you love politics. If not, you will have participated in handing our collective Power of the People over to the STATE to never return.

To Liberty,

Jason Fields

[rottenwoodandwiltedsunflowers]

Thoughts from a Waffle (9-12)

So I find it hard these days to type out a long play by play type of recap of my shows like I used to. We have a baby (well, I guess a toddler) and if any of you have kids or know people with kids, you know they tend to ruin your life. They are the best and the worst at the same time. So needless to say I love my child more than anything (except my cat...sorry baby cat was here first and he is WAY less of a jerk on a daily basis) but you can’t have anything nice with a baby including hobbies or trips to NYC for Manderley time or blogs that get updated with any sense of regularity. The only reason I am able to type this right now is that I am sitting in an Air B&B in Dumbo while my baby is enjoying a few days with the grandparents. So as much as I love looking back at my old recaps and remembering past shows, I just don’t have the time to write them anymore. Life evolves and so must my recaps. I have however been missing documenting my check-ins for my own memory so I am going to TRY to do these more abbreviated thoughts on my shows type posts. We will see!

EDIT: For your news feed’s sanity, I am going to insert a break here because I am apparently incapable of writing a short bulleted recap but there are not 1:1 spoilers, as per usual, in my recaps.

Last night Kae and I wrapped up show 2 of 3 for this trip. I am just going to talk about what I saw that I liked or that struck me from the shows starting with Tuesday 9-12. 

I am fairly sure I deserve a cookie or something of that nature for correctly identifying cast members the last 2 nights. HOLY CRAP THERE ARE SO MANY NEW CAST MEMBERS! We have only been a handful of times this year so I feel like I am still trying to get a grip on the new-as-of-last-cyle cast. To be fair, I spent a lot of time creepily but respectfully studying faces in the cast gallery last week.

Tuesday night the entrance to the show was a bit late but apparently, the show was also running a bit late because we ran down and the witches were just hugging pre-ballroom. I saw Ryan VanCompernolle’s sexy witch and all thoughts of new faces went flying out the window.

Ryan is infectiously fun to watch. This is not an opinion, it is a fact. Her dancing is beautiful and her characters are distinct and interesting. She makes great choices. On the technical side of things, I think she is one of the most impressive women in the McKittrick. She has been with the show longer than we have been going and it shows. She is one of the most versatile swings so it is always fun to see where she lands on the cast. She knows plays every role except Lady Macbeth and Hecate but unlike some cast members who retire their characters and move on to new roles, she plays them all occasionally. I don’t know how she remembers so much show content and manages to perform it so well.

I will almost always choose a loop with Ryan because we just have so much damn fun together. Aside from her beautiful dancing, she keeps me on my toes. I knew that it would be a great way to kick off a 3 show run and I wasn’t disappointed. I found myself smiling under my mask at so many moments.

There was a moment at the end of the sexy witch 1:1 where we were standing in the dark and she leaned in and whispered in my ear “Welcome back.” It was a moment that really pulled at my heart. It was a gentle reminder of what this building means to me (and so many other fans) who frequent it during times in their life of celebration or heartache. It was a reminder that there are breathtaking stories and art inside the McKittrick but also a sense of community.

I have to go on a little rant about just how good the witch trio was on Tuesday night. Ryan, Daniel, and Krista were perfect. The chemistry was off the charts. I have said before that other witch trios were great but to get to the level that they were on with Daniel in a relatively new role and Krista being a new cast member was astonishing. I think I said this recently about the Steph C, Emily, and Tyler trio but Tuesday's trio was better. I watched the rave 2x and it was scandalizing. I have seen this show 70+ times. I was scandalized. 

Daniel is a great boy witch. To be fair, he hasn’t been on my radar much in the past but I never really follow Banquo or Macbeth so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. He rocks the boy witch guyliner and embodies the spirit of boy witch. His audience interactions were great. Bravo! 

Krista is a great bald witch. Kae followed her more than I did but if you are a bald witch lover, you are in for a treat this cycle. I saw both Krista and Molly the past 2 nights and hold onto your horses because bald witch is stronger than ever. Nothing to be disappointed or worried about this cast change over. Also, just in case you keep score- there are 3 bald bald witches in rotation so hallelujah!

These witches were driving the McKittrick sex appeal through the roof in their portrayals! Whether it was bald and boy messing around or bald and sexy’s long embrace in the ballroom pre-reset, it was all fun and sexy.

At the end of Ryan’s sexy witch bar top solo, she dropped to the floor and reached up for my hand. Standard interaction- sexy witch grabs your hand looking crushed as Hecate rips her away, tells her to buck up, and sends her on her way. Ryan grabs my hand and forcibly yanks me into THE MIDDLE OF THE SCENE. Needless to say, I felt immediately panicked inside standing next to her, next to the bar, in front of all of the other white masks, feeling like I definitely did something I shouldn’t have. That mask was useless because I felt totally exposed and like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Did I mention Ryan likes to keep me on my toes? Mission accomplished. 

Tori’s Hecate forcibly removed out hands and stared me down. There aren’t many things that scare me in the show these days but I am more than willing to admit that Tori’s Hecate does. She continued to stare me down as she fixed sexy witches dress and ended the scene. Needless to say, I bolted out of there.

I did inevitably loop back around to Tori’s Hecate later in that show. I walked into the rep bar as she was finishing a reset of her table. I was about 2 steps inside and no one else was in sight. She was by the bar in front of the blue light and I saw her turn around and very quickly make a beeline toward me. She grabbed my hand, dragged me into the hall, and very forcefully tossed/pinned me against the wall. Once again, I am not easily shaken inside the hotel but Tori makes me real nervous. She told me a terrifying story about witches and the perils of sailing. 

It is always a bit vulnerable when a performer removes your mask but it is downright terrifying when it is literally aggressively snatched off of your face by Hecate. 

Brace yourselves for the shocker I’m about to lay out...I visited the Matron’s hut. I love a Matron who engages in storytelling using their eyes and Chelsey is great. Very inviting and warm but it is her eyes that make her 1:1 great. There is a very precise moment in the story where her eyes shift from hope to despair and the shift is stark and amazing.

Tori’s lip sync. I don’t really need to say more.

The last thing about my first show that really stuck out as fantastic was Molly Griffin. I love me a good nurse character and I am really liking Molly’s vibe on the character. 

I watched her fold some laundry and lay it out in the room with the beds. This is one of the standard nurse activities that can be very boring to watch for long periods of time and can get repetitive. I watched Molly lay out pajamas on 3 different beds and she laid them out all very differently. You could see her nurse carefully thinking through each one like it was of the utmost importance. The first one she laid out so it was laying down, one leg slightly bent, with their arms up next to their head. The next one, she turned down the bed laying the shirt out before pulling the sheet back up to give the illusion the person was tucked in. She then took the pants, folding them with great precision, and made them into a small rectangle. The nurse then tucked the rectangle into the top of the shirt to make a head for this imaginary patient. It was VERY clever! The third person she laid out straight with their arms crossed at the wrists at their waist. 

She went into the operating theater and ran her hand around the walls until she reached the upper back corner of the room. She faced the corner with her back to the audience and basically had a breakdown in the corner before quickly composing herself and rushing off as though she had suddenly remembered somewhere she had to be. I am very interested to see how her nurse character develops!

At the end of the show, I went back to find sexy witch. Sometimes when I full loop a character for the first loop (ballroom to ballroom) I find it fitting and cathartic to end the show with that character. It is a nice cycle to my show. Also, I adore Ryan! At the end of the finale, Ryan spotted me and we went running back to the Manderley all smiles! 

[carriagelamp]

i've been trying to get back into reading novels but also I enjoy you ranting about your fave things so can you hype discworld for me?

DUDE YES THIS IS PRACTICALLY WHAT I WASMADE FOR (let me pull everyone into this bottomless pit)

The Discworld is a book series thattakes place in a high fantasy world (a flat disc that drifts thoughspace on the back of four elephants on the back of the giant spaceturtle A'Tuin).  Broadly speaking, it takes place in a fantasymedieval-ish period, but this gradually progresses throughout theseries and eventually approaches something like an industrialrevolution.

You know every time you’ve ever read afantasy book and a had a moment where you found yourself thinking “well… this iscool… but real people would never act that way in this sort ofsituation…” well my boy TPratt takes that mentality and fuckingruns with it.  The entireseries is satire, and is basically a love letter to both the fantasygenre and the human race as a whole.  The best thing about these books isthat Terry Pratchett is hilariously funny and unbelievably clever,and he uses that to reach his hand right into the very core ofhumanity and uses this silly fantasy world to poke fun at all thelittle weird ticks and tells that make us human, and he does it allusing trolls and dwarves and wizards and witches and dragons andwerewolves and vampires and Heroes anddamsels-very-much-not-in-distress.

Likedude, holy fuck, this man wrote an entire novel about a charactersetting up the city post office.  Okay?? like… the postoffice.  You’d think it’d beboring as dirt, but it’s one of my favourite books of the seriesbecause Pratchett gives you this notorious conman who was finally captured and was then sentenced and hung by the neckuntil… almost dead.  And then he’s given a choice.  Either thetyrant of the city can finish what the hangman started, or else hecan go become Post Master General… a job that has killed multiplepeople already in a very short period of time under very mysteriouscircumstances.  In that book you have everything from a land pirate, to ghost letters, to demon horses, to a Golem Lady (and a lady golem), to interfering gods, and a race against the clock that gives me fuckingthrills literallyevery single time I read it.  And that’s just one book!  Of a frigginenormous series!  There is so much to choose from!

I knowthe big stopping factor for most people when it comes to theDiscworld is the size.  It’s a pretty big series.  But the beautifulthing about it is that almost every book stands alone and you canjump in practically anywhere.  The more books you read, the betteryou understand the world, but it’s not necessary – it’s like anadded bonus.

How itworks is like this: the BIG OVERARCHING SERIES is called theDiscworld.  All those books more or less go in chronological order,starting with The Colour of Magic and moving forward.  However,within Discworld all the books also fit into a whole bunch of smaller character arcs. So the first few books of the series can be sorted like this:RINCEWINDBOOKRINCEWINDBOOKWITCHESBOOKDEATHBOOKRINCEWINDBOOKWITCHESBOOKINDEPENDENT BOOKCITYWATCH BOOK…etc…So all of them are Discworld books and part of the bigger, chronological story, but ifyou’re reading the Rincewind Arc, you could easily read books 1, 2,skip three and four because they’re parts of different arcs, and thenread book 5.  Get it?  Kinda?  That’s usually how people recommend you readDiscworld – rather than reading THE FIRST DISCWORLD BOOK (which is…honestly… not that great), pick up and read the first book of acharacter arc that interests you.  (Like for me when I read my first book, I inadvertently ended up readingthe thirty-sixth Discworld novel which was also the secondbook of a character arc. And I still understood it all well enough to fallin love with the series.)

Sowhere to start?

Absolutely,without a doubt, my go-to recommendation for people with the CityWatch arc.  The first book of the series is called Gaurds!Guards!  Why start here? Because it has Sam. Fucking. Vimes. Who is probably my single favourite literary character of all times. You have never read about a character who is more badass,kind, clever, and brutally efficient than Sam Vimes, or who has moreheart-breaking integrity.  He is a man who is very, very capable ofbeing terrible, and so he works himself to the bone to make sure he isgood.

Vimeslives in the Discworld’s largest city, Anhk-Morpork, where he’s theCaptain of the failing Night Watch.  This is the city’s policeservice, and it’s a joke.  It’s run by a few incompetents who’drather avoid trouble and who everyone else happily ignores.  Thisstory opens with Sam Vimes, dead drunk in a gutter.  This is SamVimes, this is his life, and he can’t imagine he could have a better one or that it could possibly be worth pursing – he was bright-eyed and hopeful once too but he’s seen the ugliness of the world and the people that inhabit it. The Watch is useless, and so is he.  Everything carries on asnormal… until the night a dragon attacks the city and no one wantsto acknowledge or accept what happened – but Vimes knows what he saw. So Sam Vimes needs to pull together his bumbling little team andfigure out the mystery of the dragon and how to save the city.

Eachbook in the Watch Arc is basically like a murder mystery, if murdermysteries had the added excitement of involving magic, dwarf laws,werewolves, foreign powers, and exactly as much forensic science as you’d expect in themiddle ages.

Ofcourse, if you don’t want to start with the Watch books, there’sother good arcs.  The one with the post office I described is just athree book arc that comes later on in the Discworld series aboutMoist Von Lipwig.  The first book of this series is Going Postal. He’s a smooth-talking ex-conman who’s as curly as a corkscrew andsharp as whip.  These books are some of the funniest, I think,because Lipwig is such an amusing character to read about – hemanipulates and lies and basically tapdances around everyone elsewhile they struggle to keep up with the illusions he’s weaving.  He makes people see the shine…

Toomany men for you so far?  Try the Witches books.  These have an almostexclusive female cast, with a handful of male character playingsupporting roles, which for me at least is a really refreshing change.  Unlike Vimes and Moist, they live outside ofAnkh-Morpork, off in the rural mountainside where they live as villagewitches, a job that is about 10% magic and 90% knowing more thanother people and being Right All The Time.  Their books often aresatires on famous literary works – the first one is called Wyrd Sisters and it’s a play on Macbeth, or the one I just finished reading was areally funny one that was a play on of Phantom of the Opera.

TheTiffany books are similar.  She’s another witch, but unlike GrannyWeatherwax and Nanny Ogg from the Witches Arc who are old, experienced, and incredibly powerful witches, Tiffany is a child, abrand-new witch who is only just beginning to learn the ropes and constantly has to prove herself.  She’stenacious, a little pig-headed, and the sort of person who uses herbaby brother as bait in order to fight a river monster with a fryingpan.  Because how could that be a bad idea?  She’ll spit in the fairy queen’s eyes herself if that’s what it takes.  The first book of thisseries is Wee Free Men, and it’s one of Pratchett’s books that was written for a slightly younger audience, so it’s a slightly shorter, easier read if you wanta more gentle introduction to the series.

Oneother series that I don’t generally recommend that people start with,but which you might like, is the Death Arc.  Where the maincharacter is literally Death himself.  The first book is called Mort,and it’s about a boy who inadvertently becomes Death’s apprentice,and everything that happens to him from there…  This book does come earlier in the Discworld series though, and sometimes I find if you aren’t “used” to Pratchett’s way of writing already when you read it, it can be a little hard to get through.

There’sa couple other arcs besides, and I can tell you about others if you like, butthose ones are sort of my ~favourites~ and the ones that I think aresome of the best for introducing new readers to. (If anyone tries totell you to start with the Rincewind series, politely walk away asfast as you can.)  Still, the Watch series is still my favourite ;)

Here’shoping I won you over, because I am always desperate to make peopledescend into Discworld hell with me~  Let me know if you decide toread any because I am always 150% ready to talk Pratchett with people~

[kpopfanfictrash]

The 7th Prince (V)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / GOT7

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,806

Summary: A land under a curse. Seven mysterious princes. A decision that will make or break the Kingdom. (idea from this post here, by @cyjsgirl​)

At least you have tonight to look forward to. Bambam’s parties are, if nothing else, entertaining. They offer a chance for you to escape. Something you greatly desire. You grin, remembering Jinyoung’s rather correct assessment of character.

Y/N, the escapist.

For tonight – definitely.

It’s cold. Much colder than the midnight market and as a result, you’re shivering five seconds after you leave the coach. You frown into the wind, clutching Yugyeom’s arm tighter. “I regret everything,” you mutter, ducking your head against the gale.

Yugyeom grins, pulling you closer. “What specifically?”

“Wearing this dress.”

At this, your brother’s expression sours. “I can’t say I’m a fan,” he grumbles. “Although likely every male in attendance will be.”

You’re wearing a deep emerald, almost black dress. Threads of silver weave to create the illusion of leaves in the moonlight. Your hair is loose, brushed out in waves around your shoulders with a deep, plunging neckline which already has your brother worried. The sleeves of your dress are long but the neckline is so dramatic that altogether, it creates a rather revealing appearance.

Yugyeom looks on disapprovingly. “I know you’re a grown woman and can dress however you want, but -”

“Yes, I am a grown woman,” you interrupt.

Yugyeom laughs, nodding in defeat. “Okay, fine. I’ll shut up.”

The walkway to Quinque’s palace is made entirely of glass, clear and beautiful beneath your feet. Exposed to the brutal elements though, so you’re shivering by the time you arrive at the doorway. You hop from foot to foot to keep yourself warm, Yugyeom laughing at your antics the entire time. 

Before you can knock twice, Bambam throws open his door. “Welcome!”

The Prince of Quinque is dressed entirely in purple and silver tonight. Even his hair is dyed an ashy grey which makes his gaze seem darker, smokier somehow. Bambam steps aside and grins. “Everyone is down the main hall. Feel free to explore, but don’t get lost.”

“Does your mother know this is happening?” Yugyeom asks, shrugging off his jacket.

Bambam waves a hand. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“So, no,” you say, stepping between them.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

You laugh at this, peering down the hall. “I wish you the best of luck on keeping this a secret, Bambam. It sounds as though half the Kingdom is already here.”

“Oh no,” Bambam wrinkles his forehead. “This party is much more exclusive than that.” Offering the two of you a low bow, he quickly shoos you away. “Enjoy!”

You and your brother leave as the knocker sounds. Things in the hallway are relatively quiet, although in the distance you can hear the sounds of the party getting started. Muted music and laughter echoing from around the bend. Bambam’s parties are notorious for being fun, enigmatic and full of risk. Bambam lives for this kind of thing, for creating enjoyment in others.

Tonight is no exception. When Yugyeom pushes open those doors, you find yourself wide-eyed with wonder. The palace is half-lit by crystals which hang loosely from the ceiling. Fountains pouring mid-way down the walls and everything else in black, purple or bright silver. It creates an aura similar to the night sky – albeit a more eclectic, wilder one than the one outside.

It’s as though the night were scraped inside out. Pulled through a loophole and emerged twisted. Twisted, but beautiful. As you descend the patterned staircase, you see other partygoers start to mingle. Talking and laughing, drinking from their silver goblets as they begin to dance.

“You okay without me?” Yugyeom whispers once you reach the bottom.

You nod, shooing him forward. “Go on, have fun.” The girl your brother is staring at you recognize as the same he’s had a crush on for forever. You don’t want to deny Yugyeom time with her.

Quietly stepping aside, you slip from view. Fading to the outskirts of the room, which you honestly prefer. Away from the hustle and bustle Bambam and Yugyeom inevitably bring. You end up at the drinks table, lifting a goblet from one end to sniff its contents. It smells like wine, so you take a sip. Then another, as you recognize the taste.

“Princess?”

The voice makes you start, almost dropping your drink when you whirl around. Im Jaebum smiles back at you, amused by your reaction.

Hastily, you drop into a curtsey. “Prince Im.”

When you rise, you’re surprised he’s laughing. “There’s no need to call me that. Jaebum is fine.”

“Alright. Jaebum.” 

The corner of Jaebum’s mouth lifts in an almost-smile. “So,” he says, scanning the room. “You come here often?”

There’s no judgment in his question, just curiosity. As Jaebum stares, you notice how uncomfortable he looks. It’s as though he doesn’t know how to stand casually. Or where to put his hands. You get the feeling that Im Jaebum doesn’t come to many gathering like this.

“Sometimes,” you smile, switching your drink to the other hand. “But you don’t, do you?”

Jaebum looks back, startled. “What gave you that impression?”

“Your hand is on your sword,” you inform him. “Typically the worst threat at one of Bambam’s parties is if he decides to serenade the audience in song or not.”

Jaebum laughs, said hand falling from his hilt. “That does sound dangerous. I’m afraid I’m used to a different sort of evil.”

Though his words are light, their implication makes you sad. Jaebum has had it even worse than you have, you realize. You’re expected to marry and become Queen. Jaebum gave up any choice or childhood he had long before you. He gave up that fun, excitement, hopes and dream to be the warrior he is now. A man who has known little levity over the course of his young lifetime.

The thought spurs you to grab his hand. Jaebum looks surprised at your motion, fingers intertwining with his. “Come on,” you say. “I have something to show you.”

As you move past the crowd of people, you grab a second goblet. Press it quickly into his hand. “Take that.”

He allows it to happen, letting himself be pulled along. Jaebum’s smile flashes white as you slip in and out of darkness. The noise of the party fades behind you, reduced to mere pinpricks by distance. When you find the door you were looking for, you push it open to reveal a thin, stone staircase. At the top is a terrace – small, nothing like your one in Senary. It’s the most beautiful view in the Kingdom, though.  At least, to you it is.

Quinque, along with Senary are the two westernmost city-states. When you gaze east, you see the entire Kingdom before you. Spread out in sprawling hills and architecture, rambling down until it finds the sea. The lights farthest are Duo, lapping along the shores of the ocean. Duo is a land of ambassadors, a land of travelers and merchants. Also the land of Wang Jia Er.

You turn back, focusing on the Prince beside you. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Jaebum is looking at you. “Yes. It is.”

Taking a sip of wine, you blush as you look at the land. “I used to come here when I was younger,” you confess. Spreading a hand over the stone wall of Quinque. “When Yugyeom visited Bambam, I’d come out here. Sit on this terrace and stare at the sea. It seemed so small from this distance.”

“Small but wild.” A smile plays on Jaebum’s lips. “Like many things.”

You nod. The moment is still, except for the distant flap of wings. 

Suddenly, you turn to face him. “Jaebum.”

His eyebrows rise. “Yes?”

“You seem like an honest man.” You stop, unsure how to continue. He does seem honest - which is why you enjoy speaking with him. You’ve enjoyed everything about your time with Im Jaebum, actually. “What do you think I should do?” you ask, voice tentative.

Jaebum seems startled by the question. “What?”

“What should I do?” you ask, voice dropping. “What I mean is, should I marry you, Im Jaebum?”

Wide, dark eyes stare back at you until slowly, the Prince of Unum shakes his head.

“No?” Your pulse drops, the world around you fading. “No.”

You knew this could happen. Knew that it would happen, logically. If you asked, you knew you’d find out that this game is nothing more than that - a game. This man, this moonlight, this glasses of wine. All just atmosphere. Flighty, flimsy, but nothing substantial. No one who truly, actually wants to marry you. All these men want is a heir for the throne. A Princess for their Kingdom. The fact that you’re you is of little consequence.

Fear clenches your chest, weakening your knees. You hate this feeling. Hate feeling like you’re a burden and so you turn away, struggling to hold in the tears already pricking at your eyelids.

There’s a sudden hand upon your arm. 

“It’s not you,” Jaebum says, turning you towards him. His eyes are wide and you realize this is the most emotion he’s shown all night. “Gods,” he groans, lowering his head. “I am so, so sorry.” 

His hand reaches to wipe away your tear but you push his hand away. “I’d prefer if you didn’t touch me right now, Prince Im.”

Jaebum drops his hand. His expression is bleak and it’s this, more than anything that makes you pause. His voice was distraught, and so you find yourself taking a step closer. “It’s not me?” you ask.

Jaebum shakes his head. “No. It’s not. It’s me, me and my stupid self.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “How so?”

Jaebum’s slowly exhales. “I’m in love with someone else.”

That wasn’t… what you expected. 

You blink, reconciling this new piece of information. “You’re in love with someone else.”

Jaebum nods. “But I can’t marry her,” he adds. Soft, so that you barely hear.

“Why not?” The stone is still cool, rough beneath your palm. And then you realize. “Ah,” you say, some of your anger dissipating. “She’s not royal.”

The Prince nods. “She’s the daughter of my former tutor. We had lessons together, until my feelings were so obvious that my tutor informed my father. We were separated then – I was then sent to the front and she was sent away.”

His story surprises you. “I haven’t heard this,” you admit. Out of all the tales about Im Jaebum, none of them included a girl.

“Yes, well.” Jaebum smiles, the motion quick and fleeting. “It isn’t something my father likes to publicize.”

Your gaze moves away from him, lost in thought. Across the fields there are tiny, sleeping towns. Sloping hillsides and far-off castles. It all looks so normal but nothing in this Kingdom is as it should be. Jaebum should be able to marry whomever he loves. Jinyoung shouldn’t have to consider marrying you at all. Your brother shouldn’t be forced into being King. You should be allowed to rule alone.

None of it makes sense and thinking this, your gaze slides to Jaebum. “Despite my initial reaction,” you say. “I’m not mad at you.”

Jaebum looks as though he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re not?”

“No.” Exhaling, you turn to face him fully. “How can I be? We’ve only met twice. That’s hardly enough time to fall in love with someone.”

Jaebum shrugs. “Some people have fallen in less.”

“I haven’t,” you say, ignoring his words. “I’ve never been in love.”

“Then you’re one of the lucky ones, I’d say.” Jaebum’s smile is rather sad. 

A feeling you return. “Sometimes,” you nod, looking away. “I feel that way too.”

The two of you stand that way for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. Just existing, without having to worry about the rest of things. Without having to charm, flirt, think about representing your country. It’s nice just to be… you. For once.

“I’m glad I told you” Jaebum’s says, his voice cutting in the night. “It was killing to keep that inside. To act as though I was free, as though I was whole. I just – if you had ended up choosing me, you would have been with half a person. Half of me already is elsewhere.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” you sigh, staring dreamily across the landscape. “To belong partly elsewhere.”

“’Nice’ isn’t the right word I’d use,” Jaebum laughs. “Painful is more accurate.”

“Love is pain,” you quote and though Jaebum laughs, he trails into thoughtful silence.

“I know it’s a cliché,” he says, gaze flickering to yours. “But how could it not be painful to give a part of yourself? Look,” He gestures with his glass. “Even this war once was out of love.”

You’ve heard that rumor. That the reason Septum was cursed in the first place was because their King loved the witch. “Is it true?” you ask, breathless. “Did the witch really love him?”

“Maybe.” Jaebum shrugs, taking another sip. “I like to think so. Somehow it makes my own sacrifice easier. To give up my love, my life to rectify the love of another. That seems a fitting legacy.”

Silence falls, this one heavy and quiet.

At last you sigh. “Are you asking me not to choose you, Im Jaebum?”

Jaebum stills, you see him from the corner of your eye. “Not necessarily.”

You face him now. Dropping your arms, along with all attempt at pretense. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying I want to be honest with you,” Jaebum confesses. “I’m saying that I love someone else and don’t think I could ever love you back.” Jaebum says all this in a rush, all in an exhale. “If, after all that, you still want my hand… I would be more than happy to ally our Kingdoms.”

“If, after all that…” you repeat. It’s a lot to think about.

Jaebum sets his glass down. “I know I can’t marry the one I love,” he says. You look over and meet his gaze, wind whipping dark tendrils of hair across his visage. “If you know that you can’t love the other princes though, I would be happy to accept your hand. I can’t say I don’t find you intriguing, Y/N.” Jaebum laughs, the noise of it disappearing into the night.

You smile back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” As you take another sip of wine, you look at your hands. “So. Tell me about this girl.”

You stay out there for a while, until you actually start to shiver and Jaebum forces you back inside. He drapes his cloak over your shoulders and ushers you forward. “It’s all hopeless, anyways,” he says, grinning as the two of you enter the hall. “Youngjae is going to be the one to sweep you off your feet. Mark my words.”

The two of you are like that – laughing, talking – when you spot him. From the corner of your eye, you see a hooded figure duck out of sight. The tail end of a cloak whipping around the corner. Your heart races as, for a moment, you wonder.

Turning to Jaebum, you quietly slip his cloak from your shoulders. “Thank you,” you say, handing it back. “It was very much appreciated.”

Jaebum takes the fabric from your hands. “I’m glad we talked,” he nods.

“I enjoyed our conversation, too.” You mean it. If Jaebum can’t be your husband, at least you can look forward to having him as a friend. “May there be many more to come.”

Bowing, Jaebum smiles when he leaves.

You stand there for a moment longer, hardly daring to think about what you do next. Which is turn around. Slip through the shadows until you arrive at that one corner of the wall. The corner you saw a shadow disappear from sight. The one which you disappear around as well, moving down the dimly lit hall that makes you squint. Inching one step forward at a time to peer into the gloom.  

“Mark?” you whisper. “Mark?”

No one answers and you take another step.

Of course no one answers. Mark isn’t here. That mysterious man has, unfortunately haunted your thoughts ever since the midnight market. He would never be here though, never attend Bambam’s party. Mark isn’t noble, nor is he upper class. You would have recognized him if he were. You would have known, if he – a hand slips around your mouth.

The hand stifles your scream, pulling you back until your shoulders hit someone’s chest.

“I thought my name was Robin Hood?” Mark whispers in your ear.

And then he’s letting you go, spinning you around while he laughs handily. Collapsing slightly against the wall to keep himself upright. Mark is again, dressed entirely in black. From his tunic, his gloves, even his cloak is midnight.

You frown, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “That wasn’t funny,” you snap.

Mark’s laughter echoes in the hall, loud enough that you grow worried about someone hearing and grab his hand, ducking the two of you into the closest enclave.

Mark seems surprised by this. He keeps looking at your hand, wrapped in his with a slightly shocked expression. In this enclave, only his face is visible. The candlelight makes his features flicker, more shadow than substance.

“Why are we here?” Mark whispers, voice exaggerated.

“Because,” you say, glancing over one shoulder. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Ah.” Mark grins. “Strangers, still? After I saved your life,” he frowns, shaking his head. “Chilling, the ease with which you dismiss me.”

You narrow your eyes, dropping his hand. “I already said thanks, you prick. Multiple times.”

“You thanked me once,” Mark points out. “But I understand that you’re using hyperbole for comedic effect.”

You cuff him sharply on the elbow.

“Hey!” Mark exclaims, surprised.

“Is for horses,” you grin.

“God.” Mark rolls his eyes. “With witticism like that, who needs court jesters?”

You forgot how attractive he is. Even now, glaring and half-hidden from sight, your pulse races. You push away this thought, remembering who you are and why you’re here.

“What are you doing?” you ask, squinting up at him. “You don’t seem like the type to hang around these kinds of parties. Also - forgive me if this is rude - but you have the look like a spy and I have to question that.”

“A spy?” Mark’s lips quirk into a smile. “Pray tell, what does a spy look like Princess?”

“You know,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “All black and no smile. What’s up with that?”

“Black is slimming.” 

You snort, crossing your arms. “You just don’t seem the type to go to one of Bambam’s parties.”

“And you do?” Mark counters, before he frowns. “Bambam? You mean the Prince of Quinque?”

“Yes.” Your eyebrows draw together. “Everyone calls him Bambam. Where are you even from?”

For the first time, Mark looks uncomfortable. “Around,” he says vaguely, looking past.

“What does that mean?” His expression is so evasive that your own eyes widen. “Are you even from Morsus? Or,” you gasp as the thought occurs to you. “From across the sea?”

Maybe Mark is from one of those countries you’ve yet to visit. Those strange, distant lands - it would explain the odd choice in clothing. It would also explain why you’ve never seen him before. Why he doesn’t really know Morsian customs – or rather why he knows them, but doesn’t know how to use them. You remember his formal, royal greeting in the city and smile.

Mark’s gaze slides back to yours. “Yes,” he answers, more definitively this time. “I didn’t want to say, since I didn’t know how you felt about those nations.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen. “I find them fascinating. Tell me more,” you insist, pulling on his sleeve. “Tell me where you come from. What’s the name? What’s it like? Is it true there’s no magic there? No curses, no wars? Is it true that the people are all wealthy and brilliant and happy?”

Mark’s face falters, just a little as he laughs. “That’s a lot of questions.” He surveys you. “I don’t want to tell you its name. And it’s a place, like any other. Some things are better, some things are worse. Magic still exists but there, it’s celebrated not feared. People often use it to help one another.”

The thought of magic being celebrated gives you pause. “Really?”

As long as you can remember, magic has been something of a dark subject. Logically, you know that’s not right. There are all different kinds of magic. Gifts which heal, not harm. Some magic can bring light, some magic saves. But then there are humans who command death. Humans who reign curses. Ones who call upon pain and anger, skin bristling with the current of fear.

This is the kind of magic you’re used to. This is why magic is feared in Morsus.

“Really.” Mark’s gaze is earnest. “Things are… different, across the sea.”

You frown, still trying to understand. “But how? How can things be peaceful with magic around? Look at what happened to our kingdom.”

Mark’s expression sours. “Magic didn’t hurt Morsus, Y/N. Magic is neutral, it doesn’t corrupt - humans do. Even in a world devoid of magic, humans would still find ways to hurt one other.”

He’s right. You stare at Mark, unsure of how to respond. You’ve seen enough politics and mind games to know that even without magic – humans are still capable of plenty of harm. Like this stupid rule imposed on you, to marry a Prince.

Mark watches your expression change. “You see?” he breathes.

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are.  There’s not enough space between you, Mark’s body is just inches away. And yet, you don’t find yourself wanting to move. 

Tilting your head back, you look at him. “You do have an interesting way of seeing things, don’t you?”

Mark’s lip curves. “You have an interesting way of listening.”

The space around you falls silent as you seem to run out of words. “Well,” you say, blinking back at him. “I should probably get back to the party.”

“Should you?”

His question hangs in the air. Yes, you should. Yes, you should find your brother, you should return to your responsibilities. You should mingle, talk, dance with others. You should do all these things, but you don’t.

“Or,” you say, pausing. “You could tell me more about this land you can’t name?”

Mark’s eyes glimmer. “What do you want to know?”

[Master List]

[chrismarium]

CSSSA 2017 Creative Writing Assignments

So I noticed some people were posting their assignments for the CSSSA applications. I decided I might as well do the same! (All of yours are so good I have to wonder how I got accepted along with you guys.) 

Hope you all enjoy them!

Assignment A - Personal Statement

My passion for reading began when I was around 9 years old, when my father let me read J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. I'd keep the books under my desk in class, pulling it out in between assignments and during recess, and all my free time was centered around this series. I'd become so entranced by the series that I'd finished all seven books in the span of four months. Not long after, I moved onto other series to read, but I soon found I had a desire to write my own. After a few attempts, however, I found that my methods never seemed good enough to me. I then realized that up until that point, my purpose for writing was simply to put out a story. If someone had asked back then why I wanted to write, I wouldn't have known what to say. I now know that I want to provide others with the same sense of enthrallment that I had experienced. I wish to learn how to invoke all sorts of emotions from the people who read my work, and I want what I write to be as important to them as reading is to me.

Assignment B - Memoir

One night I dreamt that I was arguing with my mother. That itself wasn't strange, until I found myself feeling very involved in the argument, more than I should for a dream. The argument escalated to the point where I ended up sitting up violently, very much awake, yelling, "Leave me alone!" as loud as my half-asleep body would allow. This outburst was followed by the sudden and startling realization that this was far from the first time that night I had spoken in my sleep. Throughout my entire dream, I had been arguing out loud with absolutely nobody. After spending a few seconds recovering from my shock, I slowly turned to look over my shoulder and see if I had woken up my friend, who happened to be spending the night at my house. Seeing her facing away from me, I assumed that she had not been woken up and I went back to sleep—I would later learn that was not the case, and she had heard every word I said, including the outburst. I tried to get back to sleep after this, but I found I couldn't stop thinking about this new revelation. I wondered if this was a one-time occasion or if I had been frequently talking in my sleep for multiple nights. The thought scared me, and I quickly looked up the causes of talking in one's sleep so that I could avoid another incident like this. Upon learning that stress and irregular sleeping hours were common causes, I promised myself I would work to tackle these issues so that an incident like that wouldn't happen again. After making this promise, I promptly went back to bed, this time without any outbursts.

Assignment C - Dramatic Writing (formatting might be weird)

ANNA      (tapping pencil) So 20a squared plus 52a minus 24 equals zero...

JESSE Anna, you really should stop. It's been about an hour now, I'm pretty sure you know this by now.

ANNA So I'd divide this side by two. That leaves 10a squared plus 26a minus 12.

JESSE I know you can hear me Anna. Don't ignore me.

ANNA I can divide that by two again, can't I?

JESSE I'm sure you can, but the question is, can you do anything else besides math?

ANNA So now I have 5a squared plus 13a—

JESSE Is this about the English project? Because I already told you I was sorry about that—

ANNA —minus 6—

JESSE —and it wasn't entirely my fault. Tyler was the one who pushed me over, and he knew I was holding the assignment.

ANNA —equals zero.

JESSE Great! So, you're done, right?

ANNA Now, how am I supposed to factor this...?

JESSE Dear God...

ANNA 5a plus...no, minus something—

JESSE Just stop.

ANNA —times a plus something. What numbers?

JESSE Is it two and three?

ANNA     (pauses) ...It might be two and three...

JESSE See? You know what you're doing. That means you can stop studying. Take a break. Acknowledge my presence, even.

ANNA 5a minus two...times a minus three...equals zero. So if a minus three equals zero, then a equals three.

JESSE Are you almost done?

ANNA And if 5a minus two is zero, then a has to equal...two-fifths.

JESSE Finally! She finishes!

ANNA Okay, next is number 53—

JESSE     (snatches her calculator) Nope. None of that. No more. You're done.

ANNA Okay, what the hell? I've had to deal with you pestering me for an hour while I try to work! What do you want?

JESSE      (smiles) Your attention.

Assignment D - Flash Fiction

The crowd gasped in awe at the sight in front of them, unable to tear their eyes away. As the flames danced around the person standing on the pedestal, I weaved my way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for anyone particularly vulnerable. I noticed a few people try to levitate a few bills towards the jar my brother set up for tips. I snatched them out of the air before they even got close.

Jaime was always good at attracting attention, even without his ability. He always acted very extravagantly, and his voice projected further than I thought possible. He also happened to be a good actor; so good, in fact, that the crowd didn't doubt for a second that he was creating the grand display of flames and fireworks they were seeing. While most people had mundane abilities, such as slight clairvoyance or telekinesis, there were a select few with magnificent powers almost beyond belief. The people must have thought that Jaime was one of them.

He was not. He was, however, very adept at distracting others.

Of course, he wouldn't have been able to trick them so easily without Carmen's help. As I slipped a man's wallet into my bag, I thanked God that we happened to meet her. With her ability to create illusions, we'd gotten so much more money. She was to thank for the fireworks that were currently captivating about thirty people, which was about the most we'd ever gathered at one time before. Carmen and Jaime made a wonderful team together. Jaime would keep all eyes in his directions, keep all ears attuned to his voice, while Carmen led them all to believe we were greater than we really were. Sometimes they pretended to speak to animals, sometimes they pretended he could breathe underwater. This day, they wanted to try fire, something Carmen had little experience with. This meant that I had to be more careful in case she slipped up, which rarely happened.

In a manner of five minutes, I'd grabbed five wallets, three necklaces, four rings, $124 in cash, and one purse full of nothing but coupons. It was a good haul, but it wasn't good enough. I turned to Jaime and Carmen and gave them a quick wave—a sign telling them to ramp things up. I knew I was pushing it, especially with Carmen's inexperience with this illusion, but both complied. Jaime somehow managed to speak even louder, attracting more people over to our side of the street. Carmen made the flames dance over the audience's heads, causing many to gasp and back away. Some bumped into me, and I swiped two more wallets and a bracelet that fell to the ground. I smiled and reached for a woman's necklace, telling myself it would be the last thing I grabbed before telling Jaime and Carmen to wrap things up. Being Jaime is good for a distraction, but being me is great if you never want to get noticed.

Assignment E - Poem (based on The Book Thief)

White A blindingly white sky A mother, a daughter, and the biting cold. The daughter digging down, to no avail towards her brother, asleep, tucked under a blanket of snow. Never to wake up.

Black Sky filled with suffocating darkness A metal bird, clipped of its wings dives toward the ground. The thief and her friend approach and bestow a gift upon their dying enemy. His foreign thanks fall upon ignorant ears.

Red The sky like the blood in the streets Heaven torn asunder and made into hell. The German holds her book, her story as she sees that she is the last one able to tell it. As ash falls like snow, like bombs, she looks up and cries.

Blue A mother, grandmother, wife, and thief thinks back on her youth. She meets an old friend and is returned an old story. Grave digging, stealing from bonfires, accordions, hiding a friend, stealing from customers, hiding from bombs, stealing a kiss from your friend buried six feet under the rubble of heaven, of home. The girl sits with death and learns that we haunt him as he haunts us.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Typhoid Mary, Part 2

CONTENT WARNING: Same as last time - dubcon, attempted sexual assault, sexual violence, infidelity, child abuse, ableist depictions of mental illness.

When we last left the Nocenti/Romita run of Daredevil, Matt had begun cheating on Karen with the sweet, innocent Mary Walker, little guessing her other identity as the unhinged killer Typhoid. He was also about to face off against Foggy in the courtroom, via a proxy at least, with Foggy representing the slimy corporation Kelco, whose illegal toxic waste dumping had blinded a little boy named Tyrone, and Matt coaching Tyrone’s inexperienced lawyer.

Foggy, canonically one of the best and most expensive lawyers in the MU, somewhat pityingly expects to run rings around his opposition - until Matt walks in (just as an audience member), and he completely falls apart:

Get a haircut, Matt.

While the jury deliberates, Matt goes to the apartment Foggy now shares with Glori to rub it in:

“What happened to your morality, Foggy? P.S. I have literally attempted murder multiple times."

Foggy doesn’t say a word in this whole sequence, which just...baby. My sweet baby. MATT’S GOOD OPINION MEANS SO MUCH TO HIM.

Anyway Matt concludes his speechifying by offering Foggy a job at the clinic and is about to leave when Glori hauls him into the other room and reads him the riot act, pointing out that Matt is acting like this at least in part because he’s pissed that Foggy and Glori started dating after Glori dumped Matt. Matt ignores this and high-and-mighties his way out of the apartment, and...that’s, um, kind of the last we see of Glori for a really long time??? Which is so weird??? I love you, Glori, I’m sorry that you, like most of Matt’s love interests, eventually come to a Tragic End (TM).

The jury deliberation goes on for long enough to Daredevil to fight Typhoid again, but just as she’s about to kill him:

Mary loves Matt so much (apparently...this is not a relationship that has much emotional weight, since we basically only ever see them sucking face while neglecting a blind child and never, like, having things in common) that she’s managed to exert some sort of control over Typhoid for the first time. Matt, meanwhile, is still completely oblivious.

Matt dries off, and the jury reconvenes:

SOMEONE GET TYRONE AWAY FROM MATT, JESUS.

Meanwhile, Foggy finally does what he’s known he has to do for issues and issues now, and quits.

(That second panel in the second row is a reference to Fisk having attempted to pay off a juror, which Matt managed to put a stop to.)

Anyway, Tyrone’s family wins their lawsuit! Hooray! Fisk is furious, and also increasingly jealous of Typhoid’s toying with Matt:

I’m pretty sure this is supposed to make us thing Typhoid is even more evil and disgusting, which, you can move right along with your slut-shaming and your fatphobia, Daredevil comics.

This raises the question of whether Fisk is committing infidelity here, since he is technically still married, though Vanessa is currently institutionalized in Europe due to the trauma she sustained at the hands of the, um, sewer people. Or, what I find more interesting - whether Fisk thinks he’s committing infidelity, because the overall morality of having what is technically an affair when one’s partner is ill and indefinitely incapable of consent is certainly not something I feel equipped to make a call on. But Fisk is very invested in the sanctity of marriage - note his meddling in the Nelson marriage - and I don’t think he's shown with anyone besides Vanessa or Typhoid. It’s also worth noting that Matt, who is in a similar situation many years later, does consider himself to have cheated.

And speaking of cheating!

Any guy who ever said to me “Oh, darling...you’re like a child” would immediately find himself dumped so hard, even if he did look like Matt Murdock/Charlie Cox/kind of a redheaded Robert Redford in terrible sunglasses. But this is what I’m talking about when I say that Mary is all supplicant and innocent and sweet, and also what I’m talking about when I say this is a full-on affair where Matt is considering leaving Karen, and not just the occasional dubcon-y stolen kiss.

Also, for those of you who were not yet born in the 80s, that dress is real.

Typhoid has realized that Mary won’t allow her to kill Daredevil - oh, and Fisk explicitly told her not to, because he wants Matt broken, not dead - but she decides to get someone else to do her dirty work anyway, and uses Fisk’s IBM Henchman Database to hire all of Matt’s rogues from this particular era (none particularly interesting...Bullet, Bushwacker, I’m already asleep) to beat the shit out of him instead:

That last line is such a cliche I can’t even make a joke about it. I’m so tired.

Brief interlude for Matt and Karen to rescue some missing kids with the help of the Fatboys, and then for Matt to be adorable:

I love the consistent canon that Matt is great with kids, and this scene is so heartbreaking and sweet (even if Butch hasn’t shown up since like 1990 and Matt hasn’t thought about him once, but what can you do?).

ANYWAY. Back to Typhoid destroying Matt’s life!

There are a lot of covers during this run with Matt in a tattered costume and a subject position, but this one might be the most explicit - especially with the hints of pink on the torn underside of the costume and the massive phallic object between Mary’s legs. (And the liquid trickling down Matt’s face towards his open mouth, can’t forget that!) Over and over again we see Matt weak and in peril, defeated and violated, both by Mary and later by the gender-bending Mephisto.

What strikes me is that Matt’s not just victimized here - he’s sexualized. He’s objectified. Matt’s always been a fairly lithe, graceful hero as opposed to your Supermans, your Caps, your Punishers, and in these covers - which, remember, are a marketing tool, meant to entice customers to buy - he’s portrayed as beautiful and eroticized in an entirely submissive, feminine way. And this was during the chest-thumping, uber macho, xenophobic 80s!

But it’s part of the handwringing, too. The fact that he’s an eroticized victim is part of what makes Typhoid so threatening. If part of Matt didn’t “want it,” she wouldn’t be scary. (PLEASE NOTE I am not saying that sexual assault survivors want their assault in any way! I’m talking about the unhealthy construction of this narrative and the underlying anxiety of it, especially to the straight male reader.)

And while we’re talking about the underlying anxiety of changing gender roles and also power dynamics and also kink...

Yeah, I don’t even know what to do with that last panel.

This is after Typhoid has sicced Matt’s rogues on him and they’ve all beaten him to hell and back. He starts hallucinating that his father’s ghost is yelling at him in an alley, and is then rolled by some random petty criminals and beaten further. So yeah, he’s calling some random mook “daddy” there.

I honestly don’t know if it’s intended to be kinky, but...I kind of think it is? Again, so much of this run is about the dangerous subversion of gender roles. Early on Matt gets hit on by a dude in a seedy bar (“Well, well, well...red spandex, tight as a drum. You pitching or catching, Redman?”); in the next post, he’ll kiss someone who normally presents as male and it will UPEND THE MORAL FABRIC OF THE UNIVERSE, I’M NOT KIDDING.

So yeah...when I look at Matt here - chest bared, head bowed, legs spread, calling the person beating him “Daddy” - I can’t help thinking that this is yet another lesson on the dangerous enticement that is male submission.

Matt eventually tangles with Typhoid while still in this sorry state, and she manages to push Mary down far enough to strike the killing blow and throw him off a bridge (though she does shed a solitary tear over it):

Matt doesn’t die. (Surprise! They do still publish Daredevil comics, after all. In fact, Matt’s never totally died and come back, though he has faked his death at least four times that I can think of off the top of my head.) He just lies there under the bridge until he’s attacked by an evil vacuum cleaner.

...Yeah, so this had something to do with the big company-wide “Inferno” crossover, which I didn’t read, but all the electronics in the city come to life and attack people? And there’s a vacuum cleaner under this bridge?

Anyway Matt fights it of, and then who should show up to take him to the hospital?

Why, it’s Typhoid Mary of the incredibly obvious name! Judging by her hair not being in weird inexplicable dreads and her speech bubbles being white and not pink - and the fact that Matt recognizes her as Mary - I guess she’s attained some sort of compromise between her two personalities for the moment?

Meanwhile, Karen has been keeping the Fatboys safe with the help of a guest-starring Natasha and worrying herself sick over Matt’s disappearance. She’s confused when Mary shows up at the hospital to see Matt as well, and especially when Mary (who appears to be fully Mary now, no Typhoid) calmly tells Karen that she knows all about Karen but it’s Mary that he really loves:

Karen leaves the hospital in tears and doesn’t return to their apartment.

The city burns. Matt eventually hauls himself out of bed and fights demons until the crossover is (almost) over.

The legal clinic is closed on the basis of Matt operating without a license. The Fatboys hate Matt now for cheating on Karen. Mary was an illusion.

Matt’s reaching rock bottom, and he’ll hit it in the next adventure: Gay Panic Road Trip to Albany! There are genetically engineered pigs and straw feminists, it’s pretty exciting.