#plus joan of arc fit. LOOK AT IT

[paladudette]

nobody thought this screenshot of our favorite ladyboy gerard went hard when i first posted it and you’re all wrong so

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

help me with a writing thing rq

This character and my dad would have the same name unless i change it.

Now, I love my dad. My dad is an awesome guy. Also, primarily untraumatized. He had a solid childhood, good parents, and is generally pleasant, upbeat, and genuine. He doesn't care what people think and he's happy to sit and talk with you for hours about one of his hyperfixations. I love my dad.

This fictional character I'm writing, however, is really nothing at all like him.

He's 25 or so, shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes, and Saint Joan of Arc has been appearing to him near constantly, trying to convince him to forgive those who have deeply, deeply wronged him. He, however, doesn't know that these are real visions, and instead thinks it's a continuation of his pretty serious psychosis. On the plus side, he goes to a mental hospital. On the downside, he continues to struggle for quite some time. He grew up Catholic, and had pretty strange parents. He grew up in Rural Indiana, so we're talking weird midwest, too, and went to an all-boys Catholic school, and has so much trauma that the story is a lot of time splits from past to present breaking down why exactly this character is the way he is. He's being called to forgive and resisting because he's hurt so bad and he doesn't think he can do it.

This is a far cry from my really great dad who is nothing like this character at all, even slightly.

However... the name's been the only one I can find with the exact right feeling to it. Nothing else fits right. I could keep looking, and I will, but is this even a real problem?

if you have any thoughts on good options, PLEASE send me name reccs, i am LITERALLY BEGGING THE TUMBLR VOID

[popculturebuffet]

Clone High President's Day Special Review: (Escape to Beer Mountain: A Rope of Sand and Episode 2: Election Blu-Galoo) (Comissioned by WeirdKev27... wesley)

Tonight, on a special presidents day review of clone high

(Clears throat)

WAY WAY BACK IN THE 2000'S TWO FUTURE SUCCESFUL COMEDIANS TOOK SOME FAMOUS GUYS AND LADIES AND MADE THEM INTO A CULT CLASSIC COMEDY

NOW THE SHOWS GETTING A REBOOT NOW IT'S GONNA MAKE IT IF IT TRIES BUT UNTIL IT GETS RELEASED IT'S TIME TO LAUGH SHIVER AND CRY WITH THE ORIGNIAL CLONNNE HIGGGHHH YEAHHHH…

Honestly i'm suprised it took me this long to clone high, nor that I did our presidents say special last year and never even thought of this as an option.

In case the intro wasn't clear enough, for presidents day we're looking at one of the best shows MTV ever made, Clone High, a 2002 animated comedy about a bunch of clones of famous historical figures made into clones back in the 80s who are now teens living through a giant parody of teen dramas both at the time and in the past, with most of the episodes modeled after your various teen drama tropes which having watched a few (Degrassi, 90210 (both versions), Secret LIfe of An American Teenager) made it hilarious to me, as it matches the genre point for point while also adding in it's own zany looney tunes humor.

Naturally such a wholly weird premise.. didn't really take off and MTV canceled it the first excuse they got, but it's spot on humor, great voice acting, fun animation and brilliant premise and satire meant the show got the cult following it desreved.. and eventually came back by popular demand as it's creators ended up becoming two of the biggest names in animation, making the lego movie, the lego batman movie and Spider-man INto The Spider Verse into massive hits. While it's return is still cooking, and sadly coming to HBO Max, which at the time was a big HELL YES from me, now has me worreid they may prevent us from getting more than two seasons.. though given Paramount is both behind the series and could easily bring it to plus if it's popular enough, i'm not too worried. So while we wait , we can celebrate with the clones of two dead presidents mr. b, as we dive into the first two episodes of the show: Escape To Beer Mountain: A Rope of Sand and Episode 2: Election Blu-Galoo. So come under the cut with me for some angst that's entertaning.

Escape To Beer Mountain: A Rope of Sand

From the outset what the series is is clear.. not just from the throughly kickass themesong that perfectly fits the ti me, but from it's characters, who are easily recognizable both to anyone even casually aware of history.. and anyone whose seen at least one teen drama or movie: You have Abe Lincoln (Will Forte who would show up in pretty much everything this duo made after this), as our bland protaganist who wants to get with the popular girl Cleopatra (Christa Miller), your standard rich bitch popular girl and his only friends: Joan (Of Arc) (VA Legend Nicole Sullivan) , a moody goth who hides her fairly obvious crush on him, and Ghandi (Micheal McDonald), a wannabe party animal whose desperate to fit in. Basically the David Silver of the group. Rounding them out is macho jock rival JFK (Chris MIller himself doi) who genuinely thinks his clone dad was "a super macho stud who conquered the moon".

To get the elephants out of the room quick.. yes casting the white Miller and McDonald was a mistake and one the reboot hopefully avoids, though I would like to see much like say central park or x-men 95, the two actors get other parts in the series. They just don't need to play these two. I accept it to a point as of the time and the industry, as we're only three years out from it being standard to match a characters race to their va every time, but it's still something to not dance around either: They screwed up, their not doing it again in the reboot decades later, so I won't be that hard ont hem.

Speaking of the reboot while it has leaked.. I haven't watched it. I saw a screencap or too because people reblogged it without being considrate that you know.. not everyone WANTS to steal from creators who have waited for this a long ass time, and woudl rather wait. I'm fine if say HBO Max fucks up and puts it on the platform itself early (as it did iwth the first ep of close enough ) or the creators air the episode at a public event for consumption (As seen with owl house and again close enough), but I won't cover something nor talk about it till offical release and won't watch it unless it has been released in some offical capacity.

Now that's out of the way, the episode is dammingly spot on and it's telling teen dramas haven't changed THAT much. I mean I still hope for that degrassi reboot but this show shows the only real change would be diffrent music, though the use of music of the time, while likely why it took till this year to finally stream on paramount+, really helps sell it. It had been a while since I watched these two eps, having not watched the series since breaking out my dvds a few years back. And yes I got that lucky as I found it at fye for only 15 or 20 bucks nearly a decade ago and have held tight to those two discs ever since. It's even the canadian dvd complete with teletoon ads. It's glorious.

But from the "sexy teens' moniker flaunting sexualizing teens despite the characters being underage (though most teen shows sidestep this by hiring older actors and actresses it's still weird and creepy), to the music, the delviery is spot on, with most of the deliveirs sounding just like a teen drama's overdramatic yet whispery way of doing things.. yet saying rediculous shit. It's essentailly the animted euqilveant of airplane, taking a dramatic overblown genre and throwing all sorts of weird shit in, in this case from the premise down. While the plot of Abe and Ghandi trying to get beer for a party so Abe can take his shot with Cleo is pretty stock the fact it's abe and the party dude clone of Ghandi of all people trying to have genghis kahn fake his way into buying beer… and failing horribly that nails it, or having JFK Boiled down to his most embarassing and sexist traits, being mad at cleo for kissing abe later.. while making out with someone else. The cast is all time greats, so it's no shock they pull it off great.

The plot itself is again pretty stock and by the num bers teen pilot: Abe and Ghandi try to get beer but end up getting nonalcholic, Joan tears up at Abe kissing cleo but ultimately tries to push her towards him, Cleo ends up with JFK but hints she still clearly likes abe, and now you know the plot. Oh and Joan tasers Ghandi for ignoring the teen ine she set up. It's just mixed up with various clones from two elvises one pre addiction and svengaling by col parker, one post, a teacher whose half sheep and voiced by a literal and figurative dick, and the local nerd being george washington carver who made his own little peanut sidekick, along with just general madness such as the principal sending Cleo to the maze of death, Ghandi going out a 30 story window and the two best characters in the show.

They are Principal Cinnamon Scudworth, voiced by Lord and his best friend/possible husband and robot butler Mr. Butlertron, played by Miller, and while everyone else does well, Lord and Miller steal their own show as these two are essentailly the Perry the Platapus and Dr. Doofensmirtz of the early 2000s': two scene stealing characters squared away int heir own wacky subplots that rarely seriously impact the main plot, or more Doofenschmirtz and Norm but semantics.

Scudworth is the principal employed by the board of shadowy figures to make these clones into super soldiers… a plan that dosen't quite work as each clone has baggage from their original, a nicely implimented bit that adds some depth: Abe feels stuck in the shadow of his far more confident clone father, Joan became a goth entirely because she isn't sure she can be hers, Ghandi became a party animal because he's entirely sure he can't, and JFK and CLeo are stuck on the suprfical beauty of their selves. i'ts nicely done. Scudworth meanwhile plans to make a theme park.

Really though Scudworth's just there to be thrust by the board or his own stupidity into various shenanigans while Mr. B helps him out and it is glroious. I could watch a whole show of these two alone but honestly they fit perfectly here, their weird over the top antics perfectly fitting the world and contrasting how straight everyone else plays this very stupid world. Scudworth is a cartoon villian in a teen drama high school and his out of placeness just makes him that much more delightful.

For this episode Scudworth has to write a report on being a teen and after a failed interview with joan and sending her to the maze of death, which again everyone is so used to Joan getting dropped in from it dosen't even faze Ghandi, inflitrates the party.. and ends up beaten as a pinata as "Cloney Student'. It's just a taste of what he'll get into, but it's one of the best parts of an already stellar pilot. Escape to Beer MOutnain is hilarious, nicely paced and just PACKED with jokes with most having aged well. Only one or two didn't really work like Joan calling a masculine elanor rosevelt "him" and her oggling joan as she walks away, which is just.. eugh…. but overall the episode is fantastic and if you haven't watched the show, go check it out.

Episode Two: Election Blu-Galoo

And the second episode.. is even better as with the premise out of the way, the comedy ramps up further. It also gives JFK more to do. He was funny enough in the first episode, coming back to wash his hands, grappling with gay dads, and after Cleo leaves to decide who she wants he offers Abe a nacho for no real reason. But this episode really lets him shine as the oversexed idiot we know and love.

In this case Cleo wants to still be Student Body President, but for some reason Clone High has term limits, so she enlists JFK as her maleable pawn to shadow govern the school. Abe runs because he thinks Cleo is into JFK because he's a good leader, and runs on the issues before that sputters out entirely in the face of JFK campaniging soley on his abs.

This one has a scudworth plot impact the main plot a bit more than usual, as Scudworth , hard up for cash for his evil plan since the board outright refuses to give him money( Just for fun i'm going to keep saying no until you hang up…" ). Enter the X-Treme Blu Trio, three totally rad execs who spend the episode screaming nonsense..e xcept for their third and best member X-Treme Bob who instead says things like "I HAVE NO SELF ESTEEM!" and "MY SON WON'T EVEN LOOK ME IN THE EYE ANYMORE!". Their played by the Scrubs trio of Zack Braff, Donald Faison and Sarah Chalke, who all did this for a free as a favor to producer Bill Lawrence of Spin City, Scrubs and Cougar Town fame. And as a fan of Spin City and Cougar Town I love his involvment and most of these actors. Faison in paticular did a LOT of rolls for the show, including George Washington Carver.

At any rate Scudworth gladly sells out and naturally blows it all having only seen 2/3 of MC Hammer's behind the music and concluded money is endless, while the three sellout goons approach abe to do stunts and promote their brand. He and joan fall out, he eventually comes around after extreme blu (just blue housepaint and pancake batter) nearly kilsl Ghandi, it's all pretty great.

Naturally what makes the episode are the jokes, with some all timers. Some I can't really recitie here but one that really gets the teen drama and is clearly parodying dawsons creek has Abe and Joan on seperate docks starring compelatively.. only for it to reveal their on docks right next to each other, with Abe leaving with an utterly nonsense speech on their friendship ending that Will Forte somehow gives as if he were a teen hearthrob "You know what hurts the most? This nail I stepped on". It's pure poetry and if you want to get someone into the show, this is the easiest way.. that or showing them any second of scudworth, but this gets the point across more.

We also.. get a song from Marilyn Manson which at the time was a funny way to bend his image.. but now comes off as "Yikes we accidently had a sexual preadator on our show! ", ditto for Andy Dick but he mostly plays smaller characters while Marilyn Manson's role is a pretty big cameo and thus sticks out more and is harder to overlook. It makes the once utterly hiarious gag of JFK calling him "Scary Andgogyns White Guy" far less funny.

Even with this unfortunate cameo that is no way the shows fault, this episode is still spectacular and that goes for the series as a whole. If your remotely intrestd in this series go watch it, it's on paramount+ and if you don't have that i'ts on mtv.com for free. So check it out before the revival, the series is well worth it and is easily one of the funniest shows i've seen. I forgot just how constant and excellent the jokes were since i'd seen the series last but it's comic genius and was a sign of things to come from this duo. Thanks for reading.

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Edition: The Crack Fic Life of One Fox Mulder

The crack fic continues.

I love all of these so, so, SO much-- Mulder crashing in on Scully at all hours of the night with his portals of love, clawing up Skinner's desk when transformed into a fox, laughing with Doggett over the Beverly Hillbillies black oil case, baffling Scully with his atrocious hair care choices, Teletubby-suiting into Area 51 with Scully, having a cheapskate for a mother, troubadouring after his S8 return, and more-- that I cannot recommend them enough.

Loose chronological order below~

Ao3: holograms - Works | Archive of Our Own 

holograms's What the Fox

""Out of what she blames as compulsiveness to comfort, she pets him, taking special care to rub behind his ears.

He seems to like that. He lays his head in her lap, which is fine, it wouldn’t be the first time (she thinks of dark nights in forests while he sleeps with his head in her lap and asks her to sing), but he definitely didn’t purr before.

“This is weird,” she says, and he makes it even weirder by licking her hand.  “Gross, Mulder,” she mumbles, and wipes the fox saliva on his back.""

S5 Scully is stuck with a petulant Mulder (who's been cursed into fox form) while trying to locate the Greek goddess who cursed him (after he mouthed off to her.) The blend between real Mulder and his fox form is staggeringly impressive; and the belly rubs and subtle humor gets me EVERY time.

@spooky-nerd's (Ao3) You Send Me

""She questions him at length while they eat. "What were you doing when it appeared?" He notices that she seems to have conceded the point and wonders if she actually has come to believe him or if she is just biding her time until she's able to come up with an explanation that more neatly fits into the careful, rational confines of her worldview....

"Where did it appear?"

Right in front of him this time. All he'd had to do was slide his feet off the couch and jump in. That gets a reaction from her.

"You didn't think to investigate first before you just ... leapt right in?"

He shrugs and gets a devastating eye roll and head shake combination plus a mutter which is either 'some head of lettuce' or 'so impetuous', both of which he finds incredibly offensive.""

S5? Mulder is portaled into Scully's house over and over and over. Frohike tries to be intercessor; and Mulder uses his heartsick love for good by rescuing his grumpy lady love from a beast dog on a case.

syn's Careless Wishes

""Pendrell came in the room, with Melissa draped over his neck like a living boa. "Forget it guys," he sniffed disdainfully. "She's about a good a cook as she is a doctor."

Deep Throat and *X* winced.""

AU S5-- Scully decides it's a grand idea to bring her dead loved ones back to life with a wish potion; however, Melissa, Pendrell, X, Deep Throat, and Queequeg return to clutter up her apartment and insult her life choices.

eponine119′s Dreamland  

““Hundreds of people every year fall pray to all manner of delusions - believing they are Napoleon, Joan of Arc, Cleopatra...even Elvis.  And they believe in UFOs, too.  Mulder should not  be taking this seriously, I thought. 

"We're close to Dreamland," Elvis told us. 

"Is that your house?"  The sarcasm stung in my mouth.  Graceland, Neverland, Dreamland...why were they looking at me like that? 

"Area 51," Mulder said with relish. 

Suddenly, I wanted to go home.”” 

AU Pre-Dreamland Mulder drags Scully to Las Vegas and finds old man Elvis. She is promptly dumped as Mulder chases after his obsession, apparently losing 6 days when they’re both captured by Morris Fletcher and his goons; and Scully nearly loses it several times while being swamped by reporters and Yappi (who secretly terrifies her.) This is the one and only time Kersh, Diana, and Jeffrey Spender actually help the duo (and the Bureau) out of a pickle. 

Scully's-_laughter's Restricted Area

""How’s the autopsy going, Doc?” Mulder winced internally.

Scully proudly held up the metal blob, smiling.

“I was going for a human heart, but this laser is harder to control than it looks. It resembles Antarctica though, don’t you think? On the map?” She handed the piece of metal to him. “Might make a good key chain.”

Mulder looked like she just gave him an alien with a bow on top. Then he scrambled to put his key ring through the hole. He had no idea what Antarctica looked like on the map.""

AU-- Post Dreamland II Scully is dragged into TLG and Mulder's "raid Area 51" shenanigans... in Teletubby-tech bubble wrapped suits. There are, indeed, lasers; but what's more bothersome is Morris Fletcher's pee stream.

@wtfmulder's (Alt. Tumblr, Ao3) Neuro Nonsense (Ao3)  

""After he found Scully on the floor of his apartment, covered in blood but no wounds save for the psychological ones, everything else was kind of a blur. When he collapsed to his knees beside her, she clung to him so desperately he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he simply held her, urged her to wash herself off, and drove her to the hospital.

When she stepped out of the shower she gave him an odd look, almost judgmental and pitying, but he assumed it was just her processing what happened. She was understandably subdued on the car ride to the ER. She wouldn’t look at him. He decided to give her some space and let her come to him when she was ready.""

Post Milagro Mulder misreads Scully's shock for PTSD. Days later, his 7-in-1 hair treatment is mysteriously replaced.

Alelou's (Xanadu) Continuity Serier 01

""SCULLY: Mulder, I didn't think you were all that fond of your family.

MULDER: It's really strange, Scully. Ever since Mom died, I feel much closer to her. I'm not sure why. I'm beginning to think it was really Connecticut I didn't like, not her. In North Carolina I feel much more connected to the whole family thing.

SCULLY: Mulder, why is your mother buried in North Carolina when your family never lived outside New England?""

AU-- Post All Things Mulder can't reciprocate, revealing his brain disease. Scully immediately turns it into an IVF discussion; and the transcript-style fic continues dissing and lampshading all the other horrendous S7 decisions.

Sab/Sabine/iamsab's Spooky Action At A Distance

""I'm Fox Mulder.

"Agent Mulder, I'm Dana Scully. I've been assigned to work with you," she said, in that way she had of refuting all of my hard-fought beliefs with one toss of her green hair. But I wasn't going to back down, not now, not ever. I'm a private eye. And I'm red-green colorblind, which is part of the reason my eyes are so private. One's red. The other's green. I think. How should I know? I'm colorblind.

"Mrs. Stevens, bring me a cup of coffee, and a towel so the lady can dry off from the rain," I shouted through the misted-glass door, forgetting that I didn't have a secretary or a misted-glass door. Mrs. Stevens returned seconds later and handed me an iced tea.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, with a tip of the fedora. Mrs. Stevens straightened her stocking and exited through the misted-glass door I still didn't have. I gestured for the dame to sit down.""

Mulder is a quick talkin' noir detective-- slick and cool, living in grays and blacks-- while Scully lives in reality and observes his insanity.

Part 2 is below--

@seepunkrun/Punk Maneuverability (Ao3, Gossamer, DreamWidth)

Spooky Action Bonus Fun Hour

""The case was just like all the others except it involved time travel. I wore my best red/green, green/red, red or green tie. It was the same color as Scully's red-green hair, but it was all grey to me.

The rental car was black. It was a convertible. At the airport I pulled up to the curb alongside the dame in the skirt. Scully frowned and told me not to call her a dame, but she got in the car all the same. I knew she would. She's Scully.

Scully told me she knew who she was.

I told her I wasn't talking to her.""

Part 2 to Mulder's noir detective insanity: Mulder tries to convince Scully they are in the grips of alien time travel shenanigans, dragging her back to Oregon to get revenge on CSM. No revenge is had (or any clear goal or plan for that matter.)

jeri's (mulderscreek) X-Fools 1/ 2/ 3/ 4/

""The head honcho, whose human form reminds me disturbingly of Bill Clinton, speaks up. "Your skills are not needed presently, that is true. However, there's always the possibility that they may be needed in the future." Great. Happy happy joy joy....

^*^*^

I'm led to the control area of the ship; the bridge, I suppose Trekkers would call it. PseudoClinton motions for me to sit in Kirk's chair. I do, though I'm very wary right now.""

Within AU-- The Alien Bounty Hunter did not, in fact, want Mulder; but they form a nice little alliance by using Mulder's reinvigorated brain powers to spy on Krycek's plans. The aliens have a lot of compassion for Mulder, getting him in touch with Scully and FINALLY getting him to clue into his impending fatherhood. Oh, and the head alien, in payment for Mulder's good behavior, asks only one more thing from him: a shrubbery.

Alicia K. s (Alt. Gossamer, FFN) Guitar Hero

""Why does Mulder have a guitar?"

Skinner sighed. "He brought it with him. When the admitting nurse tried to take it from him, he protested. Violently."

Scully watched as Mulder competently strummed the acoustic guitar and sang. He looked happy as a clam.

"That's not Mulder," she announced. "Mulder couldn't play the guitar if his life depended on it.""

S8 AU-- Mulder is returned from his abduction unharmed but armed... with a troubadouring guitar. Scully's annoyance grows when he celebrates her announcement with a song; but it grows even stronger when he keeps TALKING in verse.

David Stoddard-Hunt's Pret' Near Midnight

""Mulder," Doggett said, taken aback by a sudden thought, "if Ms. Drysdale's uncle was like those men we encountered on the oil rig in the Gulf, then he woulda had the ability to infect other people without losin' the contagion himself, like with, uh, like how you found, early on."

"With Krycek," Mulder supplied sourly.

"Yeah," Doggett said mildly, "like with him. That would help to explain a lot of things, for me anyway, about, uh, out west."

"Hollyweird," Mulder snorted.""

S9-- Ellie Drysdale of 'The Beverly Hillbillies' fame calls up Monica and Doggett for help. Doggett and Mulder nearly split their sides laughing until Scully shuts them up with the fierceness of her wrath. Once they're sorted into better behavior, the gang realizes that the black oil was behind old man Drysdale's success the whole time.

Enjoy!

[undeniablycandycane]

Watched NATM:KRA. Here are my thoughts.

Heads up: there will be spoilers, and a considerable level of negativity, so if you're not up for that I recommend scrolling past.

Off the bat, the animation is really smooth and looks nice. Doesn't look at all what I expected it to before the trailer hit.

Honestly a lot of things really were not what I expected, so it really threw me for a loop.

They did not include Ahkmenrah AT ALL. That's just offensive to me. His tablet is literally the whole point for these movies. They included his evil brother as the main villain, though.

I really like Seth. He's my second favorite addition. He and Kah didn't flirt enough for me. I expected more flirting. I do think Seth likes Kah though...

They could have done without the fart jokes. It's not too out of character for the movies, considering all the times monkey piss was involved in the franchise. I'm glad they acknowledged that everybody toots, even gods. That's a question answered right there, that I probably never would have thought to ask lmao.

Jed and Tavi? Their designs were cute, and they've legitimately grown on me. They're so so different from their live action looks (I know probably to avoid paying to use the old actors' likeness) and I wish we could have had more of them (including the classic running gag of them screaming). Plus, there wasn't much flirting going on? Octavius being annoyed by Jed was cute, but I consider it very OOC.

Joan of Arc is a great addition and my favorite new character. I love her so much!! And it seems her and Sacagawea could have had something going on. Just sayin'.

Some of the jokes I legitimately laughed at (more often the ones with Jed and Tavi) but some just didn't get me at all. Hit-or-miss, no laughapalooza but had some of the awkward charm of the previous films.

There are several inconsistencies with the main films that make it impossible for me to consider this film as canon. It's a cute off-canon project, but it just doesn't fit in with the other movies to me.

Nick has the cutest crush on a girl, it's honestly adorable. His jazz DJ thing was really creative and cool, and I loved how that was incorporated in such a neat way.

I'm glad the writers at least acknowledged that it wouldn't be a Night At The Museum without a dance party at the end. The music was really cool and I enjoyed the sequence a lot. It was a great way to end the movie.

OVERALL: I'm honestly,, underwhelmed. There's just too many things I don't like/ inconsistencies/ etc. for me to love this movie right off. There is a not-insignificant chance my feelings will change, but fresh after the first viewing, I don't see myself rewatching as much as I did the first three films. Like I said, I'll consider this as a non-canon offshoot of the main franchise, but it doesn't hit enough marks for me. I may make an update after some time or a second viewing if my feelings change, but more than anything it just makes me want to rewatch the other three films.

Sorry if my response was a little disappointing to some of you, but I want to be honest about how I feel. I just don't think it's for me that much. I was more "that's not right/that's not how it works" when watching the film which made it a less positive experience for me. My expectations almost certainly affected my response which is why I'm going to give it a grace period before going all in on the details, because there's a decent chance I'll feel different about it as time goes on. I just don't feel great about the whole thing right now. I'm sorry.

I still respect people who found it enjoyable, and I like to see that some people really really liked it. I'm happy for them, and pretty jealous lmao. generic outro that I can't come up with right now cause I'm tired and have depression.

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (4/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader  / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader  

Warnings: mentiones of violence, mentions of death 

Word Count: 2.4k

Part Summary: As the group arrives at Aslan’s How, it’s evident that Caspian and Peter won’t exactly see eye-to-eye. When Peter 

Masterlist

Arriving at Aslan’s How is truly like something out of a picture book. We stop just before the archway. I stand beside Peter, observing him as he watches the scene unfold before him. Centaurs line the path and draw their swords in honor of the Pevensies, their Kings and Queens of Narnia. Peter appears unfazed, as though this is normal life. Then I realize, this is normal to him. He starts to walk along with his siblings. When he comprehends that I’ve stayed put, he turns to me in confusion. I release his hand and urge him to go out with a nod of my head. I’m not a Queen of Narnia. An unfamiliar expression crosses his face before he snaps out of it and hurries to rejoin his siblings. I glance over Caspian and his head falls as the siblings walk ahead.

“Don’t worry, you’re needed here too,” I assure him quietly.

His eyes meet mine and I offer him a soft smile. After all, if it weren’t for him, the Pevensies would’ve never made it back here. I can tell he’s unsure of himself, worried about all of the pressure on him. Caspian and the Pevensies are supposed to lead a revolution. I can’t help but wonder if it’s truly feasible. We’re just a couple of kids.

I nod my head toward the How and the two of us start walking together with Trumpkin following along.

After a tour of the hideout and Caspian showing us the shrine to Aslan, there’s a war meeting. Peter and Caspian are butting heads, not much of a surprise there. The presence of a power struggle between the two leaders is evident as day. Caspian believes we should wait for the Telmarines to make the first move. Peter thinks it’s best if we attack first with the element of surprise.

I sit with my knees close to my chest against a pillar with Ed. I rest my head on his shoulder, growing tired of this back and forth tennis match between royals. Plus, I haven’t slept in two days. 

“If we dig in, we can hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sides with Caspian.

“But if they’re smart, they could starve us out,” Edmund voices.

Centaurs give their unwavering support if Peter does decide to lead a raid. They guarantee that they will fight to the death. I shake my head, earning the attention of Edmund who feels the motion against his shoulder. He can likely predict what I’m thinking. Brotherly, he places his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over my skin gently. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lucy interjects under her breath.

Peter turns to her, “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options, dying here or dying there.”

Again, Lucy is the youngest, but still the wisest. I’m on team Lucy.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening Lu,” Peter dismisses, much to my frustration.

“No, you’re not listening,” she fires back uncharacteristically. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch?”

Lucy has a point there. I raise my brows, suppressing a smirk. Out of my peripheral vision I see Edmund checking for my reaction. I glance at the youngest boy. 

“You should say something,” he advice. 

I shake my head, denying the chance. There’s no way am I doing that. 

“I believe we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter states to his sister.

What happened to the Peter who spoke so highly of the Guardian of Narnia? He praised Aslan and now he’s losing faith in him.

“Y/N, what do you think?”

I’m pulled from my train of thought upon hearing Peter saying my name. I scan the room and everyone’s eyes are on me, even the squirrels.

“Me?” I laugh nervously, rising to my feet. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to talk to.”

“But you are the fairest,” Susan compliments.

“Definitely the most patient,” Edmund adds by my feet.

Rubbing my hands together anxiously, I steadily approach Peter. I know what he wants me to say, he wants my support. I do support Peter as an individual, no matter what, but I can’t condone war. He likely knows what I’m going to say, he knew when he asked for my opinion. Yet, he asked for it anyway, perhaps out of hope that I’ve had a change of heart in the circumstance.

The room falls silent as Peter and I study each other’s face, silently pleading with the other to comply.

“You know I don’t believe violence is ever the answer,” I reason with him calmly. 

“But we’re at war!” He fusses, pacing away from me in frustration.

I scoff, pausing to processes his words. He can’t be serious right now? After the last three years, he doesn’t think I’m well acquainted with what war means?

I lose my temper. “You don’t think I know that?!”

Peter whips his head around furiously and murmurs erupt amongst the Narnians. I’ve just yelled at their High King.

“We’ve been at war in our world for years now!” I shout at ‘King Peter,’ more like self-righteous Peter. “I know war! I understand war! What I don’t understand is creating more damage than necessary! Miraz is your problem? Target him! Attack him, not the entire palace where innocent lives could be taken!”

Peter pants, his red with anger as he restrains himself from yelling. Peter and I have only argued like this perhaps twice in our lives. Even in those instances, the reasons were never as imperative as this one. We argued about childish things, jealousy, and sharing. Now, we’re arguing about war and the priority of life. I’m only a teenager, these are conversations for adults.

I shake my head and my face falls in disappointment as I continue to look at my best friend. His eyes shift from expressing overpowering aggravation to guilt. Silently, I rush to the hall leading to the rest of the hideout. Peter reaches for me as I pass him, but I slip my wrist from his grip.

“Y/N!” Peter calls pleadingly to which I ignore.

I won’t participate in this discussion further. Peter and everyone else knows where I stand now, no need to stick around.

____________________________________________

The sunsets over Aslan’s How and soon the starry sky hangs overhead. I’ve been hiding on top of the How on the patches of grass since the meeting. At first, I was fuming. Peter isn’t being reasonable! He’s trying to prove himself to the Narnians and Caspian that he’s still this great king from before. I can tell he’s guilt-ridden because of his accidental return to our world, all of the Pevensies are.

“Why are you awake so late?”

A voice pulls me from my train of thought. Caspian strolls over to me and sits down on the grass next to me, resting against the rocks of the fortress.

“I can’t sleep,” I mumble as I play with a blade of grass. “I haven’t been able to.”

“I can assure you you’re safe here,” Caspian smiles faintly.

It’s not that I feel unsafe here per se. It’s my mind, it won’t stop wondering. Whenever I close my eyes, I’m afraid of what I’ll dream of.

“I don’t doubt it. I just...” I release a deep sigh, looking out over the field ahead. “It’s all just overwhelming.”

One minute, I’m on my way to school as I do each day, nothing exciting there. Then the next, I’m in some foreign land surrounded by mythical creatures who I was led to believe only existed in fantasy novels.

I turn my head to Caspian, admiring his side profile. “What keeps you up?” I ask him quietly.

He shifts, relaxing more into his position, and turns his head to meet my gaze. His jet black eyes that match his hair glisten under the stars. Little specks of white glimmer in them like stars.

“I uh... “ he swallows hard, his eyes flickering to the bit of ground between us. “Whenever I close my eyes I see my uncle’s face. When I try to sleep, I...”

I place my hand over him without a second thought. His sight returns to mine with a hint of surprise. Yet, he still appears troubled. I offer him a comforting smile, hoping it will grant him peace of mind.

“Nightmares are perfectly normal, Caspian.”

He nods, coming to terms with it. “Would you mind if I stay here with you for a little while?”

My smile grows and ease of relief across his features. “Not at all.”

______________________________________

Chatter, the sound of pounding metal, and birds chirping increase at a rapid rate. I shift a little, groaning at the sudden surge of disturbing sound. I can see light behind my closed eyes, so I hide my eyes in my hands. Utterly exhausted, I grant myself five more minutes. I moan, stretching out slightly to get comfortable again. I feel a weight on my waist and it tightens around me. Then, I feel something against my back and hear a deep sigh as warm breath brushes against my shoulder. I relax, a faint smile appearing across my lips.

Similar to a blast, I fly up from my laid position. My eyes adjust to the bright light of day slowly and I frantically search the area around me. Caspian awakes beside me in a panic due to my sudden surge of movement. Oh no, this is not good!

“Oh no, by all means, don’t scurry on my account” Trumpkin makes himself known a few feet away. “I was just about to throw up!”

i growl at the dwarf and rise from the ground. “Must you be so crude?”

Brushing down my dress, I march off to the path leading down to the How’s entrance. I hear Caspian chase after me.

“Y/N wait!” He calls.

Ignoring him, I continue my hurried pace down to the ground.  Peter is likely having a fit wondering where I am. Falling asleep with Caspian on top of the How was not on my to-do list.

Right as I reach the stone path leading into the alcove, Caspian grabs my wrist. “Do you think we can train together today?”

I laugh, does he think me to be Joan of Arc? I’ve never fought a day in my life!

“Me? Train with you? I’m no soldier, I would ask Edmund or Peter. They’re far better than me,” I suggest as I start to walk away.

The Prince jogs ahead and blocks my path, placing his hand gently on my arm. “Well maybe so, but then we can learn together.”

Peter wouldn’t like it, that much I know for sure. He hardly let me borrow Edmund’s Katana. Since then, I’ve never actually used it. I drew it in the woods when Caspian and Peter were fighting, but I don’t know the first thing about defending myself.

“Alright,” I comply, much to Caspian’s pleasure. Perhaps it is to my benefit to training. After all, I suppose there will be a battle eventually, though I’ll do everything I can to stop it. “But I don’t think we should do it here,” I add.

He frowns, “why not?”

I raise my brows at the boy. “Have you met Peter?”

He snickers, understanding my point. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We could try by the river!”

“Alright,” I nod. “We should go now.”

I cautiously check around us to make sure no one overheard before heading inside. Other than a few Narnians transporting supplies and weaponry, we’re in the clear. As long as none of the Pevensies find out, especially Peter, Caspian and I should be okay.

__________________________________

Caspian and I have been training all afternoon by the river. I’m actually better than I thought I’d be. Once Caspian taught me some basic motions, I learned I could build off of them. At first, he was going easy on me, changing positions slower than he really would in a fight. As I started to get used to having a weapon in my hand, I could imagine it as an extension of my arm like Caspian instructed. Soon, I was putting up a real fight against Caspian. I spin and swing my sword to meet his blade at an angle.

Face to face, Caspian laughs breathlessly. “And you swear you’ve never used a sword!”

“No, we don’t exactly need them in Finchley,” I snicker.

“What is your world like?” He asks as he changes our position and nearly knocks my katana from my hands.

“It’s not necessarily exciting,” I grunt as I drop to a squat to sweep his legs.

He jumps to dodge the move, landing on his feet perfectly. “Tell me about it. What do you like to do there?”

I snicker, stepping to the side to swing my blade down onto his shoulder. “Are you wanting to know more about my world or more about me?”

Caspian takes advantage of my uneven stance and grabs my arm. Swiftly he spins me around and yanks me into his chest. I accidentally drop my sword and his hand wraps around my neck.

“You,” he whispers in my ear.

I swallow hard, glancing down at my katana laying in the plush grass just a few feet away. Keeping the status quo, I play along. “I like the ocean, but your’s here is far prettier,” I distract him. “When I was younger, my father used to take my family sailing on holiday... but that was years ago.”

His grasp around my neck eases up slightly and I take the chance to slip from his hold. I fall to my knees and reach for my Katana. I grip it’s handled right as Caspian rolls me over onto my back and climbs on top of me. He pins my wrists above my head.

“Why did you stop going?” He pants, referring to my story.

“The war,” I answer softly, my breathing uneven. “He died in a battle in France.”

His face falters sorrowly and his pressure on my wrists subsides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, not seeking his sympathy. “But now you understand why I don’t believe in war.”

“I lost my father many years ago too,” he confesses.

The despair in his eyes nearly breaks my strong facade. No one should have to lose a parent, especially at a young age. Losing a father leaves a greater hole in one’s heart than most can predict. There are far more long-lasting effects deeply rooted in the experience than meets the eye. I’ve put on a strong face for my family and friends for so long that I’ve grown used to it. None of them understand. Yet here, I’m faced with someone who does.

“Then you truly understand.”

My words release in a whisper, the relief evident in my voice. Caspian nods gently, then his eyes flicker down at my lips. I bite down on the lower, tempted. No, I can’t do it. Peter’s face flashes across my mind. Yet, I can’t deny the alluring feel I have in Caspian's presence. At this moment it’s never been stronger. Caspian leans down, hovering over my face closer than before. My eyes uncontrollably fall to his parted lips. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t deny him. In fact, I find myself wishing he would. My eyes fall shut and his lips brush against mine.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice booms over the otherwise peaceful wood.

__________

Masterlist

Tags:  @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw

[goose-books]

whoa, it sure is about time around here for a post, huh!

today i offer you 1.7k words about cressida and rory simply being soft. that’s all. this is the happiest thing i’ve ever written in the darkling canon and making this moodboard reminded me that it’s because these two are the only kind and friendly people in the entire book.

more details about cressida and rory’s home WIP, darkling, can be found here! (short version: it’s a speculative fiction king lear; there’s magic but it’s weird about being magic; half the characters are gay trans and neurodivergent because i said so.) this takes place about a year before the story starts; the two of them have just turned sixteen and seventeen, respectively!

also, i wrote all of this while listening to “kentucky” by hippo campus on repeat. the lyrics aren’t quite as relevant as the vibe. if you catch me yearning on main mind your own business /j

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

Beside them, Cressida is soaked, long golden hair and long white dress dripping. Rory rocks up onto their toes and back down, anxiety worming along the back of their neck like an itchy coat. This was not the plan. The plan was not “get caught in the rain and run through a storm for two blocks.” The plan was for the two of them to go walk by the river and - who knows, talk about Joan of Arc or the Kennedy assassination or something. Swap special interests. Maybe swap spit. Probably not, though. It’s not a date. It’s not not a date - but, like, Rory still does work for Cressida’s dad, so who knows how awkward things could get. Plus Cressida’s hard to read. She doesn’t really make facial expressions, and that’s usually fine, because Rory can’t really read facial expressions so it’s about the same to them, but in this particular situation -

“I trust you,” Cressida says, squeezing their hand, “but where are we going?”

The rain’s left Rory’s glasses fogged up enough to render them effectively blind. They take their glasses off and squint at the elevator buttons. They are still effectively blind.

“Is that a five or a six?” they say, pointing.

Cressida peers over their shoulder. “Which one do you want?”

“Five.”

Cressida presses the five button with her free hand. The elevator, which is about the size of a broom closet, jerks into unsteady, fitful motion.

The thing is that the apartment building is kind of - well, not a dump. It’s not horrible. There aren’t cockroaches. But Cressida lives in a manor, literally. Stayer Manor. Capital S, capital M. And there was never any sort of plan for today, even in the wildest of circumstances, that involved Rory bringing the city’s golden girl to a building the size of a shoebox. But then it was raining, and Cressida kept saying she didn’t mind the rain despite clearly minding because if she ruins her dress her dad will go rabid-dog on her, and Rory’s cognitive wheels were spinning like they were powered by a well-greased hamster, and none of the restaurants close enough to duck into were appropriate places for them to safely freak out about the thunder, and their apartment was only two blocks away.

So.

Here they are.

“Sorry,” Cressida says. “Where are we going?”

Rory attempts to dry their glasses on their soaked-through sweater, to little avail. “We are going,” they announce, “to a world of pure imagination.”

Outside, thunder cracks the sky. They know Cressida sees them flinch, because she squeezes their hand again.

The apartment is 505. Cressida waits as Rory digs around in their jacket pocket, shuffling past loose coins and two pairs of headphones and four melted Starbursts and way too many scraps of paper until they finally unearth their key. Their lock sticks - their lock always sticks - so once they’ve turned it, they have to drop Cressida’s hand and plant one wet Doc Marten on the wall and yank. The door swings open.

“Voila,” Rory says, performing jazz hands. “Willy Wonka wants what I have.”

Their apartment is purple. Not startlingly purple. Gently purple. Purple like it creeps up on you. Purple like you don’t realize exactly how purple it is until you realize everything - walls, gauzy flower-patterned curtains, plushy armchair, compass-rose-shaped clock, old-fashioned record player on the table - is the same shade of soft lavender.

There is at least one nail sticking up out of the hard-wood floor. Rory snags a sock on it every time they dance around with their headphones in.

Two people have been inside since Rory started renting the place a year ago. And that’s them and the landlord. This is their place, their safe haven, their nook, and it’s the size of Cressida’s bathroom, and rich pretty Cressida Stayer is standing, dripping, in the threshold.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rory says. Cressida draws her hands in like the walls might electrocute her. “That was a joke. You can touch things.”

“This is your apartment,” Cressida says.

“Indeed.”

“You live here.”

“That succeeds the first!” They give her an encouraging smile. “Subsequent statements! How cogently lucid of you!”

Cressida looks down. The hem of her dress is dripping onto the floor. “I don’t suppose you have a vent I could sit on…?”

“In fact I do!” Rory directs her, aircraft-marshall-style, to the heating vent on the floor. They’re jittering. They’re using way too much arm movement. They can’t get their heart to stop skidding around, because normally! They do not! Let people in here!

They stand and drip. Cressida sits and drips. She gazes around, and Rory gazes with her, trying to see it through her eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” she says.

Rory skips over to the closet and pulls the door open, with the grand gestures of a magician presenting a trick. The inside of the tiny closet is lined with a thick downy comforter; there are sheets and pillows scattered around atop it, and there are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up all over the walls and ceiling.

Cressida gazes at it. “On purpose, right? Not because -”

“On purpose. Yes. I could have bought a bed. I just think it’s cozy.” Oh, Rory is going to lose it right here. Their foot is tapping the floor at about a million miles an hour. Granted, being in their apartment helps the overstimulation a little - just being where it’s safe and everything’s always the same and they control their space. That always helps. But it’s not like they can just curl up in their closet with their headphones in and the door shut, because Cressida is here -

Cressida, for her part, looks a little impressed.

“It’s nice,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You just live here? By yourself?”

Rory shrugs. “I’m emancipated,” they say, which isn’t strictly true, but they work for the most powerful man in the city, who has their back if anyone actually looks into their files, so it’s as true as it really needs to be - and then thunder roars outside again and Rory skitters sideways and falls over their armchair.

“Oh! Oh my God -” Cressida jumps to her feet.

Rory scrambles up from where they’ve tumbled to the floor. “Sorry sorry sorry!” they say, except really they yell it because they have their shaking hands over their ears. “Sorrysorrysorry, I - I really don’t like loud - I d-don’t -”

“Can I -” All of a sudden Cressida’s in front of them. Rory doesn’t move away, just stands there, chest heaving, and Cressida slides her still-damp hands very gently up both of their arms, and she very gently pulls their hands off their ears.

The thunder, again. Like a cannon blast. This time Rory yelps a little. Cressida pulls them in close to her and sits both of them down on the vent, which, at the very least, is warm and also on the floor, so Rory can’t really trip over anything when they flinch.

“You don’t like loud,” Cressida repeats. She’s a good deal taller than they are - Rory’s exactly five-foot in their Docs - and so it makes logical sense for her to settle down with her chin on their head, probably.

“I don’t. I don’t. I really don’t.” They’ve started fluttering their hands a little; their voice is getting that shaky tilt it gets when they’re in sensory overload. “Fun story, back in high school we went on a field trip to this play where they used gunfire blanks for sound effects and I had a full-on crying-and-screaming public meltdown. I like to tell fun stories from high school like it wasn’t actual purgatory, because I cope through humor!”

“I know,” Cressida says simply, and she wraps her arms around them so they can lean back into her chest. The next thunder crash comes, and she tightens her grip. “Is this helping?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. A lot. Like a weighted blanket.” Rory tilts their head back to give her a shaky upside-down grin.

They don’t like making eye contact, so they don’t, but they are aware that Cressida’s gaze is resting pretty solidly on their face, which is - fine, and normal behavior for friends, and the fact that they’re cuddling on a vent and they can feel her heart beating against their spine is, like, normal also, probably -

“Rory,” Cressida says tentatively, “can I…”

Rory tilts their head. “Can you what?”

Cressida hesitates; then she leans in. It is a very very gentle kiss, almost hesitant; she pulls away after a second or so, to find Rory staring at her dumbfounded.

“Whoa,” they say, face assembling itself into what they’re fully aware is a stupid doofy grin. “Whoa. Hi. Hey. I - yeah! You can do that!”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a second; they both let out a breath that is, Rory thinks, equal parts relief and euphoria.

Then Rory leans in and kisses Cressida again, and this time neither of them pull away, and when the thunder crashes overhead Rory thinks they’ve never felt safer than they do right now.

[wishuhadstayed]

Every Time You Smile, I Smile

Author’s Note: Behold, my very first fanfic. I don’t know how this happened but here it is. Please be kind 🥺 (also, titles are hard guys) Special thanks to @ficsnroses and @ringa-starr Two lovely ladies who bravely volunteered as tribute to read this hot mess.

Summary: Reader is Ted Logan’s tutor, who comes up with a creative punishment for wrong answers. Based on an anonymous request. (I hope it is everything you wanted)

Warnings- None (lots of silly fluff)

Word Count- 631 (just a sweet little Drabble)

Masterlist

Sitting at the long wooden table you nervously drummed your fingers, waiting for him to arrive. You had been in Ted’s history class all semester, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, he was failing miserably. Adorable, but failing. Being on the shy side, you kept mostly to yourself, so it came as a surprise when he asked you to be his tutor.

Waiting in the unsettling silence of the library, you were beginning to think he wouldn’t show. Hearing the creak of a door, you turned and the sight of his tousled brown hair and goofy grin erased all your doubts. Plopping down next to you, he discarded his heavy bookbag on the floor.

“Most excellent of you to agree to be my tutor, Y/N” he expressed cheerfully. “I’m happy to help Ted, but why did you ask me anyway?” “We grade each other’s quizzes, Y/N, I know you’re the smartest babe in class. Plus, my dad is threatening to ship me off to a most heinous military school if I bomb this class, and I need all the help I can get.” “Well, we’d better get down to business then.”

Cracking open the large history textbook, you prepared to begin your first lesson. “Alright Ted, tell me, who was Joan of Arc?” He sat quietly for a moment, puzzled look on his face before replying, “Ummmm, Noah’s wife?” You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his obviously wrong, but very cute answer. “What’s so funny, Y/N?” Ted asked.

Right then you realized you seriously needed a game plan. A silly thought slipped and into your head, and before you could control yourself, it was already happening. You leaned in and your fingers found a sensitive spot on the side of Ted’s ribs, making him jump, burst into laughter, and finally giving your hand a playful slap.

This sudden, rowdy disturbance of the previously peaceful library earned you both a dirty look from the lady working at the front desk. “What was that about, Y/N?” “Well, you need to take this seriously so you don’t end up at military school and I thought I would provide you with a little motivation. I didn’t scare you too bad, did I?” “No, this actually might be a most excellent idea,” he said with a lopsided smile.

You continue the study session, explaining to Ted various historical figures and then testing his recall. He did a lot better than you imagined, turns out he just needed help with focus and a little extra attention. When you asked him about Caesar, however, the answer you received almost made you cry with laughter. “ Oh yeah, that salad dressing dude!”

Knowing by the look on your face what was coming this time, Ted darted from his chair, running around the table to avoid his inevitable fate. Lunging after him with your arms outstretched, you attempted to catch him, but he proved to be much too quick with his long legs. Trying desperately to dodge you, he tripped over a chair, tumbling to the floor. Unable to stop your momentum so suddenly, you met the same fate. Giggling and gasping for breath on the library carpet, you took the opportunity to go in for his lesson. Your hands found the ticklish spot on his side again, initiating a fresh round of squealing laughter. The next thing you knew, the librarian was towering over the both of you looking down with a stern glare.

“YOU TWO. OUT. NOW.” She demanded hotly. The both of you collapsed into another fit of giddy laughter hiding underneath the table for a moment. “Well I think we’ve worn out our welcome here tonight. Next week, then?” “Next week most definitely,” said Ted. “Think we might need a new library though, dude.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

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

-Eve Was Weak-

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

  “Any speculation as to who the author is?” 

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

  “What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

  “Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

  “Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

  “Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

  “And you disapprove?”

  “Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

  “Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

  “Dogs playing…”

  “Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

  “See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found. 

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

  “You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

  “Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

  “Yes,” Henry had said.

  “Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

  “Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

  “Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

  “Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final 

The might of final 

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan. 

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

  “Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin. 

  “Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

  “School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

  “That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

  “Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

  “Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

  “My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

  “It hurts,” She croaked.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “What did I do?”

  “What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

  “What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. 

  “No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

  “But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her. 

  “You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

  “What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

  “Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

  “--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

  “...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

  “I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

  “This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart. 

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame. 

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

  “Good news, Kitty!” 

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

  “What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

  “It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head. 

  “Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

  “Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.” 

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

  “We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

  “It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

  “CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

  “Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

  “Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

  “Hello, kids,” She said languidly. 

  “Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

  “Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

  “What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

  “Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

  “I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

  “Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

  “Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

  “Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

  “All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

  “And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

  “All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

  “Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

  “It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

  “Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

  “J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

  “Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear 

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

  “I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss. 

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones. 

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask. 

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

  “Where did you find this?” 

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

  “M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

  “Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

  “No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

  “NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

  “What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

  “That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

  “No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

  “WHY?!”

  “BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor. 

  “No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

  “He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

  “Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

  “...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

  “My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

  “I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

  “You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

  “But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

  “You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

  “You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

  “I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

  “Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

  “What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

  “I know, but--” Joan floundered.

  “What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

  “It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

  “And as such--”

  “But Mama--”

  “It is--”

  “I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

  “Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

  “Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

  “The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

  “Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

  “You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

  “Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

  “And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

  “No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

  “Say it!” Mama bellowed.

  “No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

  “And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

  “Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

  “And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

  “Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

  “And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

  “N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

  “You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times. 

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

  “Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

  “Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

  “Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip. 

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

  “Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

  “Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

  “Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing. 

  “Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

  “No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

  “I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

  “No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

  “Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

  “Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

  “Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

  “You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

  “The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!” 

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony. 

  “MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

   “NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

  “Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

  “Please, Mama!!” 

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe. 

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out? 

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation. 

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care? 

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths. 

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement. 

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

  “Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this. 

  “Mama…” 

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

  “Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

  “Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

  “Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

  “Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

  “What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

  “I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her. 

  “I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

  “Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

  “There is?”

  “This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

  “Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

  “That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

  “Joan?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

  “I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother. 

  “Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

  “Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

  “I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

[jade4813]

ZEP Finale Predictions/Theories

I can’t believe that next week is the first season finale for my favorite show! However, because of what we suspect will happen next episode (and that cliffhanger!), as well as released stills and that promo I’ve come up with a theory on what might happen in the finale.

My theory is Max goes to Zoey to tell her he's been fired because he needs a friend. Now Zoey has just started fixing things between them and she stands losing him again? After being so distracted by her own problems (and kinda dissing his ability to do his job)? Oh HELL no. Zoey realizes she has Feelings About This. And the two of them talk and maybe she even starts to realize she has Feelings in General. Max is like, "Is this a Moment we are having right now?" and looks at her lips, but the kiss is interrupted. Maybe by a heart song, which makes her realize she has ALL SORTS OF CONFLICTING FEELINGS RIGHT NOW. Anyway. He looked at her lips, so maybe he even leans in for a kiss and that's how she realizes she wanted to lean in too. But the moment is broken - again, possibly due to heart song - and Max leaves.

Zoey goes to Joan and is like ">:( MAX HAS BEEN HURT AND WE WILL VANQUISH THIS EVIL!" And Joan, Leif, Tobin (because he supports Leif), Zoey, etc. decide to Do Something About It. This would be a good payoff for all of their arcs. It would pay off the progression Joan had through the season, from someone who didn’t even know Max’s name to someone who cares about her team, shows it, and is willing to go to bat for them. For Leif, it hows how he really has grown from being self-centered and ambitious to actually caring about the consequences of his ambition. (Plus, it would be a some nice payback for Max helping him this last episode, and for him realizing that Max is actually very good at his job.) It would allow Zoey and Max to address their argument - and that comment she made about how nobody could believe he was promoted, as well as showing Max that the 4th floor really does appreciate him.

Joan has a meeting with Danny Michael David and maybe tries to find a way there to save Max's job...or she gets the idea there on how she's gonna do it.  And defeat Ava. The SPRQ Point Coders hatch their plot to help Max. Ava put a virus on their server once? Imagine what they can do when they aren’t playing fair anymore.

MEANWHILE Zoey is like, "I totally think I have The Feels and want to Climb Max Like a Tree" so she asks him out to coffee. Simon sees them and maybe gets a little jealous (not what I would have initially assumed, but this is from seeing that clip of him putting his hand over Max's face) and she's like, "Well, shit. I gotta deal with this. I made a whole ass mess with my love life and I need to SORT IT OUT because both guys need to know for certain where I stand and that means I do, too."

But then, before she can figure out how to clean up that mess, her dad dies, and she leans on Max and he helps her through. (This is due to the promo images.) Maybe at the end, HE'S the one to be like, "You're going through a lot, and I want to make sure you're not feeling pushed and you're ready for this. So you do what you have to do to heal. When you're ready, I'll be here." End of season.

It leaves the possibility open for either/both Zoey/Simon and Zoey/Max next year, depending on where the show wants to go. (Remember, Simon said he needed time. Max would be recognizing that Zoey does, too.) It fits with Austin’s “Zoey and Max are at the beginning of their journey together” quote (paraphrasing). And it pays off several character arcs through the season and sets everyone up for a good place in season 2. Which we had better get.

Anyway, those are my rambling predictions based off promos/images/interviews/speculation that I’ve seen so far!

[beacon-sanctuary]

Chapter 2: Class decisions and dorm warfare for the win!

introduction, Ch.1

Note to self: next time Bean and Merlin fight, get popcorn, and maybe grab wall rubble, I’m not a hoarder, scouts honor~

     I looked up at the teachers with stars in my eyes, everyone was so cool!  Plus, I got a head pat-so that’s even better!  Ugh, why’d you guys have to make so hard to choose a class, hmmm let’s put our suspects, up shall we?  Looking at the professors, I saw the grumpy Alchemist guy, his pale wood patterned skin shone in the lights above as once more those dang amber eyes of his bore into my mind.  Like chill man, how can putting a baton in your jacket be mind warfare?!  Huff, he looked so cool during the show but ehhh, too strict for me.  

 Well, Rasputin’s a no I guess, number 2, Louis Armstrong, seems like a fun guy, buuut I have no musical talent, got two left feet, voice sounds like a banshee bleh, ain’t a good fit.  It’s not you Louis it’s me, sorry man. Onto suspect 3, Hobo Billy the kid, chill, kinda dusty, but I’m not stealthy, wouldn’t have light-up shoes if I was after all.  Suspect 4 come on down!  Here we have Joan of Arc, awesome sword wielder and dealer of cherished head pats, 9/10 we might have a winner here people.

 Now onto suspe-oh no megaphone man’s back, just in case, I pulled my beanie over my ears, no hearing loss for me.  

 “Ah, jolly good show everyone!  It was quite a sight to see, I must say, now children, if that display did not solidify your choice-well buck up!  We’ve decided to allow our professors the chance to remind you of their profession and the meaning behind each class!  And remember no class is better or worse than the ot-”

 “Guerillas are best, don’t listen to the loudspeaker” Izusa jabbed in

 “Heheheh, Izusa I am glad for your class pride still runs deep, but we are headmasters, after all, we need to be unbiased!  Let our bright youths decide for themselves!”

 “Unbiased, you have your freaking Knight necktie on” She fired back motioning to his stripped blue silver tie which he straightened. 

 “Well, of course, one must never forget their roots after all, and even though I myself favored our knights here, this is not-” Before he could finish, a sharp  “Shush” interjected.  Professor Blum strode forward hand massaging his temple.

 “If we listen to this squabble any longer, we shall not move anywhere, and I would like to return to my facility before night comes if you don’t mind.” Fixing his overcoat, the amber eyes of the earth magi quickly returned to the crowd, piercing them with a cool stare as he began to speak once more.

 “To you lot” he admonished us snapping his arm, “Listen well, for I shall only say this once.  Despite what the news or the media has led you to believe, Alchemists are those who study and pick apart the gears of magic and the world for all its worth.”  When he said news and media he spat out each word as if it were venom in his mouth, and as he began to go on, the methodical style of his speech began to ebb more into a stately passion. 

 “We are no mere scientists, we are alchemists! The fusion of creativity and scientific reasoning to understand, this little thing we call magic.  Despite the moniker of “Youngest class,” Human, Magi, or whatever in between that’s shuffled about on this rock has always been curious of this force in our world.  Whether you trace our origins to the wizards and warlocks of old, or to the Alchemists of which we’ve gained our title, we are both and neither of our predecessors!” 

      Pacing a bit, he calmed his voice back down as he continued on, “Were our ancestors simply explored the capabilities or tried to pick apart magic for their own uses, we have a different goal.  We carry the light of knowledge, illuminating the unknown for our fellow people so that they may find comfort in said findings.  If you choose this path, burn this into your mind! If you have no passion or hunger for finding the secrets of magic and our world, then as soon as you enter my facility, you. shall. be. Gone!  I do not want to hear your complaining, “Oh it’s too hard,” or, “ Oh, it’s too boring” for if I see one hint of uninterest in your eyes, I'll throw you out myself! For if you have no passion or drive in your field what is the point of you?  Now then,”  

 After a long sigh, he quietly composed himself, “if you feel this is right for you, step forward now.” he crooned out. And to my left, I felt a rustle beside me Orion groaned up and walked towards the old magi, he gave me a two-finger salute and lazily walked forward.  And as everyone saw him go, bit by bit more people stood in front of Rasputin, as each was handed some black clothes in a bag.  And as if on cue, a sharp whistle broke the silence, bringing all our eyes on Billy the kid.

 “Alright, kiddos eyes on me for a sec’. Thanks to ole grandpa given that essay, I’ll be straight with ya.  Guerillas are the rebels, outlaws, anarchists, or whatever they call us now.  Where there's some rules we break 'em, were there's laws we go past 'em. We be the judge of those in power, that roarin' flame under they feet that keep our leaders in check. And if they go too far, well, this lil' fire finna burst into an inferno I'll promise ya that.  If ya got freedom and rebellion in ya chest. We yo people, see a riot, we in there, see a protest, we in there, and if you see a revolution? Hoo boy, you sure as heck know we in there! We carry the light of freedom and change, always there to stop a leader if they go too far and if they do, we gon' hold 'em accountable and make somethin' new.  If my words struck home, we be happy to have ya, welcome to the family kiddos.” legs dangling over the stage the professor watched as the future Guerillas approached, heck even one girl flew up and gave a high five to him.  Thanks to her wings, she was an air magi, had some golden-brown wings and storm grey hair, and perched atop the stage as her classmates rushed up too.

             At my right, I heard a grunt as freaking Joan of Arc hopped off her pommel and kicked the sword in her hand like it was nothing!  Yup, definitely joining her I don’t care what anyone says-Imma be a knight!

 “Heh, alrighty, may as well start, hmph” She grunted, holding her sword in a rigid pose.  If I’m being honest her face looked like she was constipated “to be a knight you be gallant, focused measured precise and powerful, my children take up arms your calling is nye it is time for a crusade!  We shall take back the holy land,Deus vult, DEUS VU-pfffft, heheheh, sorry I had to” she chuckled leaning on her sheath “Oh, that never gets old, ok serious time now” she took in a breath to speak but

 “Ah, it seems the impossible did happen, you being serious” Rasputin interjected walking past her, to this he received a light snicker

 “Listen I can be serious sometimes, on occasion, when I feel like it, every few years.  But, as I was saying before mister essay interrupted me, Knights are old as heck alright, we’re the first beacons, defend people for generations, all that good stuff.  But just cause we got knight in our name, don’t mean we’re Chivalrous, glistening warriors who vanquish evil to the ends of the earth that’s only a third of the pie, we’re not just warriors, we’re healers and guardians kids.  The sword, shield, and healing hand, we become that light.  We guard against the dark and give people a haven.  In more than one way!  So,” she said resting her sword over her shoulders,

“If you want to be a knight, grab some chainmail and a tunic from the stage and come to my class tomorrow.  I’d be happy to have you” She winked strolling out.  Yeeep, I’m all in let’s freaking go!  I cheered in my mind, but I had a feeling I had a dopey smile on my face all the same.

             After that, not much else happened, learned about the other two classes, Artificers, basically artists, builders, and all that fun stuff that entertains or helps people. And seekers, explorers, and stuff, always run headfirst into the unknown and hard to pin down.  But by the end I got some bag of clothes and a rune stone. It was a smooth navy-blue rock with a messed-up F burnt into it.  It felt warm and hummed a bit in my hand as I turned a bit, it was like a weird magic compass to my dorm I guess, this is so cool!  Welp, into your prison-I mean my bag little guy.  As I was putting my stone back in my bag, a gun shot made me nearly drop it on the ground.

 “Gah!  what is this, give Eir a heart attack day?!” I mumbled clamping my stone as Headmaster Ortiz cleared his throat.

 “Knights, Alchemists, Seekers, Guerillas, and Artificers, thank you all for continuing in the protection of Human-Magi kind.  This is the first step of your journey as Beacons!  For even having the courage to step up this far, you should be proud!  Bully indeed for you!  I already can see great potential in all of you, all I can say is good luck, and may your lights always shine bright.” He finished his final speech and gave us all a hearty laugh and warm smile before walking into the back as Izusa made her way to speak.

 “Alright Torches, like the headmaster megaphone said, this is your start, remember you all wanted this, so get ready, tomorrow starts four years of hell, have fun~” she sang away into the darkness from whence she came.

             After the speeches of fluff and doom we all dispersed to our new dorms, which for some freaking reason was on the of the fort!  School’s in the middle, makes sense, access to everything, but the dorms. At the very edge of the freaking coast, who designed this and where can I smack them with my bag?  I’m going helicopter them so bad won’t know what hit them.  But still, I walked to my dorm.  Weird F rune dash 5 as the stone in my hand vibrated more and more the closer I got to my door.  The jade-gold rune patterned carpet sat atop a shining wood floor and the air had a scent of strangely chocolate, and fire?  

 “Who’s burning something?” I thought aloud, but right as the words came out of my mouth, the wall right across from me shattered as a flaming girl bulldozed through while a hand patted me on the head.  Whirling my head from side to side I saw Orion standing besides me snickering at the dragon girl.  She had two jagged black horns sticking out of her messy flame like curls.  She was short but had a stocky frame, I think I even saw a few muscles if I’m being honest.  And as I saw her gold eyes stare daggers at Orion(nickname still pending) a wicked smile seared across her face, disrupting the red scales upon her cheeks.

 “Orio get back over here so I can hit ya!” She growled in her rough voice, to which Orion strolled across from me with a playful shrug

 “nahhh, don’t really feel like it sunflower, good offer though, you’re getting’ better at em, I’m proud!”

 “Tsk, I told ya before, I ain’t no little flower, I am the sun!” she yelled crouching down for probably another charge.  Orion chuckled as he held his free hand at his ear

 “Uh, say that again white dwarf, I ain’t hear ya~” he teased, and at that my eyes even glared at him,

 “Please don’t my ears have suffered enough for a day!” I groaned,

       But as at the girl, it seemed like she physically had a tick mark on her head as the whole room heated up to 90 degrees. I had to take off my hat and fan myself, what the freak did he say to make her that mad? But unfortunately, I got no answer as the girl barreled forward with a battle cry.  Careening towards Orion before I saw him poof out of existence in a blue flash before reappearing behind the solar magi.  He placed a hand on her back and caused it to steam, but what instantly caught my attention was two words that slithered from his mouth.

 “Liga Hostem” he said, and yanked his hand back as multiple black and blue chains wrapped around the girl, battling against the fire and the light she gave off.  Making the hallway as wicked battle of heat and cold. Gasping from excitement I rapidly said

 “You used a binding spell!  It’s not the full incantation but that’s still awesome!  Wait, your element doesn’t usually go into that unle-“

 “let’s save this for later, I ain’t tryin’ be bbq magi over here”  to further his point the girl took in a deep breath and bellowed out a stream of flames in the boy’s direction, cursing under his breath Orion slammed his hand on the ground and cried

 “Fortifico!” as a black and blue hexagon of swirling void, blocked the incoming flames, and as soon as the barrier was released, the girl charged forward with an knee aimed at Orion’s fac, he rolled back and threw a punch at her stomach, but she brushed it to the side.  Back and forth they parried and dodged each other’s blows like clockwork.  Oh I wish I had popcorn, this is so good, but sadly before the fight could continue, the door behind me slammed open as I saw a baby face looking Asian guy with, a long, rat tail… Oh its him, time to give him a piece of my wait why is he my dorm mate?!

 “QUIET” the pale faced boy roared, on his face was now a pair of jade, metallic looking goggles, and as soon as he looked at the two magi his face grew a face of sheer disgust. “Ugh, just typical of their kind, arrogant and loud beyond measure. You two, cease this disturbance immediately, I am trying to work. “ he screamed in his childlike voice waving a large wrench at the two.

 “Hey, angery baby man, shush.” Said angery baby man looked agasp and was about to say something before I said

“Oi, ya owe me an apology from earlier, what was your deal?” I demaded looking over my shoulder

 “just my luck, of course I’m roomed with you of all people.” He rolled his eyes

 “Me of all people?!  Square up baby man, lets go!”

 “First of all, I am not, a baby man.  My name is Lin Su-Wang, and I am not fighting a munchkin.”

             And this is how this went for like thirty minutes, four people either fighting or yelling at each other before, nothing, I really can’t remember what happened afterwards, only thing is I woke up with a pain in my neck for some reason.  Weird, buuut yeah, this was one interesting first day.

 Day one-completed! :)

[takeyourcritique]

Makoto Niijima: Good Girl, Bad Writing.

In video games, movies, TV, and books, there are always characters who receive copious amounts of praise. In Persona 5, it is no different. Some characters deserve the hype they get, and some.. do not. In my humble opinion, Makoto Niijima falls into the latter category and in this essay I will explain why, as well as delve into what I as a writer would do to improve her character. Because this is not a hate meta, it is merely me articulating my issues with her character and getting my thoughts in order. (She has potential, it merely needs to be utilized and with P5R coming next year, a girl can hope.)

1. Underwhelming Design

The cast of Persona 5, in contrast to the casts before them, are vigilantes, a band of misfits if you will. The entire theme of the game is rebellion against society and fighting the norm, and the characters should reflect this in their design. The only exception is the protagonist himself because he's on probation and attempting to keep a low profile: that's why he follows the dress code to a tee and appears as gentle as possible, because he's already in enough trouble as is. The first party member, Ryuji, has been a rebel for a good amount of time: his hair is a stark blond (which Kawakami-sensei does not approve of) and he wears a very casual version of the school uniform; substituting a bright yellow shirt for the white of the uniform, wearing sneakers instead of dress shoes, and not wearing his suspenders (they're attached though, at the waist).

Ann Takamaki wears a white clover hoodie under her blazer, red leggings under her skirt, brown lace up boots, and earrings; not to mention her hair, while a natural blonde, is pulled back into cutesy pigtails almost like a teenage Harley Quinn. Yusuke doesn't even go to the same school, so his attire stands out in stark contrast with the main trio. Futaba dyes her hair red and she doesn't go to school at all due to severe anxiety; Haru wears a poofy pink sweater over her uniform with Mary Janes and polka dot tights. They all stick out like little sore thumbs. Except Makoto. She basically also follows the dress code, with a few subtle changes:

•She doesn't wear a blazer, instead wearing a black halter vest over her turtleneck

•Black tights

•Brown boots

That's literally it. Nothing about her stands out, and even in her casual clothing she wears a lot of whites and blacks. There's a monochromatic vibe to her, perhaps alluding to her strong sense of justice and distinction between right and wrong which in and of itself isn't bad! But it doesn't fit with the theme of the cast, Makoto fits in too much with the rest of the world to fit in with them. Just by looking at her, you cannot tell she's supposed to be part of the crew and in all honesty she'd fit better working with Akechi due to their very similar views of justice and morals. Hell, some NPCs are more vibrant design-wise than Makoto is.

2. Her Metaverse design, Persona and codename are contradictory.

Makoto's Persona, Johanna, is based most likely off Pope Joan, (after doing research online and reading Johanna's profile on SMT wiki it seemed the best fit) who was a woman that pretended to be a man in order to rise to power in an otherwise male-only role in the Catholic church. And while the story is intriguing, it doesn't fit Makoto at all: she never pretended to be what she was not and while she's "the voice of reason" she's not the leader of the team; Joker is. This makes her codename, "Queen", even more confusing. Nothing about her costume design looks regal whatsoever; it makes no sense. It feels like writer's favoritism, in all honesty. A better name would've been something more related to the fact that she looks like a biker/executionist hybrid; like "Crusher" or something of more..violent nature.

Even a name related to her wanting to go into the force would've worked well: Chief, Lieutenant, etc. Queen is nice, but it doesn't click with Makoto at all, unlike literally everyone else's Persona and codename. Ann's Persona, Carmen, is a femme fatale that kills men. Captain Kidd is a pirate, an iconic symbol of rebellion; Milady, Haru's Persona, is a reference to a villainess of the same name in the 3 Musketeers; Goemon was essentially a Japanese Robin Hood which fits Yusuke's entire kitsune/warrior aesthetic. Joker's Persona, Arsene, is a direct nod to Arsene Lupin; who was one of Sherlock's rivals and a gentleman thief who left calling cards to the people he robbed and a direct parallel to Akechi.

3. Her introduction as a whole, and to the team, is abysmal.

When Makoto is first introduced to the player, the entire school is in turmoil over Kamoshida's abusive actions towards the volleyball and track team. Many people don't know the truth about what's going on, and others simply turn a blind eye because as an Olympic medalist, the gym coach brings in a lot of popularity for the school. Being the student council president, Makoto has power that many other students do not have; so one would assume that upon learning that a victim was in danger she would spring into action, no?

Wrong.

When Ann confronts Makoto about her inaction, she turns the question back on the blonde, asking "What have YOU done for Shiho?" as if it's Ann's fault that Shiho had been jeopardized (which it was not, Ann allowed herself to be blackmailed by Kamoshida in order, so she thought, to protect her best and at the time, only friend). And she doesn't do anything about the situation, claiming that "It has nothing to do with me." (This is how abuse victims DIE.) Even worse, her elder sister is a prosecutor, she could've easily gone to Sae and asked her to look into the matter. Goro Akechi later calls her out on this, as he should; telling her that she is a "good-girl pushover". And when Kamoshida is punished for his crimes, Ann, who was bullied and outcast, goes to Makoto and apologizes to HER to make amends, as if she were wrong. Makoto then replies "We both made mistakes" in a sorry apology (she doesn't even say "I'm sorry" iirc), and asks if she can call Ann by her first name and without honorifics, which in Japan is a symbol of close friendship. (Edit: this apology actually takes place after Kaneshiro's arc, not Kamoshida's, I misremembered.)

You see, calling someone by their given name, even if you are the same age, has a ton of meaning in the culture. Just a year difference between two people can separate them as senpai and kouhai, and while the senpai can call their kouhai by their first name without raising any eyebrows it's not the same for the younger person. Calling someone by their given name in Japan is a privilege, not a right; it represents trust, respect, everything that Makoto and Ann did NOT have.

Now, let me get this straight.

Makoto did nothing when everybody called Ann Kamoshida's hoe, allowed her, Shiho, Akira, Ryuji and Mishima plus many others to suffer abuse (and Shiho attempted suicide!), gave a laughable apology, victim-blamed Ann; and now she wants to be buddy-buddy? What, in any reality, about that is okay? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But of course, because the writers want us to love Makoto, they have Ann forgive her and let her call her by her first name. And after all that, Makoto is still president, despite her clear nonchalance to the matter. She also does nothing to help the Kamoshida victims after his crimes come to light, when there was literally no excuse anymore not to assist them and help them get back on their feet. Even if she felt powerless with Kamoshida around, that doesn't explain her inaction after he's gone.

Flash forward two Palaces later, when she joins the team. Makoto stalks the protagonist around to gather evidence that he is a Phantom Thief, and then blackmails her way into the ranks. The team of course, is not happy about this at all. Makoto gives them the target; Junya Kaneshiro, who's basically forcing people into debt. The problem here is she has literally no personal ties to him; unlike the main trio all having connections to Kamoshida and Yusuke being Madarame's essential foster son. Tired of Sae calling her useless, Makoto jumps in front of the mob boss's car in desperation (and Ryuji gets her out of the way JUST in time, but he very easily could've died) which puts the entire team in danger and later on is literally pinned down by the mob and the crew have to go and save her because she was so determined to take this dude down she walked into the lion's den without any form of a plan. (He was also going to sell her into prostution to pay off the debt he'd given the Thieves.)

Her Awakening is also really weak: the speech from Johanna is extremely short and then Makoto stomps the ground to avoid falling over, rips off her mask with a bunch of overdramatic screaming (iirc we don't even get to see blood) and whoop-di-doo, she's got a motorcycle! And suddenly, despite all she's done, everybody loves her and thinks she's a total badass when she literally just threw an adult-sized tantrum. The motorcycle itself is also very lazy, it's just a motorcycle with a face. That's it. That's Makoto's Persona. A motorcycle. With. A. Face.

And from then on, everybody's suddenly a-ok and buddy-buddy with Makoto. It's ridiculous and just makes her come off as a Mary Sue because if somebody endangered my life I sure as hell would not be rubbing shoulders with them and I'm quite sure most people feel the same way. And again, after all this, Makoto does not get in trouble or even harshly reprimanded by the school for her extremely reckless actions; when she should have, and had the power to, just call the police or Sae. And all the Thieves somehow are now her friends and she gets to become a superhero.

So let me see if I understand. This girl stalks these people, blackmails them and forces them to go after hardened criminals (she was going to snitch on them if they didn't comply to her demands), goes in guns blazing by HERSELF to attempt to take down the mob boss, has to be rescued..

And gets praised and dubbed a badass for this???

And before you accuse me of having bias against Makoto, let it be known I in no way, shape or form condone Yusuke stalking Ann or Futaba blackmailing the Thieves either. It's. Still. Wrong.

Also, if you unironically think Makoto's stalking is cute, you're wrong. Stalking is creepy, regardless if it's a girl or guy doing it; no one gets a pass.

In addition, Makoto couldn't be bothered to help out at school but then goes after a MOB BOSS and puts herself in unnecessary danger? What's up with that?? If she felt powerless against Kamoshida, why in the world would she take on the Yakuza?

4. Her backstory doesn't mesh well with the rest of the team.

The gang are all outcasts and misfits in one way or another, and their pasts are less than savory.

Protagonist: Falsely accused of assaulting a woman, expelled from school and sent to Tokyo on a year probation despite his innocence, victim of nasty rumors by other students at his new school; abused by his gym coach, no contact with parents.

Ryuji: Abusive, alcoholic father who beat him and llater left him and his mother, abused by his gym coach, leg broken by his gym coach and labeled as a delinquent because his coach lied and acted like Ryuji attacked him, thus alienating him from the track team and by extent; the entire school. Losing his track scholarship because he can't run anymore, ruining his academic career.

Ann: Two parent household but they're never home, leaving her with a caretaker. Faced bullying and isolation due to being biracial (she's a quarter American), only having one friend before joining the Phantom Thieves. Blackmailed by the gym coach and sexually harassed in order to keep this one friend on the volleyball team, labeled as a slut because no one took the time to find out the truth of the matter. Friend is later raped and attempts suicide, Ann attempts to get help from the student council president but is blamed herself for Shiho's predicament. Also judged just for her looks, which she despises.

Yusuke: Biological father died presumably before his birth, biological mother had a seizure and died due to his mentor's negligence. Said mentor then takes Yusuke, a very small child at this point in time, and raises him in isolation. Psychologically (and very likely emotionally) manipulated, Kitagawa grows up in an abusive household and when confronted with the truth, is unwilling to believe it is so (as many abusive victims realistically behave). Later learns the truth about his mother and his mentor's plagiarism and detaches himself from him, but is extremely socially awkward out of touch due to isolation and as a result is isolated at school because no one wants to talk to him.

Futaba: Was blamed for her mother's death (whom she lost at 13-14) and lived with an extremely abusive uncle who underfed her and didn't even let her bathe herself. Developed severe anxiety and became suicidally depressed for over a year, refusing to even come out of her room. Had a friend who was abused by her parents and upon finding out the two fell out and only reconciled years later through the Internet. Bullied in school for her intellect.

Haru: Lost her mother at a young age, engaged against her will to an emotionally abusive, selfish fiancé for the sake of her father's company. Has deep-rooted trust issues due to people being kind to her solely because of her status; or mean for the exact same reasons. Later on lost her father as well at the age of 17, leaving all the responsibility of the company to her as she was the sole heir.

Morgana: Has no memories of who, or what, he used to be and suffers existential crises; suffers from vivid nightmares. Puts up a façade of arrogance to hide insecurities.

Makoto: Mother died when younger, father died in the line of work, older sister forced to become caretaker and work her rear off to provide for the both of them. Pressured into perfection by Sae.

That's.. literally it. Yes, she has no friends at school, but that's by her choice; she isolates herself in her studies and as a result is socially awkward and doesn't know how to interact with people (which makes her even less suitable to be put into any type of leadership position so how she became student council president is beyond me.) Makoto's life is heaven compared to the other Thieves and most of her issues would go away once she gets to college: the rest of the team doesn't have that luxury. By the way, please don't think I'm saying she doesn't deserve to be on the team because she doesn't have as deep a sob story, I'm not saying that at all. It's just that her backstory isn't really utilized as well as it should be and often times conflict is used to try to get the player to feel sorry for her (i.e. Sae calling her useless)

5. Her Confidant is abysmal and cliché.

So Makoto's Confidant actually starts out not half bad! You take her out to play video games and help her come out of her shell initially. But then it shifts to Eiko, an old friend of hers, who is a bad relationship. And this is when the Confidant begins to suffer, because it's not even about Makoto anymore. The president tells Eiko about the danger she's in, and her old classmate does not listen; declaring that since the older girl does not have a boyfriend she couldn't possibly understand. This logic is very flawed; it's like telling a smoker to stop smoking and they tell you "You don't even smoke, you don't know how bad it is". Yet Makoto listens to Eiko and comes to you, the protagonist; and asks you to pretend to be her boyfriend in order to convince her friend that she DOES understand. But it's so awkward Eiko's boyfriend and the girl herself can tell you're not genuine. And you have to keep this up for the rest of the Confidant, not to mention MAX Charm is required from Rank 5 onward in this route. Why?

Because apparently you're not attractive enough otherwise. And it's not even for Makoto, it's for Eiko, to convince her that you're hot enough to compare to her boyfriend; Takase. (Geez, shallow and childish much?) And then at the end of the Confidant, the romance angle comes off as very odd because you're literally treated like an afterthought the entire time and then suddenly Makoto turns around and wants you as her actual boyfriend?? Uh..where was her falling for you during the time spent together? It just feels like it comes outta nowhere, not to mention she wants to be a cop which the law literally ruined Joker's life soooo why is he getting into a romantic relationship with someone who wants to be associated with a source of his trauma? That's like a metaphorical slap in his face.

"Hey, I know you were literally beaten and drugged up, manhandled, falsely accused and put into solitary confinement by the law enforcement, causing you to suffer severe anxiety and you to possibly be scarred forever but I wanna be a cop even though I don't think straight in stressful situations and act on impulse and don't take insults or criticism well; and I want you to stay by my side even though I blackmailed you, stalked you, and endangered your life and did nothing while you were being abused by your gym coach."

(Let's not forget she also didn't say anything about Sae having a Palace until it was almost too late and Joker almost lost Futaba as a result.)

For Valentine's Day she declares "I've been waiting for you for so long" and that genuinely bewildered me because you don't really see her pining at all during her Confidant, nor during other events (the closest thing you get is her clinging to you in Sojiro's house but that's honestly not even romantic that's just her getting frightened and needing assurance in a very unnecessary "ship tease" moment). Same with the scene in Futaba's Palace, while Joker saving Queen was very sweet, he literally would've done that for anybody of his teammates. Makoto is not special in that regard.

6. How to better this character

•Introduce her to the Thieves in a better, more plot driven way, or remove her from the team completely.

Kaneshiro's arc should honestly just be scrapped, it was a sorry attempt to get Makoto on the team. A better time for her to join would be Sae's Palace since she actually has emotional ties to the Palace owner and by this time in the game could've developed to be a better person from the Kamoshida arc, wanting to make things right. This could also be a good start for her and Ann to begin to be on better terms- not even necessarily friends (because after what happened I honestly don't think Ann would want to be friends, at least not close), but learning to at least be civil. That, or she joins out of desperation because she doesn't want anything bad to happen to Sae and as the infiltration continues gets more and more nervous and ultimately rats their plan out (because Makoto as the traitor would be much better, writing-wise).

Alternatively, Hifumi joining instead of Makoto would also be very refreshing with Makoto covering up for them at school and supporting them on the sly.

•Treat her flaws as actual flaws, she's not perfect.

Makoto does have some bad traits, a few being:

•bad tempered

•reckless

•stubborn

•nosy

•hypocritical

•bossy

•socially awkward

But these are almost never treated in a negative light. With the Kamoshida arc and Kaneshiro arc, all is simply forgiven, same with her smacking Eiko across the face in a moment of anger. Even when wrong, Makoto is never wrong per say and this makes it difficult for her to be believable as a character. To fix this, having her suffer the consequences of her actions will make it more realistic. For example, getting Eiko to break up with her boyfriend but cutting ties with her too as a result would give Makoto the rude awakening that you can do the right thing the wrong way and people will not always forgive you for the mess you put them through (nor should they).

Her being punished for unnecessarily putting herself in danger with Kaneshiro would also be understandable (she should've been at least suspended, she could've gotten herself killed, plus all the then existing Phantom Thieves); as well as actually apologizing for the hell that was Kamoshida's drama. And not just to Ann, but everyone who suffered. That would show maturity and a willingness to change, and put her in a better light.

I want Makoto to get mad and she's fully in the wrong and she acknowledges she's wrong, have her recklessness get her or a teammate wounded in battle, etc. And have the others call her out when she's wrong and refuse to let it slide. Have them talk it out, grow as a team. Just..make Makoto fallible, flawed, broken even. She's an orphan, I want to touch more on her having to grow up quickly, feeling lonely and unsure of how to connect with people; talk about how her father is a driving force in her values and morals and how she wishes to honor him by following in his footsteps.

Delve into how she feels less than worthy if she does not achieve excellence but do it in a way that does not demonize Sae unnecessarily and try to make the reader/player feel sorry for her. Have Makoto spend more time with people in her team outside of team duties and while being awkward, genuinely interested and actively working to better her relationships. (She barely interacts with anyone besides Joker, Futaba, and on occasion, Haru) When Makoto is realistically flawed, she then becomes relatable and much more likable.

I want her fears to be plot relevant, not just slapped on for the sake of making her look "cute". Her being scared of the dark was never relevant, unlike Rei from Persona Q who was scared of the dark and had to go through a pitch black room in order to find key cards to help her friends escape a locked room or Yukari being terrified of death and having to come to terms with that. Same with her fixation for Buchimaru, it's cute but it doesn't add any depth to her character whatsoever or even her apparently knowing aikido? We never see Makoto fight outside the Metaverse unlike Chie or Akihiko so it feels like a character trait just slapped on to make her 'cooler'. It feels lazy, because it is. It's like the writers wanted her to be this strong, independent young woman but at the same time a scared, awkward little girl and the two ideas often clash; coming off as contradictory as if they couldn't make their minds up as to who they wanted Makoto to be.

Again, this is not an attack on Makoto fans. If you like her, that's valid and I respect that. I'm merely explaining why I don't and how I feel the writing failed her character and what I believe she'd be if her potential was maximized.

That's all, have a good day.

[sanguinarysanguinity]

Fic-Writer / Vid-Maker Meme

Tagged by @educatedinyellow and @gailbsanders, thank you!

Author/Vidder Name: sanguinity

Fandoms You Write For: Lately it’s mostly book!verse Hornblower and ACD!Holmes (although the ACD!Holmes is largely behind the scenes with a long-form WIP that I’ve been focusing on). I also write for assorted small Holmesian fandoms as the whim or prompts take me, and I used to write fairly prolifically for Elementary, before that show wore me into the ground with how persistently they don’t care about Joan Watson. I’ve written a fair bit of Strange Empire, some Doctor Who / Torchwood, and quite a few one-offs in random fandoms, from the Oz books to Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Fandoms I Vid For: Mostly one-offs or small batches that overlap with the fandoms I write for: Holmesian multiverse, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, plus a number of rarer Festivids-qualifying fandoms like The Middleman or Noah’s Arc. 

Where You Post Fic: Most of it is on AO3, excepting some three-sentence and five-sentence fics that I’ve never collected. 

Where You Post Vids: Variously Vimeo, YouTube, and DailyMotion, depending on who threw a fit about what copyrighted music the week I posted it, but all my vids are listed at AO3.

Most Popular One-Shot: “The Sincerity of Dust,” a BBC Sherlock Mystrade flash-fic I banged out one morning and which then went on to eat Cleveland. It has 1400 kudos and is working on 14,000 hits. Its nearest rival is “Score: Q to 12,″ an Elementary flash-fic featuring Sherlock and Joan playing Calvinscrabble, which performed modestly on AO3 but cleaned up on tumblr to the tune of 1700 notes.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Holocene Park,” an Elementary case fic featuring dinosaurs under the streets of New York City. If I’m remembered in the Elementary fandom for anything, it’s probably for this or Calvinscrabble.

Most Popular Vid: “Something Good (Will Come From That),” my Holmes/Watson multiverse vid. It has 10K plays, the AO3 page has 2.5K hits, and the tumblr page has almost 800 notes. It escaped my corner of pseudonym-based AO3-centric fandom and has made the rounds of the Sherlockian scions on Facebook, as well as being rec’d on non-fannish websites in French, German, and Japanese. For a little while there it was making me anxious with how popular it got -- at the height of its popularity, I was worrying my mom was going to email it to me. After it hit it big I almost completely stopped making things for a while, because I was pretty sure that nothing else I made would be even half that good ever again. Happily, that turned out to be a stupid reason to not make things, and so I started making things again.

Favorite Story You Wrote/Vid You Made: Yeah, sorry, no, my brain burns out on “favorite” questions, especially ones that have no criteria. I’ll just refer you to my Fic/Vid Speed-Dating Score Card, which can be construed as a list of my favorite works on various axes, and is still fairly accurate despite being a year old. (Scariest nowadays is probably “Tea for Two,” a Moriarty-centric story from this last round of Holmestice.)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: “Any Service Required,” which is dark Bush/Hornblower porn. I always feel hideously exposed when publishing porn -- I’m nervous about posting it even in the best of cases. But what with this being dark-fic, I was half-expecting the self-appointed morals police who get prescriptive about “healthy” relationships to show up and make a stink. Or along similar lines, I was fearing that followers who are used to a certain kind of thing from me will look at this one, think it base trash, and lose respect for me over it. I’m happy to say that nothing like that has happened so far, and while readership has been light, I’m fine with that: I’d rather a story have a small readership who is genuinely into it than a large readership who isn’t, and I’d like to believe that this story’s small readership is mostly due to people taking a look at the tags and making good decisions about the kind of thing they enjoy reading. 

How Do You Choose Your Titles: BY ANY MEANS I CAN MAKE WORK. My preference is to grab a meaningful phrase from the text, but I’ll also use quotes and popular phrases, sometimes straight-up and sometimes with a twist, if it seems a decent fit for the story. Ideally, a title will speak to some deeper truth about the story, but when push comes to shove, I’ll settle for a title that is short, clean, and memorable: basically, anything that I and others can remember without having to look it up all the damn time. (This is my main problem with people using lines of poetry or song lyrics as titles: they tend to register in my brain as generic word salad, and in many cases I couldn’t say without looking it up what the title actually was, let alone what it had to do with the story.)

Do You Outline: For long or complex stories, sure, yes. If there are many scenes or multiple chapters, I tend to jot down a few lines listing out the succession of scenes or chapters; for “The Next World,” whose main body is a long and rambly conversation, I had an outline that listed out every twist and turn of that convo. The outline for “Langstroth on Bees” (WIP, currently 58K) is a monster of a thing, listing out the internal timeline (five years of current action plus another ten of backstory), various promises I’ve made that I need to deliver on, assorted events that I want to remember to include, and rough ideas about where chapter breaks should maybe fall. Given that I’ve been working on that story for five years now, often with breaks from it of nearly a year, that outline has saved my ass. I guarantee you that without it, I would have picked up this story at some point, tried to remember where I was going with it, come up with nothing much, and shelved it permanently. If anything, I really should outline more often -- I have a few long-standing drafts in my WIP folder that I just... don’t remember where I was going with that. I remember that I did have a destination in mind, yes, but what exactly? WHO KNOWS. Btw, my outlines are living documents -- I revise them often, as my understanding of the story develops. In fact, revising the outline is one of many tools for understanding where a story is going and what is still needed to bring it together.

How many of your fanworks are…

Complete: 92 stories or story collections (I have a few AO3 “stories” that are actually collected ficlets from tumblr or Sherlock60), and 26 vids and vidlets, 

In-Progress: Nothing published to AO3 -- it makes me crazy to have a partially-published WIP. My drafts folder has 36 partially completed stories in it, and there are probably a half-dozen vids that I started but haven’t finished.

Coming Soon: Four? For various values of “coming soon.” I have two Hornblower stories that are mostly done (one for the Tegmore verse and another for the Kraken verse), and I’ve been working steadily on “Langstroth on Bees” in the hopes that I’ll finish it this year. And I’m signed up for Remix Revival -- whatever I do for that will probably be the very-most-next thing.

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Although I have only a 1/3 to 1/2 completion rate on prompts -- I do hope that no one minds that too terribly! But I’ll actively solicit prompts from time to time -- to celebrate something, or if I’m having a shit day and want to turn it around -- and some of my best stuff has come from prompts people have given me. I never ever guarantee filling them (see my above mentioned completion rate), but if someone wants to prompt me something, my ask box is open. Even if the prompt never gets filled, I still get a warm flutter of “They want to play with me!” from it.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: “Langstroth on Bees,” a 58K-and-counting Holmes/Watson retirement fic that I’ve been working for five years. I added a solid 13K to it this month, and have maybe 20K left to go -- I’m hope-hope-hoping to have it done this year. But I’ve gotten far enough into it that “Langstroth” has finally begun overlapping the territory covered in “From Allegany,” and by the end of this chapter I’ll have passed it entirely. Then I’ll be in unwritten territory, wheee! (Speaking of titles, I never really intended to call this thing “Langstroth on Bees” -- that’s just a working title for my drafts folder. But enough of you now know it by that name that I think I’m going to have to stick with it? So I’m desperately trying to figure out how to justify it. ONE OF MANY THINGS TO DO IN THIS DRAFT.)

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: @beanarie @quipxotic @phoenixfalls @xserpx @amindamazed And of course anyone else who wants to play!

[lossofdecency]

Our Top 10 Songs of 2018

2018 was...a year to say the least. Was it good, was it bad? Yeah. It was. 

Here’s what Obsedia and I think of 2018, and our top 10 songs of the year!

10. Joan of Arc -- Little Mix

This song has an interesting mix of singing and a chanting of sorts. It’s the classic party/sexy song but instead of advertising sex it advertises self-love and independence. An upbeat party song with a good message.

9. I’m a Mess -- Bebe Rexha

Listen I’ve already listened to song like 52 times in the past week. It has the components of a classic love song but at the time it encourages dealing with unrequited feelings while being honest and open to therapy. Honestly admitting your weaknesses is something we can use in 2019. Also improving. Plus guys It’s super catchy. 

8. lovely (with Khalid) -- Billie Eilish, Khalid

A slower, sadder song with a powerful message of love. The kind of song you stare out the window listening to pretending you’re in an music video or that your significant other is off saving endangered squirrels or something. Dramatic montages as well. 

7. Comeback Kid -- Sharon Van Etten 

Technically this hasn’t come out yet “officially” on the new album Remind Me Tomorrow, but the music is already out on Youtube so it’s fair game. It has an intense beat yet sobering lyrics if you really pay attention. It promises a great return and remissions and that’s something we need in life. 

6. Havana Ft Young Thug -- Camila Cabello, Young Thug

One of my favorite songs, it starts off with a great beat and extremely catchy. A little overplayed on the radio, but I’d dance to this. The official music video starts off hilariously as well, and I live for the drama.

5. In My Mind -- Dynoro, Gigi D'Agostino

Chilling song with a great beat. It’s like psychology thriller but instead of being a book or a movie it’s a song. The official music video is especially poetic. Though it never does say where we came from. It also just repeats the same sentence over and over. Beautiful and simplistic. I could definitely sing this on Karaoke Night and ace it. 

4. Stronger -- The Score

Great beat like all of the songs on this list but this one is definitely one you listen to working out to. Not that I actually work out. It just pumps you up and makes you feel like you can take on the world. 

3. Pressure -- Muse

Honestly I like this song. It starts off strong with a great beat and maintains it the whole song.  Second favorite Muse song of all time and I look forward to more hits like this. No pressure Muse. 

2. Thank You, Next -- Ariana Grande

This song is iconic. I saw memes from this song before I even heard of this song. Be afraid. 4.9/5 For the memes alone. Also it’s just so savage. Amazing.

Honorable Mentions

Burn The House Down -- AJR

High Hopes -- Panic! At the Disco

Black Car -- Beach House

Blockades -- Muse

Numb -- Meg Myers

Sit Next To Me -- Foster The People

I Said Hi -- Amy Shark

1. Natural -- Imagine Dragons

Imagine Dragons are one of my favorite bands so it’s only fitting that they get the top spot. Their amazing song truly deserves the honor. It has a great beat with great meaningful lyrics. Everything a successful song needs. I’ve listened to this song on repeat for weeks now and it’s still as wonderful today as it was the first time I heard it. 

Do you agree, do you disagree with our list? Let us know! I’m always in the mood to argue. 

[thescarletlibrarian]

2018 Met Gala:  Still Weird AF

The theme this year was “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination,” and yes, it was as weird as you’d expect, but lamely without the sort of violent martrydom references that would make this shitshow properly Catholic, as we’ve already established.  

There were several categories, including Committed to Theme, White Dress, Gold Dress, Statement Gloves, Bead the Shit Out of It, Just Stick Something on My Head, and Themes Are for Losers, so off we go.

Committed to Theme, If Weirdly So

Host Rihanna as Glam Pope, which honestly looks really uncomfortable since it’s beaded inside as well as out?  What is that?  Also our first example of multi-theme, encompassing White Dress, Bead the Shit Out of It, and Stick Something on My Head.

Heinously long post, so click for like 90 examples of this crazy shit.

Ruby Rose committing to a Sexy Cardinal costume, which is not something I ever thought I’d have to type, but here we are.  At the Met Gala.  Where you type all kinds of things you never expected.

Taylor Hill, realizing someone else is wearing a Sexy Cardinal costume, although I personally prefer this one, mostly because of the cape.  Yeah, I know.  I like capes.

Sticking Zoe Kravitz in here because I’m pretty sure this is like a Spanish lace mantilla veil you’re supposed to wear when you meet the Pope, only not worn in the traditional manner.

Sarah Jessica Parker making it in here rather than Gold Dress or Thing on My Head because she appears to be wearing an entire small chapel thing on her head, and she really does deserve recognition for that level of commitment.   

Katy Perry definitely committed with those ugly-ass wings, which I’m going to assume she took off before she went in, because there is a dance component to the Met Gala and those would make that particular part kind of weird.  She will, however, be able to stay in both the Gold Dress category and mail subcat even without them, so that’s some solid planning.

Lily Collins sneaking out of the Just Stick Something [Art Deco] on My Head category by coming as some sort of sci-fi slutty nun thing.  As you do.

Greta Gerwig, not sure her nun costume was as good an idea as she thought at home.  

I’m assuming this is some sort of weird Dark Angyl costume thing on Kate Moss, or maybe it’s a Fallen Angel thing and the nauseous look is her still trying to get over the drop?

Okay, Ariana Grande, your putti-covered fresco dress gets you into the Theme category, despite that giant organza bow on your head, which I assume is the result of a lost bet.  Also, did you ladies go in on gold eyeshadow together, because I can’t imagine you use it that much in general, but EVERYBODY is busting that shit out tonight.  Maybe they put some in the Met bathrooms, I hear they put emergency kits in the ladies’ rooms at these sorts of shindigs.  Like a seamstress team just in case.

Shailene Woodley, realizing that wearing a homemade Joan of Arc costume to the Met Gala was a mistake.  

Zendaya, wearing a Joan of Arc costume that doesn’t pass the My Lungs Are Up Here test, and though it does have pauldrons they’re Cold Shoulder Pauldrons, which is pretty weird, but is definitely making Shailene Woodley jealous.

How many Marys can you wear on one dress?  Stella Maxwell is out to find out.

Madonna couldn’t go with the obvious getup here, so instead she’s done another nun thing?  Like a goth nun, which has definitely been a thing, although the black roses aren’t something I’ve seen before.

I don’t know what’s up with Tessa Thompson’s jacket, but the beaded priest’s collar is an interesting contribution to the theme.

And the category trophy goes to Lana del Rey, not for the heart being stabbed a bunch of times so much as the eyeball lorgnette, which is absolutely the sort of St. Lucy-esque martrydom imagery I came here for.  She’d rank highly in the Shit on the Head category as well, although as we’ll see SJP has that one covered.

Themes Are for Losers

Amal Clooney, after several years still managing to show up looking like she’s showing up to her husband’s work party as a favor, and yet blow away most of the competition without trying.  Even when wearing this very peculiar getup.

I do love when someone shows up not only ignoring the theme but clearly not giving a hoot in hell and just being weird AF because the Met Gala is where you do that, and Frances McDormand has definitely walked away with that prize this year.

I’m honestly not sure if Diane Kruger just said “the hell with the theme, I’m wearing 18th century decor puffed all over my ass and no one can stop me,” or if this is supposed to evoke Rococo chapels or some shit? 

This looks like Salma Hayek might have been going for the theme, but ended up with some sort of cross-stitch instead.  I has a parrot, though, so I’m for it.

Tiffany Haddish has managed to add a train to a surplice neckline shirt that’s sort of sneaking, with those black pants, towards a pseudo-tux look, and I’m absolutely down with that, although I have to detract some personal points because there’s something about sparkly pants I just can’t support.  Trained shirts, however, definitely.

Just Stick Something on My Head

Cardi B, also multi-category but with that thing we’ll go with headwear as the main thing.   Also an example of Giant Fluffy Things on My Hips, for...reasons? 

SZA, with a solid commitment to tiara/halo cateogry, and a tutu-ish contribution to the fluffy shit on on the hips subcat, with a nod at beading the shit out of it with the boots.  May actually be some sort of coked-up ballet costume that picked up the boots at a sketchy club, it is New York, after all.

Amanda Seyfried phoning it in with that tiara; this is much more of a cop-out Midsummer Night’s Dream schtick than anything else.

Normally I would detract points from Princess Beatrice just slapping on a tiara type thing, because come on, you’re a princess, that’s everyday stuff, but since her grandmother is head of the Church of England the Catholicism thing is a little dicey, so I’ll cut her some slack on this one.

Pompom veil!  Or...pompom scarf worn as a veil, which doesn’t even qualify as weird at this shindig, although Kate Bosworth would get more points if it matched the white/cream dress. instead of being a colder shade of white with silver edging.  Come on, woman.  Get it together.

I wouldn’t normally include Doutzen Kroes even in the “screw it” category, except that she’s got this extra bit tossed over her head, which I don’t think has anything to do with the theme, but some other people have been doing that in weird ways and I have the terrible feeling “extra hood-y/veil-y bits slung over the head” is going to become a Thing on the runway and wanted to make sure you saw it here first.  

This thing, this thing on Kate Upton, that’s what I’m talking about. And not the weird flower crown thing, either.  

The thing on Priyanka Chopra is not what I’m talking about, as while she has the Bollywood training to pull off this level of bling around her face, as well as  match the makeup to that wine-red velvet monster, most people do not.  She is rocking this look, however, and knows it, so good for her.

Oh, god, maybe the beaded cowl thing is going to be a Thing?  Nicki Minaj thinks it’s going to be a Thing.  Possibly a Vampire Goth Thing?  Oh, god.

It’s like a beaded face veil over a Spanish Iron body veil thing on Cara Delevingne, although she’s definitely worn weirder things.

I really wonder what Hailee Steinfeld’s monster looks like in the back; that doesn’t look like a Butt Bow so much as a Butt Modern Art Fiber Sculpture, which is taking Butt Embellishments to a new and weird level.

Now Jill Kargman has COMMITTED to the weird shit on the head thing, not only those weird black flowery bits but also the big long sticks, because go big or go home, evidently.

Amber Heard has actually managed to find a head thing that does indeed look like a Renaissance halo thing, so points for that, but is also wearing a butt bow AND a train, and that is some serious commitment to hauling crap around behind you.

Yeah, that’s the face of someone who knows there’s a pineapple looking thing on her head, made of her own hair.  I’m so sorry, Sasha Lane.  She can, however, go straight to bed in the back of the limo wearing that nightie thing, and that’s definitely a plus.

Janelle Monáe started stacking stuff on her head, and I’m not sure if there are more layers on there over the hat or not.  It’s possible.  You never know with Monáe.

Solange also stacking shit on her head, also possibly going for some kind of martyr-y facial expression?  Or maybe just bored?  Walking up a staircase with a million photographers doesn’t actually look like that fun.

Kylie Jenner is wearing see no evil glasses on her head, which may also make it really hard to see the stairs?  Maybe stairs are also evil?  She probably has somebody to guide her up, though, that stands out of the frame periodically.  So she doesn’t have to see the evil stairs.

Winnie Harlow making her way out of the White (weddingesque) Dress category with a spiky cloud thing on her head.  What is that thing even made of?  It looks like paper, which is actually a good idea and probably more comfortable than a lot of these things.

Statement Gloves

Bella Hadid, with small entry in the Just Stick in On My Head category, and Black Dress.  What the Star Wars capey thing contributes I’m not clear on, but maybe that’s just the limits of my Catholic Imagination.

Mindy Kaling makes it in here with the gloves because I can’t believe that thing on her head lasted very long.  Is she married?  Otherwise she can totally reuse this thing at her wedding, too, so that’s some good planning.

Riley Keough managed to get some lapels in here, and I’m a sucker for lapels for some reason, so that’s points from me even if I’m not sure what brought about the glove decision here.

Alicia Vikander managed to pull a sort of cardinal cope thing here, although she clearly doesn’t care that much about the theme and decided this was just a good opportunity to pull out some gothy eyeliner, which does actually work for her, weirdly.

Bead the Shit Out of It

Donatella Versace, joining in the “my boots match my bodice and I blinged them both out” club along with SZA, and narrrrrrowly escaping Butt Cape territory by having basically an entire Leg Cape thing going on. 

Even at the Met Gala, someone must ALWAYS come as a featherduster, and this time it was Kris Jenner in a black dress subcat with more bling than strictly necessary for a featherduster.

Gold Dress

Olivia Munn rolling in a pseudo-Egyptian getup that also fits into the “chainmayle” subcat as well as “just stick something on my head.”  Apparently the cowl is meant to evoke the Crusades, which is honestly more than a little disturbing on multiple levels.

Jasmine Sanders in a gold dress that appears to be made of plastic, and if that thing is not glued or taped to her boobs (which is done in pageants), I will be extremely surprised indeed.

Kiersey Clemens solidly in Gold Dress land (subdivision pseudo-Egyptian), but does this count as Beaded to Shit, or the mesh/mail subcat?  And what is up with this tiny gold suitcase?  Is there something in Catholicism about tiny gold suitcases?  Religion is weird, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Slinging Rosie Huntington-Whiteley in the Gold Dress rather than Stick In On My Head category because that one’s getting awfully full and that’s a pretty lame-ass halo thing she’s got going on.  She’d get more points if she were playing around with the cape doing angel wing-y dances with it, but she kind of looks ready to hurl here, so maybe she’s just not feeling up to it.

I’m not sure if Joan Smalls has those hair sticks for stabbing people, or she’s hanging onto them for some kind of mermaid gig?  

Evan Rachel Wood appears to have ripped the feathers off all six of the archangel Gabriel’s gold wings, and by the look on her face she’s daring the Supernatural fandom to say something.  (They’re going to say something.  With a gif.)

I honestly don’t know what’s going on here with Lena Dunham, it looks like a vaguely terrifying Regency-era fancy-dress costume going for eighteenth century bewigged and powdered something or other.  She’s committed to something, at least, I’ll give her that.

White Dress

Look, there are white dresses, and there are wedding dresses, and no matter how many crosses Uma Thurman throws on she still looks in need of a minister and a guy in a tux here.

This smirk is Dakota Fanning knowing that she’s more comfortable than most people here, and the white Greco-Roman thing here makes sure she fits in without looking weird.

And this is Keri Russell not giving a damn, because she has done the same thing, well done, Russell.  

Kendall Jenner has taken the red carpet pants phenomenon and added trains.  To her pant legs.  That’s not something I would have done with white pants, personally, but I guess she can always cut them off if they get really gross and dirty.

[girlwholikessports]

The First Barstool Sports Hug Piece

For those who don’t know, I will be participating in Barstool Idol Week next week. After watching a girl who stole my name compete last year, I built up the courage to record my audition tape. I’ve been a Stoolie far too long to let another girl take the job I should have. And when I got the email that I had made it to the next round and would be going to New York (ew) to pitch myself in front of the panel of judges, I almost melted into the ground, Alex Mack style. 

I put myself out there in front of the entire Barstool HQ office and a panel of Dave, Francis and KFC. I never imaged I’d actually get a single yes, let alone 2 (Francis, do better). The fact that both Dave and KFC gave me a thumbs up meant a lot because I’ve been fans of them both for so long and because it had nothing to do with me being a girl (am I supposed to call myself a woman?) I just held it together long enough to make at least one joke stick, and here I am. 

That’s because it’s SCARY. It’s fucking scary to put yourself out there in front of a primarily young, male audience with keyboard courage. I can barely do it on Bumble let alone in real life. 

It’s scary for anyone, to be comfortable in your own skin with your own weird quirks, but even scarier when you’re a 30 year old woman who doesn’t look like the girls posted every day on the smokeshow account. Literally...that’s the joke that got me to the next round. 

I’ve read the comments on other videos and blogs and I really didn’t want to see what people would say about me. I’m not a size 0 so I knew the fat jokes were coming. They don’t bother me. If I really want to work at Barstool, I wouldn’t survive if those comments got to me. Plus, I’ve watched enough of Glenny’s burger reviews to know I wasn’t getting that feedback just because I’m a girl. The Stoolie commenters don’t see gender, they just find your biggest insecurity and sum it up in one succinct comment section. I’m comfortable with who I am and there’s nothing that anyone could write that would take away my excitement for the opportunity for my dream job at Barstool.  

There has always been a lot of controversy surrounding Barstool Sports. Anyone reading this doesn’t need me to explain. Everyone has heard the ‘racist, mysoginsitic, privileged frat guy’ angle. Trust me, explaining what I’m auditioning for and why I want this job so badly to my family and friends who don’t follow Barstool has been interesting. And if you have never followed or listened to any Barstool content on a regular basis, you’ll never get it.

But I get it. In a sea of hit pieces that have been written over the past 10 years, I want to come out with my very own hug piece. This isn’t aimed at helping my chances to win Barstool Idol, but I won’t be upset if it does. If I have to answer the calling to be the modern day Joan of Arc, I will certainly step up to the plate.

It has nothing to do with me being a confirmed woman (don’t make me prove it). Lately there have been too many hit pieces written by women in journalism trying to be martyrs for feminism and take down the Barstool Sports empire. They claim Barstool has only hired a female CEO, the baddest bitch Erika Nardini, and others like Kayce Smith, Liz Gonzalez, Ria&Fran to try and change perception of the Barstool brand. The “I have a black friend so I can’t be racist” tactic. These accusations could not be further from what feminism is supposed to be about nor could they be further from the truth. 

I’d even like to argue specifically that Pres may actually even be a feminist himself. Feminism is wanting men and women to be treated equally and no one does that more than Portnoy. You might not like what he said to Ria about aging in Barstool years or about Sam Ponder’s kids but the truth is he is equally as critical of men (the list is long). He even fired an employee for calling our female leader Rihanna fat which didn’t get enough credit. Unless you are part of the illustrious Team Portnoy, no one is safe. Not even Tom Brady’s son. 

These women were hired because they deserve it. Because they are funny and smart and have their own voice. Everyone that was hired at Barstool is a result of their individuality, but it must be really hard for the haters to realize that they just don’t have it. So instead they are stuck at some fading news outlet that will be bankrupt within the year. 

Take for instance Megan Greenwell’s hit piece on Erika Nardini. 

The reason Nardini does these interviews, of course, is not to say something interesting about the company she runs or about being a woman in the male-dominated field of sports media, but to launder Barstool’s image.

Nothing like tearing other women down to earn your feminist stripes, Megan. I’m sorry, I didn't know Erika’s responsibility as the CEO of a media company was to be a spokesperson for feminism? In fact, Erika’s style as well as the fabulous cashmere sweater she wore in this interview radiate girl power. She  Barstool interviewed 74 other candidates for the position and Erika was hired because she was the best person for the job. It’s not fair to try and take that away from her. 

In fact, this description of Erika from Megan was nothing short of inspirational to me. If I win Barstool Idol, I vow to use these exact words to commemorate the occasion. 

She trots out the same stories about growing up a Patriots fan and how her female friends abandoned her after she took the Barstool gig, and says she’s proud of what the company has accomplished. She likes to mention there were 74 other applicants for her job, all of whom were men. She tells obsequious interviewers that Barstool is successful because it “doesn’t have an agenda,” and on the rare cases in which she’s asked about the chauvinism that is very much its agenda, she turns it into some meta-commentary. 

Despite the twitter beefs and Deadspin “articles”, there has never been one case of sexual harassment or inappropriate behavior towards women in the 10+ years of Barstool Sports. Not one female that currently works or has ever worked at Barstool has ever come forward with a negative experience. The only time I’ve been offended by any piece of Barstool content is the aforementioned Rihanna incident because I come from the religion of BadGalRiri-ism. 

I can’t fit them all in one blog but Laura Wagner, Elika Sadeghi, Britni de la Cretaz and all the others are not heroes. They are fighting an unnecessary fight. If any one of them stepped foot into Barstool HQ, I think they'd be shocked at what they find. 

My experience in the few hours I spent at Barstool was alarmingly positive. I actually kept thinking “why is everyone being so nice to me?” since it was such a 180 from every experience I’ve had since I don't know, 5th grade? I felt a Spice Girl level of girl power--but only if I get to be Ginger Spice because IMO she was the coolest and also the hottest. 

While I was waiting for my audition, unknowingly sweating through my chambray dress, Ebony was hyping me up. The first thing I remember after making it to Idol Week is walking by Liz smiling and saying congrats. Please don’t make me stand next to her but Ria even blessed me with her support as a fellow Chick in the Office. We’ll see what happens at Idol Week, but that’s just the beginning. 

Safe to say my dream is now to be the subject of a Deadspin hit piece. As I get ready to compete against 15 white guys for a chance to work at Barstool, I know that sadly being a girl isn’t enough to win me the job. The burden I bear is a tough one, but I want to do it for all the female stoolies out there that #DefendTheWall. There’s a new brand of feminism in town folks and it’s happening at Barstool Sports.