#when his friends keep bringing up ludi having good points

[fairymonk]

thinking about the fact that orym has been told multiple times that he's basically expected to take out any of his friends if they turn to side ludinus. thinking about how orym keeps trying to talk his friends out of agreeing with ludinus. thinking about how upset orym got with dorian specifically for agreeing with things ludinus said. thinking about how orym loves dorian and is trying to do what he can, even if it's being too harsh, to keep from having to hurt dorian.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Ships in the Night 

Series: Genshin Impact

Relationship: ZhongVen

Rating: T

Summary:

Barbatos had always wanted to enjoy a Ludi Harpastum with Morax, making so many empty promises with him over the years to go together one day. A festival of fun and games close to his own heart, it’s a change of pace he always thought Morax could appreciate. They finally manage this after all these centuries, yet Barbatos just had to be an idiot at the very end.

He rests his arm over his eyes, exhaling a slow breath. He's such an idiot.

Also on AO3

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The sheer idea of festivities lasting two whole weeks sounds absolutely exhausting to Morax, yet even at the peak of the Ludi Harpastum, Mondstadt’s people do not seem like they are slowing down anytime soon.

Morax’s tugged along by the cuff of his sleeve, Barbatos in the lead as they weave their way through the packed streets. Songs and cheer fill the air, mingled with the scents of various food, flowers, and of course, the city’s beloved wine. Barbatos himself is already tipsy despite it still being rather early in the day, having downed almost every pint of free alcohol that’s offered to him by the countless vendors they come across. There's an occasional stumble in his steps, but his spirits remain high as he shows Morax around with wholehearted excitement, a bright grin across his lips, a lively blush on his cheeks.

Morax finds the myriad of sensations dizzying, too many sights and sounds and scents bombarding him all at once—and he holds on to Barbatos’ presence for balance. Barbatos, in contrast, seems to harbour no such qualms, flitting from one booth to the next with ease, only pausing to look back when he finds something he wants to recommend. The apples from this store, the handcrafted trinkets from another, the freshly made Mora Meat from yet another one. He isn’t shy when it comes to haggling—even though Morax did remember to bring his wallet for once (much to Barbatos’ exaggerated horror) and he’s certain there would be enough between them to last the day—but it seems to be a normal occurrence to the vendors. Morax watches their good-humored banters, sees how comfortable Barbatos is around these parts and in these situations.

It’s clear how much he loves Mondstadt, and how much he is loved in return.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like this, navigating the packed streets, Barbatos showing him his favorite spots, stopping only for the occasional breathers and snacks. Mondstadt’s festivals have a very different atmosphere to them compared to those back in Liyue, unique in a way Morax can’t exactly pinpoint. Rowdier, perhaps, with the people more comfortable when it comes to mingling with strangers. Morax has lost count of the number of times he’s been randomly approached to be given some sort of gift, or to be invited for meals or gatherings he politely declines. Perhaps the community here is simply tighter knit as a whole, as compared to the more family-centric people of Liyue.

Barbatos leads him to a park at some point, declaring it’ll be their last stop before he has to prepare for a performance after sunset. Morax notices how it’s mainly families and children in this area, not a single wine vendor in sight. There are booths for games instead, where players will have the chance to earn various prizes if they win. Each is packed with groups of youngsters, all vying for the best toys on offer. Shrill, excited voices cheered and jeered at one another; in a way inciting even more chaos here compared to the people crowding the market lanes.

“Why don’t you give one a try? Even adults are allowed to play, you know,” Barbatos suggests when Morax stops to watch a child’s attempt at a game of throwing hoops over cups marked with numbers. Morax glances at him, sees his wayward smile.

“I don't think it’d be fair to the young ones if I did,” he says, to which Barbatos only barks out a laugh.

“Show off,” he retorts, and even Morax cracks a smile.

“Um, excuse me.”

They’re just about to continue on their way when a voice calls out to them. Morax turns around, not seeing anyone until it occurs to him to look down. A lone young girl stares at him wide-eyed from below, a messy flower crown clutched tightly in her hands.

“Mister, please have this!” She offers the item to him, her words slightly rushed from her enthusiasm. Morax has turned down countless gifts throughout the day, but this time, at least, he knows better than to needlessly upset a child.

So he kneels down to be a little closer to eye-level with her. “It is an honor to receive your gift.”

She stretches out her arms, and Morax tips his head to let her crown him.

The child giggles in delight as she steps back. “You really are like a prince, mister! Bye-bye!”

Morax watches her run back to her parents a little way off, warmth blossoming in his chest as he waves his own farewell to her. He gets back on his feet, and finds Barbatos looking at him with an expression he’s never seen him wear.

“It suits you,” he says, like he actually means it rather than the usual sarcasm Morax’s expected he would go for. He supposes he must be quite the sight, a full-grown adult with a falling-apart flower crown perching lopsided atop his head.

“It probably suits you more, Bar—” he stops himself just in time, remembering that they’re here only as humans and nothing more, and that they should at least make a bit of effort to keep up appearances. Though, it's not like anyone within their vicinity would actually be paying attention.

“Venti,” he tries anyway, and immediately breaks into a frown. The name still feels strange on his tongue, no matter how much he’s tried to practice saying it.

“Gods, it does feel weird hearing you call me that,” Barbatos admits with a slight wince, but Morax could somewhat tell that he appreciates it, nonetheless. It's the way his features brighten at the sound of it, the way his eyes would light up ever so slightly. It is, after all, a name bestowed upon him by a beloved friend many years ago. Barbatos has not been called such for a long time. “But yeah, no, you should keep that. Have some fun, let loose a little!”

Morax doesn’t exactly see how wearing flowers in his hair contributes to “letting loose”, but he doesn’t argue.

They have time to go grab something for dinner just as dusk falls, and then Barbatos is bringing him to what he claims to be one of the main final highlights of the Ludi Harpastum: an event of all night drinking and fireworks. There are several spots around the city hosting such sessions, all offering endless streams of food and alcohol sponsored by Mondstadt’s major wineries. Barbatos will be performing in the one held at the city square—the main place, he boasts—first of the few bards invited there to further enliven the mood.

Dozens of chairs and tables are set up across the open space, most already packed with people by the time they get there. There’s a small stage at the very front, the sides of the venue lined with booths in charge of the food and drinks. Waiting staff donning bright uniforms dart from table to table, expertly weaving their way around the already half-intoxicated crowd.

It’s almost overwhelming; the energy, the pungent scent of food and strong wine, the sheer rowdiness of the people gathered around. Morax stops by a convenient tree a respectable distance away from the square, just far enough that the chances of a random drunkard stumbling over and dragging him in would be minimal.

And “I think I’ll stay here,” he says, when Barbatos turns to him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t want to join in?” he asks, despite Morax’s answer already being obvious.

“I’m sure I can enjoy the atmosphere well enough from here.”

“Hmm, fair enough.” Barbatos shrugs after a quick gauge of the distance between them and the heart of the event. Then he smiles, hands on his hips. “Anyway. I’ll get going first, then. I’ll come find you when I’m done?”

“If I haven’t already left,” Morax says, because he genuinely does not know how much of this unbridled revelry he can tolerate. Even now, part of him wants nothing more than to walk off and find somewhere quiet to wind down for the rest of the evening.

Of course, his statement immediately gets Barbatos whining. “At least wait for me!!!”

“Just go before you’re late.” Morax shoos him off, though he doubts anyone present currently retains even the slightest sense of time.

“Fine, fine!” Barbatos relents, cheeks still puffed, “but I’m going to throw rocks at you if you really leave without me, alright?”

Morax halfheartedly assures he can throw as many rocks at him as he wants if it comes to it, then with a sudden rush of wind and a final harrumph, Barbatos turns on his heels and strides towards the stage, his people cheering his name the moment they spot him.

“Looking forward to what you have for us tonight, Venti!”

“Venti you rascal, you really made us wait this time!”

“Venti, you’re looking lovely as ever!”

Venti, Venti.

The descent of a god, unknown to his own people.

Barbatos takes his seat on the single stool placed on the stage, crossing his legs just so, his posture relaxed yet brimming with elegance. The wind carries the sounds of his lyre all the way to where Morax stands, clear and proud amidst the endless chatter of the crowd. He begins with a slow tune, a moment of calm cutting through the chaos. Demanding attention.

Quiet. Listen.

Morax too, catches himself holding his breath.

And then Barbatos strums another note and smoothly transitions into a new tune, and the crowd explodes with excitement. His next song matches more to the barely suppressed merriment around him, its melody upbeat and festive. He’s skilled at involving his audience, easily encouraging them to sing and dance along. Charming, radiant. He captivates all who behold him—even Morax, despite such genre of music never being to his tastes. It’s a rather belated realization to come to, but seeing him fully in his element like this, Morax can tell that Barbatos’ boastings indeed hold their weight, and that he truly has mastered the craft of a bard.

Barbatos leaves the stage around the middle of his fourth song, slipping into the crowd as he continues his performance. He sings and twirls and dances, one with his people—and somehow still, Morax spots him managing to down some drinks in between. His current song involves a back and forth; he sings one line, then prompting the nearest person to follow up. It seems to be a piece everyone’s wholly familiar with, all who enthusiastically join in barely stumbling on their turn.

Morax notices too, after a few minutes of observation, that it also seems to be endless; constantly looping around the chorus. He wouldn’t put it past Barbatos for doing this deliberately, for as long as it continued, he could drink.

And he does drink. He drinks so much that it’s almost impressive, since he only has a few seconds at a time to gulp down his alcohol. Morax wrinkles his nose from afar, already dreading the stench he would exude when he returns later.

Morax doesn’t see it, at first. He can pinpoint Barbatos’ general location based on the reaction of the people and when he hops onto benches and tables for some elevation, but he’s partly obscured from his sight most of the time. It’s only as Barbatos makes his way further towards the back of the crowd, closer to where Morax stands, that he notices how else some members of his audience interact with him.

People who take advantage of the general unruliness of a large-scale drinking session in a packed area, hands that touch places past normal boundaries. His thighs, his back, his neck.

Barbatos does not falter, either too immersed in his own performance or too intoxicated to realize and care. Or perhaps he is simply used to this, having been a bard for as long as he’d been a god. Morax does not know.

Fire flares in his stomach the longer he watches, filling his mouth with a bitter taste. It is truly an uncomfortable sight. Intoxication is not consent, nor is silence. Morax could not stand it for long, reaching for the flower crown on his head and tossing it aside before striding toward where Barbatos is lingering within the crowd.

He grabs a person by the wrist and wrenches their hand away from Barbatos, his grip hard enough to make them cry out. Barbatos must’ve heard the commotion, turning at the sound and eyes widening in surprise when he sees Morax right there behind him.

Morax glares at him—a misdirection of his anger, he admits—but he only breaks into a satisfied grin, and finally decides to move his song along. He leaps onto the nearest table, feet stepping delicately between the many glass mugs piled across its surface. His tune reaching a crescendo, his finale presented with flourish.

His audience, quite literally, erupts into cheers and applause.

Barbatos half stumbles down from the table amidst the cacophony of the reception, Morax moving to catch him just as his knees buckle beneath him and he loses his balance. He's trembling, his forehead visibly damp with sweat.

And before Morax can properly help him get back on his feet, he throws up all over his sleeve.

xXx

Barbatos supposes his age must finally be catching up to him.

Or perhaps he’d simply overestimated himself, thinking that participating in the Ludi Harpastum’s all-night drink session wouldn’t be too different from his usual gigs, only with a little more people.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped off the stage in the first place, shouldn’t have danced quite so hard, and should’ve saved the drinking until after his performance ended. The lack of air, the thick haze of human odour mixed with the saccharine scent of alcohol, his own sweeping movements—Barbatos had not expected them to combine into an experience quite so nauseating, even for a god.

He vaguely remembers throwing up once more while Morax carried him somewhere, then a third time in a washroom he didn’t recognize. Then he draws a blank after that.

He stirs to find himself on a bed, his clothes replaced with a set of loose cotton pajamas and his body smelling faintly of floral soap. His head throbs with a dull ache, but he figures he’s seen worse days. More than anything, he feels dehydrated, his lips dry and throat like sandpaper. He braces his palms against the mattress, and slowly pushes himself upright.

He's in a dimly lit room, probably one in an inn not too far off from the venue of the drink fest. He hears the sounds of running water from behind the door opposite the bed; Morax is probably there cleaning up after the mess Barbatos made. There’s a jug on the bedstand, a fresh glass of water already poured out for him. Barbatos’ chest warms as he reaches for it, endeared by how fastidious Morax remains, despite everything.

He returns to lying down a little later, admittedly just a little bitter at how things have turned out. He’s had such an amazing day. He'd always wanted to enjoy a Ludi Harpastum with Morax, making so many empty promises with him over the years to go together one day. A festival of fun and games close to his own heart, it’s a change of pace he always thought Morax could appreciate, since he’s constantly at work. They finally manage this after all these centuries, yet Barbatos just had to be an idiot at the very end.

He rests his arm over his eyes, exhaling a slow breath. He's such an idiot.

The sounds of the shower eventually come to a stop, leaving a ringing sort of silence in their absence. The ruckus of the ongoing party not far off carries all the way to their window; people laughing, cheering, singing. Fireworks bursting in the sky.

He'd wanted to show Morax the fireworks too, damn it.

He lowers his arm and turns when he hears Morax stepping out of the bathroom. He’s wearing a similar set of pajamas as himself, though admittedly it looks so out of place on him that Barbatos almost lets out a snort.

“Hey,” he greets, because he’s genuinely not sure how else he should start. Morax meets his gaze from behind his damp fringe, his face betraying no particular emotion.

“Hey,” he returns, every bit as curt. Barbatos cracks a lopsided smile, and decides there’s no point trying to go around it.

“Listen, Morax, I’m so sorry things ended up like this,” he says, twisting to lie on his side facing him. Morax doesn’t respond to that immediately, and neither does Barbatos see much of a change in his expression.

“Barbatos, how many times do you think I've had to handle your drunk antics over the years?”

Barbatos winces at that. “Now you’re making me feel even worse.”

“You should,” Morax agrees, running a towel over his damp hair. “It’s about time you realize how self-centered and inconsiderate and – “

“Okay, okay, I get it!!” Barbatos interjects before his feelings are actually hurt. “I’m sorry!”

Morax only shoots him a meaningful look and says nothing else, knowing at the end of the day he’d do it all over again anyway. Barbatos supposes he can’t blame him; he’s more aware than anyone that he’s been the way he is for more than a millennium, never once giving even the slightest indication that he would change.

Maybe it’s time he considers, after all that’s happened today, but he decides he’ll mull over that some other time.

His eyes follow Morax as he steps away to hang his towel on a rack, his confusion growing when Morax proceeds to stand rooted in place, frowning slightly and arms crossed as though deep in thought. Barbatos stares at him for a solid couple of minutes before speaking up.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking about what I should do next,” Morax answers, in all seriousness. Barbatos can’t believe this man is for real. He bursts into laughter, earning himself a puzzled look.

“You really don’t know what ‘rest’ means, do you?” he marvels, then scooting closer against the wall and patting the empty spot before him. “Come here and lie down, we’ve been up and about the entire day. Aren’t you tired?”

Morax’s frown deepens by a fraction. “But I don’t think there’s sp-”

“There’s more than enough space for the both of us!” Barbatos assures, chest light with newfound mirth. Morax really is too much of a gentleman at times. “This bed’s huge!”

Morax remains hesitant for a moment longer, but with just a little more gentle pestering, he relents in the end. “Then, if I may.”

Barbatos watches as he moves to take the space beside him, watches the way his long hair falls over his shoulders, the way the collar of his shirt shifts to reveal the hollow of his throat, a small window of his chest.

Morax fully lies down, and Barbatos realizes there really is just enough space for them to stay still like this. Huh. Has Morax always been such a big person? Or maybe the bed really isn’t that wide to begin with, and whatever alcohol lingering within his system is just messing with his perception of space. Not that it matters at this point. Morax still smells fresh from his shower, his uncharacteristically messy hair and comfortable clothes giving him an air of innocence Barbatos never expected to see on him. Unguarded, youthful. They’re a mere half-arm's length apart, close enough that Barbatos can almost feel his every exhale of breath.

“So how did you find the Ludi Harpastum?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, perhaps part of him being rather conscious about the little distance between them. Did it live up to the expectations he set for him by constantly inviting him to one over the years, he wonders? Did Morax at least enjoy himself a little with all the festivities? Barbatos noticed he’d mostly followed his lead, trying the many things he’d recommended to him, visiting only the places he brings him. Barely making many choices for himself. It’s too late at this point, yet Barbatos still worries about being overbearing without meaning to. Could Morax really have had fun without as much as a freedom of decision?

“It was...” Morax trails off ominously, pausing to weigh his words while Barbatos braces himself for the continuation. “Different, I suppose.”

“A good different or a bad one?”

“Just different,” Morax affirms. “It certainly feels livelier than the celebrations in Liyue.”

“Then,” Barbatos perks up, a little more hopeful now with the way Morax has responded so far. “What did you like most?”

Morax hums to that, silent in a moment of contemplation. “If I were to choose, I quite enjoyed some of the places we visited.”

He goes on to recall the few locations he’d found a liking to, admiring the history and cultural significance of each that Barbatos had explained to him, the various architectural designs and artistic liberties that define Mondstadt’s trademarks. The motifs of the cobbled streets, the poems framed and hung inside windmills serving as charms for Barbatos’ blessings, even the theme of the patterns carved on many a doorplate—Morax seems to have been quite fascinated by them.

He wears a different expression when he talks about the things that strikes his fancy. A slight upturn of his lips, the faintest crinkles at the corner of his eyes. Even his voice adopts a different tone, laced with a smallest hint of excitement—perhaps even joy, because someone cares to listen.

Barbatos could listen to him like this for an eternity, if he had the chance.

“You’re staring at me,” Morax stops to say at some point, a slight knit across his brow. Barbatos supposes he must be wearing quite the expression, for him to look at him like that. But he could not help it; after all, who wouldn’t be utterly captivated by someone as quietly radiant as this god before him?

“I think I'm in love with you, Morax.”

Are the words that take form, a confession he’s surely taken long enough to make. He no longer even remembers when was the first time it’d dawned him, that his feelings for Morax had progressed into something that wasn’t platonic. How many years has it been since he started seeing him with a different sort of admiration, with the barely suppressible urge of wanting to be closer to him?

Morax blinks at him once, twice. Processing what he’s just heard; understandable, as it really had come out of nowhere.

Then he averts his gaze, reaching to cover his mouth as a wave of red creeps up his entire face.

“Why don’t you tell me that again when you’re sober?” he mumbles into his hand, and Barbatos effectively short-circuits for a moment.

“This is the most sober I’ve been all day, though???”

Morax is adamant, shifting to turn away from him as though to physically end the conversation. “That’s what a drunk person would say. Now stop talking and go back to sleep.”

“No, no, no, isn’t this a little sudden?? Morax??” Barbatos is half laughing now, seeing how desperately Morax is trying to deal with his own embarrassment. It is surprisingly contagious, though; even he’s starting to feel a little shy the longer he badgers him.

“Morax?? Heyyy, Morax? Rex Lapis?”

And yet he refuses to let it stop him. He can see how red Morax’s ears are even from behind him like this. Barbatos pokes at his back, a mix of fondness and mischief welling in his chest when the idea occurs to him.

He squirms forward, closing the little distance between them.

“Zhongli.”

Morax tenses at that, the slightest reaction that Barbatos would’ve missed if he as much as blinked. He's...really cute when he’s like this. Part of Barbatos refuses to believe that this is happening. Morax, the Geo Archon, the honourable Rex Lapis, Adepti Prime—has this absurdly adorable side to him.

“Zhongli,” Barbatos dares to say again, just to see what other sort of response he could elicit from him. “Zhongli.”

He leans out of the way just in time before Morax twists to face him once more, bracing himself for a well-deserved smack—but is instead pulled into a tight embrace.

“You’re so obnoxious,” Morax says, his exasperation obvious even in his quiet tone. Barbatos smiles as he returns the hug with just a much intensity, leaning into their contact with a sigh, a swell of his heart.

Morax is much warmer than he could’ve ever imagined.  

xXx

They say that both the Geo and Anemo Archons are fond of disguising as humans, often descending from their divine residence in Celestia to mingle with the commonfolk of their respective nations.

No one knows what are their preferred appearances, as oftentimes they are indistinguishable from the everyday person. No one knows if they preferred to present as men or women or even children, or if the rumours of them taking human form even hold any truth. After all, who’s to say they wouldn’t choose to appear as an animal, a sprite, or perhaps a fragment of the elements they embody?

Not many in the nations of Liyue and Mondstadt have ever had the chance to see their respective gods, nor to realize that they’ve lain eyes upon them at all. It is something the people have accepted to simply leave up to chance, as there is no point to obsessing over the miniscule possibility of coming face to face with the deity they worship. There are enough mundane things worth paying attention to on the daily; the clarity of the skies, the specials available in the markets, the trees newly bearing fruit.

A particular sight has grown more common as well within the borders of the two neighbouring nations in recent years, one of a pair often spotted strolling together through the busy city streets, the bustling villages, and even the vast wilderness, when the weather is agreeable.

Should one have their stars aligned just right, they may just chance upon a certain bard and gentleman, both usually engrossed in jovial chatter or some lighthearted bickering no matter the location. Oddly out of place sometimes, seeming right at home the rest. Greet them if you wish, and they would usually respond warmly in return. But take heed, at times you may notice their hands linked and fingers intertwined, the pair lost in a world of their own—and that will be your sign to give space, for even gods would appreciate a little time to themselves.

[ludi-ling]

I just made it in time for the prompt of the day! Yay! You can also read it on FF.net here. Or you can read down below! :)

No Matter What

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Comicverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue Characters: Remy LeBeau, Rogue (X-Men) Additional Tags: Anniversary, Married Couple, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, rogue/gambitweek2020, rogue/remyweek2020 Summary:

This was written for Rogue/Gambit Week 2020, Day 6 - First Anniversary. Thanks to @Jehilew for the awesome Deathbit angle. And thanks to @DayenuRose for making Rogue/Gambit Week happen! Please enjoy!

-Ludi x

No Matter What

                “You have no idea,” Rogue declared expressively over the rim of her wineglass, “how great it is to be off that crazy ass island!”

                Remy smirked with amusement as she downed the contents of the glass as if it were a pitcher of beer.

                “Well, you said you didn’t mind goin’, chere,” he pointed out humorously. “All that sun, sea, sand and sex… You said it’d be like bein’ back on Paraiso!”

                “Sure.” She waved a hand and plonked the glass back down onto the table, inelegantly smacking her crimson lips. “That was what you persuaded me with, anyways. I wasn’t the one who originally wanted to head there, not when you started all that talk about spyin’ on our friends!”

                Remy said nothing and eyed her with appreciative bemusement. Gorgeous though the setting was (he’d only booked them into the most luxurious restaurant in Paris, with a glorious view of the Eiffel Tower to boot), there was definitely something playing on the mind of his darling wife, and there’d been thunder clouds brewing over her head for a while now.

                Under the circumstances he didn’t think it wise to bring up the fact that something weird was going down in Krakoa. He’d only reminded her about fifty times already, and he didn’t want to agitate her more than she was already. But damn him if he wasn’t going to bleed this out of her at some point tonight. She was looking far too beautiful, in her fiery red cocktail dress, for him to settle for anything less than sinfully hot sex on their anniversary night. Oh yes – he had plans for the evening, and her being in this particular flavour of stubborn was not a part of them.

                Still…

                “C’mon, you knew I was right to not trust Poccy. ‘Specially after what he pulled on you.”

                He’d expected her to defend En-Sabah-Nur… Hell, she’d been doing it a suspicious amount lately… But to his surprise she simply flicked those gorgeous green eyes up to him, chewed on her lips thoughtfully, and said:

                “Ya know, I never did thank you, Remy.”

                “For what?”

                She lowered her eyes, stabbed her fork into her salad, raised them again.

                “For lookin’ out for me back there. For takin’ care of me when I was stuck in that coma. For havin’ the forethought to have Rachel keep an eye on me. I never thanked you for all that. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

                For a split second he was surprised.

                “I did what I had ta. You’re my wife.”

                She pouted, blew a stray white lock out of her hair.

                “You were so worried. I know. The others told me you pretty much didn’t leave my side. And I came out of that coma so angry and pissed that I didn’t even think about what kinda effect all this had on you. I’m sorry.”

                For the first time in while she actually looked… abashed. Deflated. She hadn’t looked that way since that celebratory night in the hot tub when she’d opened up to him in a way she hadn’t ever opened up to him before. There had been a hardness to her since they’d landed on Krakoa, a shield covering up…something. He wasn’t sure what, but he’d felt it, and this was one of the first times she’d let that guard down since then.

                “Chere, look,” he began seriously, “you had Poccy rattlin’ round in your head. Of course you were pissed. Of course you weren’t yourself. Don’t worry about it.”

                He began to carve into his steak, thinking the conversation was over; but she continued to surprise him by looking at him thoughtfully and replying:

                “Ya know, I have thought about it, Rem.”

                Her voice was soft, melancholy, and when he looked at her, all done up so fine for him in that slinky red dress with that sad, sad look on her face, he was moved to set down his knife and fork and say:

                “What you thought about, mon coeur?”

                Her eyes flickered to his and away again, as if her thoughts embarrassed her.

                “Whether all… this… ain’t just Apocalypse still floatin’ round in my head.” She frowned. “I know I ain’t been myself lately, and… I know it’s been worryin’ you too. I hate it – worryin’ you. But there’s a lot of him still up here, and he’s so strong sometimes he’s a little hard ta put away, ya know?”

                She tapped her temple and grimaced.

                Remy nodded silently. Honestly, he was a little relieved to hear her talking about it. Apocalypse being in her head was something he’d worried about more than just a little over the past couple of weeks, but every time he’d tried to broach the subject, she’d swatted it away irritably. He’d known then that it’d been bothering her, but he’d figured he should just take a step back and let her acknowledge it whenever she was good and ready.

                Now seemed to be the time, and he wasn’t about to ruin it for her.

                “And,” she added in a faster tone, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth, “you may have been right about Poccy proving himself untrustworthy. But… havin’ had him in my head the past week or so… I think that he really believes he has mutantkind’s best interests at heart.”

                “And d’ya think he really does?” he cut in pointedly.

                She was silent, merely throwing him a penetrating glance. He read her expression with ease.

                “Well then,” he spoke with a curl of a smile, “we’ll just have to stick around in paradise and keep an eye on him.”

                And for the first time in a while, her face broke into a conspiratorial smile.

                “Amen t’that, sugar,” she grinned, raising her glass to his.

-oOo-

                Rogue had appreciated the effort her husband had gone to for their first anniversary – fine wine, fine food, and him all wrapped up in that delectably tailored suit of his. But then, he always had cleaned up well; it was impossible for him not to, with that toned physique and his stupidly long legs. She liked him rough around the edges, but when he went around looking like this – looking good enough to be on the front of Vogue – she found it difficult not to go weak at the proverbial knees.

                Here they were, on the restaurant’s dancefloor, slow dancing to the music because neither of them was very accomplished dancers; but they knew how to hold one another, and that was all that mattered.

                “So,” Remy asked, tellingly nonchalant. “Just what the hell runs around Poccy’s head durin’ downtime?”

                Rogue tutted, exasperated this his mind was still on this particular subject.

                “Didn’t we promise we wouldn’t talk business tonight?” she griped.

                “I’m sorry.” He gave his most adorably helpless smile. “I’m worried about you, ‘kay? You haven’t talked about what went down back there the whole damn week. And I know you, chere, but absorbin’ Poccy to death ain’t no walk in the park, even for you.”

                “Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, shug. I told you already.”

                “You sure? ‘Cos you been a li’l… withdrawn, since all’a that b’sness went down. Just so you know,” he added quickly, seeing her brow furrow and her lips begin to pout, “ya can talk ta me if ya need to. Okay?”

                She was still learning to appreciate his genuine and open concern for her. So many years down the line, and now with a ring on her finger, she still found it difficult not to swat that concern away. Besides… things had been playing on her mind – she couldn’t deny that. She’d absorbed so many peoples’ psyches in her time, but never to the point of taking their lives. This should have been… big. Life-changing, in so many ways. So, she’d almost been ashamed to admit that she felt good. She wasn’t sure what that meant right now, except that her mind was clearer than it had been for a while, and she was gonna run with that feeling as far as she could. She wasn’t sure she could for long, not with Apocalypse lurking around in there somewhere.

                “Remy,” she answered as calmly as she could, “that’s very sweet, but please don’t worry about me. I feel absolutely fine. If that changes, you’ll be the first to know. Now please,” she continued, nestling her head comfortably against his chest as they swayed to the music, “let’s not talk about work while we’re here.”

                “Okay,” he agreed; but barely a minute had passed before he asked, “Are you sure there ain’t no ‘Pocalypse rattlin’ round your head, chere?”

                Rogue snapped back, almost completely breaking away from him in her exasperation.

                “Remy—”

                “Be honest, Rogue. Don’t you think your thoughts have been… a little weird recently?”

                Oh. She knew what this was about.

                “You’re talkin’ about me not wantin’ to have kids, aren’t ya,” she levelled quietly at him. She was so used to him charming his way out of sticky conversations, that she was a little surprised when he pursued the topic, his expression completely earnest.

                “And I meant what I said when I said I was fine wit’ your decision. But honestly… don’t’cha think it came a li’l from left field? You’ve always wanted kids. I mean… back when we was in California… The conversations we had…”

                “That was a long time ago, Remy.”

                “Then help me out. I’ve obviously missed out on a lot the past few years.”

                Rogue felt her temper begin to rise. She knew in her heart of hearts that this had been bothering him all week, and she understood that… but for him to have chosen tonight of all nights to have this conversation – that pissed her off.

                “Remy, I really don’t wanna have this conversation right now…”

                He looked a little wounded at that, which also annoyed her, even though she also knew, deep down, that he wanted kids. The clues had been there over the years… the bitterness with which he’d told her, once, long ago, that he’d learned that a person like him would be better of giving up on ever having a family… the mansion he’d once bought back in NOLA for the life he’d never got to live with Belladonna… and, most recently, the fact that he’d seen Spiral’s soul as the thing he’d most wanted. A baby.

                Her choice not to have one had hurt him. He’d played admirably at fooling her into believing he’d let it go, but that was all it had been, she realised. A play at acceptance.

                “Why the hell didn’t you mention this before if it worried you so much?” she asked him pointedly.

                “Are you kiddin’?” It was his turn to look annoyed. “It ain’t like we’ve had any time to ourselves t’talk about anythin’ recently, and every time we have, you ain’t really been of a mood t’talk about anythin’. And anyway, I swear the walls have ears on that island! Every time I even think somethin’, I feel like one of the Five has heard!”

                “Do ya really need me to remind ya,” she replied archly, “that you were the one who brought up the idea of goin’ to Krakoa first? To – what was it? – ‘keep an eye on things’? I was actually pretty darn happy at home with the cats.”

                “C’mon. Don’t’cha think it was a good idea that we did? Don’t you find it really creepy that we’re suddenly goin’ in for this world domination, homo superior thing right now? And this law, this ‘make more mutants’? It can’t be just me who thinks it sounds fuckin’ fascist! This ain’t what the X-Men stands for, and I ain’t heard nobody on that island even question any of this! Don’t you think that’s weird as fuck?”

                “I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t problematic,” Rogue hissed, lowering her voice as an expertly waltzing couple whizzed past. “All I’m sayin’ is, you don’t have a right to complain to me about it, when it was your idea! And if I’d stood my ground and not gone along with ya, I wouldn’t have fried Poccy to a crisp with my stinkin’ powers!”

                “Oh, so he is givin’ you grief then?”

                “I didn’t say that!”

                “You pointed it out like you was regrettin’ it.”

                “On principle, yeah. I mean, wouldn’t you, if you’d absorbed that asshole? Doesn’t mean he’s causin’ me any particular grief.”

                “Well, I’m glad,” he snapped back with genuine anger this time. “’Cos bein’ near that ‘asshole’ gives me a helluva lotta grief every minute of every goddamn day.”

                That did it. She broke away from him fully this time, pissed beyond believe that he was ruining their anniversary like this.

                “Ya know what, Cajun? I’m gonna go out and get some fresh air. And I suggest you do too.”

                And with that she stormed over to the balcony and took off into the night sky, leaving behind a bevy of politely intrigued and gossiping guests behind her.

-oOo-

                Remy was acutely aware – and not particularly sorry – that he’d put his foot in it. Pretty badly, at that.

                “I don’t care what I said ‘bout ‘Poccy,” he muttered irately as he hauled himself up the side of the Eiffel Tower. “I’m right. Fresh air, my ass. This whole thing stinks.”

                He had to kick himself for doing this particular stunt in the worst get-up ever – suit and tie and dress shoes, and without a lick of gear at that – but these were the rules his darling wife had set him, and so he didn’t have much of a choice.

                Nevertheless, he thought, as he dragged himself painstakingly up towards the tower’s peak, he knew he was at least partially to blame for this. If only he’d kept his mouth shut… But this had been tormenting him for days now, and he hadn’t been able to help himself from spilling it all out. He’d felt as helpless from doing so as a volcano about to burst. Everything he’d thought he’d known about Rogue all this time had seemingly imploded. He wanted to know what had changed. Wasn’t he owed at least some explanation, when he’d allowed himself to set his heart on something he’d denied himself forever – a family?

                Remy pulled himself up over the final hurdle and onto the very tip of the spire. Rogue was there, hovering a little off the ground with her back to him, her arms about her as the chilly night hair whipped her scarlet dress about her, tugged errant coppery curls from their updo. He sucked in a breath. No matter what mood he was in, she always took his breath away. Always.

                Slowly getting to his feet, Remy shrugged off his jacket and quietly came up behind her, gently arranging it over her shoulders. It was a peace-making gesture – they both knew it. And when she drew the jacket closer round her, he knew his apology had been at least halfway accepted.

                “I’m sorry,” she surprised him by saying it first. “It’s so easy to forget sometimes what Apocalypse did to you, and I should never have treated it so lightly. I’m sorry, Remy. Call me dumb, but until right now, I never appreciated how difficult it must be for you to be on the same team as him… How much it must hurt. I’m sorry.”

                She never ceased to amaze him. Ever. His anger abated somewhat, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, held her close.

                “It’s okay,” he murmured against her ear, propping his head on her shoulder and looking out on the spectacular view of Paris before them. “What happened was a long time ago.”

                “He made you into his soldier of Death, Remy!” she retorted. “That don’t just leave ya, sugar! That stays with you forever.”

                He was silent.

                Death wasn’t something he thought about a lot, and it was something he talked about even less, even with her. Perhaps especially with her. The whole saga had marked a period of their relationship that had frankly been one of the worst. He wasn’t even brave enough to talk about it now.

              �� “Anna,” he finally spoke. “Can I ask ya somethin’? You don’t have to answer, and I want ya to know I still support ya, whatever you say, or even if you answer or not, but… When ya said you didn’t think you’d want ta have children, was it really because of some dream you had, or was it ‘cos o’ somethin’ more?”

                Her body stiffened a little; but she didn’t move away.

                “Remy, what people want sometimes changes…”

                “I know,” he answered with a small nod. “Honestly, I do, chere. But I jes’ wanna know whether there wasn’t somethin’ else. The times you talked to me about how you’d always just wanted t’ know what it was to hold someone in your arms… a lover… a bébé… … You ‘member back in Valle Soleada? That night when we was lookin’ after Jack and Paint’s kids, and ya said that this was all you’d ever wanted? You, me, the house, and two kids?”

                She was quiet a long time, so much so that he thought she wouldn’t reply. He was almost taken off guard when she did.

                “I don’t think I could ever forget that,” she answered softly.

                He could tell, from the tone of her voice, that there was something on her mind now. He didn’t want to speak for fear of breaking what he sensed would be the prelude to a moment of honesty.

                “Look…” she began, finally, “you’re right. This ain’t just about some nightmare I had, although I wasn’t lyin’ about that.” She sighed deeply, her hand almost subconsciously coming to grip his own, to hold it tight. “You weren’t wrong, Cajun. I did want a fam’ly, for the longest time. But for a whole mess o’ reasons, I guess you could say my feelin’s’ve changed. Back then I was young and romantic… Idealistic, you could say… I didn’t have any idea of what it’d be like to be in a committed relationship, let alone what it would be to be settled and have kids. Since then… I’ve learned a lotta things about myself. About life. I’ve… grown up. And white picket fences and a couple o’ kids ain’t how life’s cracked up to be, is it? Not really. We lead a real crazy life, Cajun. Would it be fair on kids, t’ put them through all that? I mean, what’s goin’ on with Franklin Richards right now… What happened to Cable, and Hope, and, gawd… look at those crazy twins too. What kind of a life could I give them? Could I even rise to the kinda responsibility it’d take t’ raise them?”

                She was in full flow now, both her voice and body stirring with emotion as she continued:

                “And ya know what the truth is? I haven’t even been sure if I’ve been able to have kids for ages now. What happened with the Terrigen plague… that shoulda left me sterile, and even though I went through the treatments, they could never really tell me whether I’d ever be able to bear children.”

                She took another deep breath, absently played with his wedding ring, her tone turning pensive.

                “And then, y’know… I’ve thought a lot about whether the nature of my mutation even makes it possible for me to conceive. What being immune to pretty much everything really means in terms of my body. Whether I’d absorb a kid if it was inside me, and… I couldn’t take that kinda trauma, Remy. I couldn’t. Forget what happened with Apocalypse. If I killed my own kid before it’d even been born, it’d make me want to die.”

                She was shaking, actually shaking in his arms, and he squeezed her hand, pulled her closer.

                “Anna, chere, none of that means you don’t want t’have a kid, just that you might not be able to have one…”

                “Yeah,” she cut in morosely. “You can say they’re two different things, but honestly, Remy, what matters is that I ain’t ready to even begin to contemplate the potential trauma havin’ a kid – that whole process – might put me through. And honestly, with the way things are now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to go through that. That’s why, when I say I might never want to have children, I mean it. This ain’t some grand sacrifice, and it ain’t me bein’ selfish either. It’s just how I feel. I just ain’t ready.”

                She was finished; and he gave a morose little smile to himself. These were the times he loved her best – when she let those famous guards down, when she laid herself out before him with all the raw honesty and passion he knew she was capable of. When she opened up to him, even though she was hurting, scared. He knew how much the mask of fearlessness meant to her. It humbled him to know she’d drop it, just for him.

                “I understand now,” he said.

                She turned in his arms and faced him, searching his face earnestly.

                “Do ya?”

                “Yeah,” he nodded, meeting her gaze. “I do. You been feelin’ this way for a while, huh?”

                “For a while,” she nodded. “At least… I’ve been confused ‘bout how I’ve been feelin’ for a long time. I guess you could say my feelin’s became a lot clearer only recently. I’m sorry, Remy,” she added sadly. “I know you’ve been… havin’ your own feelin’s about this lately, and it made me scared t’ talk to you about it. But I should’ve been more honest sooner. Your feelin’s are as valid as mind, sugar.”

                “Sure.” He nodded. “But it’s your body first and foremost. You get to make the final decision, chere. Always. Now,” he concluded, tucking the coat closer round her shoulders and pressing his forehead against hers. “Can we head back t’ the hotel, ‘sugar’? It’s damn cold up here!”

-oOo-

                Later, in the Art Deco splendour of their Parisian hotel, the cold was all but forgotten.

                Rogue curled into the warm cradle of Remy’s naked body, content – after all that time without him – to just be near him, to hold him, to breathe in his scent.

                He’d been quiet for a long time, in the kind of way that told her that something was on his mind – and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

                “I’m sorry, Remy,” she found herself apologising again, shifting slightly to kiss his chest. “Ya know I’d change my mind about this just for you, but I can’t.”

                He laughed a little and pressed his lips into her hair.

                “We both know you wouldn’t change your mind for my sake, not even if you was inclined to. And I guess that’s what I love best about ya, chere. You’re stubborn as a mule.”

                She slapped his chest playfully and propped herself up on an elbow, shooting him a suitably hammy death stare.

                “I am not, Cajun!”

                “Are so!”

                “Not!”

                “So!”

                He successfully derailed the argument by grappling for one of her most ticklish spots, which, predictably, ended up in another round of fun and games. It was only after she’d come down from the dizzying heights of her climax that she realised that it had, at least partially, been one of his well-practiced distraction tactics.

                “Seriously, Rem,” she persisted as they lay entwined together – this time she refused to let his charms work on her. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I was honest – now’s your turn, sugar.”

                “Damn, chere,” he laughed, still flushed and breathless from their latest little tussle. “You don’t miss a trick.”

                “Neither do you,” she rejoined pointedly. “Now tell me.”

                He gave a noise that sounded like something between irritation and resignation, rolling away from her and onto his back.

                “Guess ya know me too well, huh?” he threw at her, his expression all at once accusing and affectionate.

                “Well, Cajun,” she purred, shifting back over him and running her fingers teasingly down his chest and abdomen. “I ain’t been messin’ around with you all these years without gettin’ to know ya a little better than most. Somethin’s still on ya mind. I can feel it.”

                She’d said the words lightly, playfully almost – but he hadn’t taken them that way. Or maybe he hadn’t even really heard her at all. His face was stoic, self-contained.

                “What?” she asked quietly.

                “Anna,” he answered, reaching out to twist her cinnamon curls gently between his fingers. “You were right about me wantin’ a fam’ly. I do – I reckon I always did, deep down. But I after Belle and I split…”

                “Yeah,” she finished for him when he couldn’t continue. “I know. You took me to the house you were gonna share with her, remember? Told me about the life you wanted to have, that you’d planned for. Y’ told me you gave up on that, and I knew it was ‘cos you thought all the bad things you’d done in your life meant you couldn’t trust yourself as a father. But that past is gone now. And all the sins you figured you did with it are gone too. So now—”

                “So if there’s a time to be honest wit’ myself about the things I want, it’s now.” He heaved in a breath, let it out again, his eyes wandering the ceiling. He was struggling for words, she knew, and it was several moments before his eyes met hers again, and he felt able to speak.

                “The truth is, when you told me how you felt about havin’ kids the other night, it got me t’ thinkin’ myself. You know you were talkin’ about these thoughts, these feelin’s, you’d been havin’ subconsciously for a while now, but it’d only taken until recently for them to surface?”

                She nodded, oddly apprehensive about whatever it was he was about to reveal.

                “Well,” he continued, “I got the same kinda feelin’ the other night when we had that talk in the hot tub. Honestly, Anna? I don’t even know if I can have kids either.”

                His gaze had wandered again, like the words shamed him. She frowned, confused.

                “I don’t understand… …”

                “Anna,” he said with a dead calm. “I was Death. Whatever Apocalypse did ta me, I couldn’t tell ya, but I know it was bad, and I also know that I won’t ever be sure if Sinny really got that shit outta my system for good.”

                He still couldn’t look at her, and his obvious shame made her feel sad.

                “Remy, that was ages ago. You ain’t had any symptoms of revertin’ back to Death for years now…”

                “No, I know,” he broke in quickly. “The Professor helped me rebuild my mind after all the shit that happened, but my body… What if Death is still inside my cells? What if it means I can’t reproduce? What if it don’t matter what either of us wants? What if neither of us can physically have children?”

                God. All this time and he’d been thinking this. It’d been floating at the back of his mind like a virus, and he’d never said a thing. She remembered the long nights believing she’d never be able to have children, how much agony it had caused her back then. Now, even if she couldn’t say she’d fully come to terms with the idea of being sterile, not fully, she’d come a long, long way towards it. And she knew he still had a long journey to go down that path towards acceptance.

                “Remy,” she said, hardly knowing what to say herself, “darlin’… if neither of us can have kids, and that’s what we decide we want, we can always adopt…”

                “That’s not the point, Anna,” he interjected. “The point is that this is my body. And someone took away control of it. To the point where I ain’t even sure if I’m even able to have a kid. I know how it feels, chere, to have your choice taken away from ya. That’s why I’d never take away yours, whether I liked what you decided or not.”

                She only really got it then – just how much it killed him to have to work with Apocalypse, to even have to be in the same vicinity as him. En-Sabah-Nur’s presence was a constant reminder of Death to him – it peered round every corner and stalked his every waking moment – probably a few sleeping ones too. Her mind was suddenly cast back to those agonising days she’d spent in that cell on Genosha… the way she’d been stripped of all her defences, of all the meagre autonomy she’d managed to hold over her body. It had been one of the most terrifying and life-changing moments of her life. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to have herself physically transformed in the way he had – especially not when she knew how much pride he took in his body, in his strength, his beauty, his poise.

                It hurt her more than she could tell to realise what he’d been going through on Krakoa, how vulnerable it must’ve made him to have to be near the man that had violated him, day in, day out.

                She leaned into him, slipped her arms round his shoulders, touched her forehead to his.

                “Oh Remy…” she whispered, “we don’t haveta go back, sugar. We don’t haveta go back…”

                He laughed weakly, ran his roughened hands up her back, making her shiver.

                “Oh beb, I ain’t gonna back down from this mission now that it’s started. And especially not after what he did to you.”

                “Pfft. I can handle myself. Honestly, I feel fine.”

                “And that makes me suspicious.”

                “Of course it does, shug. You’re suspicious of everythin’. I just want ya to know – I’ve got your back. Now that we’re on the same page… I’ve got ya back.”

                He grinned.

                “And I’ve got yours, beb. Always.”

                She searched his face with wonder.

                “What?” he asked quizzically.

                “What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

                “That right hook you gave me when we first met? That was the moment. You’ve had me since then.”

                She laughed, long and hearty, before moving in for a kiss.

                “I love ya, sugar.”

                “I love you too, chere. No matter what. Happy anniversary.”

-END-

[ostermahaus]

It’s Morphin’ Time!  Eventually... Power Rangers Review

Saban’s Power Rangers opens darkly.  You see a blasted torn up landscape of prehistoric Earth with the Red Ranger dragging himself across it, obviously injured.  He crawls to the Yellow Ranger, also lying prone who morphs into an alien and hands her coin to him, telling him to hide it before dying in his arms.  Yikes.  He morphs into Zordon (Bryan Cranston) and puts his coin with the others he’s carrying, instructing Alpha via communicator to fire a meteorite at his current location.  He turns to find himself face to face with a female Green Ranger named Rita (Elizabeth Banks) who he accuses of being a traitor and killing his team.  She boasts that she’s won when Zordon informs her it’s too late and a meteor comes crashing down on them sending her to the bottom of the sea.  Also wiping out the dinosaurs, I presume.  I guess nuking from orbit was the only way to be sure. Smash cut to a bunch of jocks leading a bull into a locker room as a prank and we meet Jason Scott (Dacre Montgomery) who informs us that he calmed the cow down by milking it.  Womp womp.  Your protagonist can’t tell an udder from a dong, not a great start.  The cops show up and after the most nausea inducing go-pro car chase I’ve ever encountered (Seriously, I saw Gravity on the UltraScreen in 3D and this almost made me vomit) he gets in a horrific wreck and we have a title screen. Go go Power Rangers?  If you never watched the show this may seem exciting.  If you did, well here’s why it might not be what you were expecting.

 Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers hit children in 1993 with a blast of popularity that overpowered the Ninja Turtles and kept kids riveted until Pokemon came along at the end of the decade!  A Japanese import, it was cheesy, silly, campy and formulaic and pre-teens ate it up!  As well as some teens.  I was just hitting the age where I felt like I was outgrowing Saturday morning/after school shows (Thank God that phase didn’t last) so I was never a die hard fan, but I knew enough people that were that I kept abreast of the original shows run.  I watched a fair number of episodes with my friends more due to our love of riffing it a la Mystery Science Theater 3000 than anything else…  Although I will admit that Kimberly (Amy Jo Johnson)  kept me on board a bit as well.  The premise was simple.  Five teenagers from Angel Grove are given magic coins that allow them to morph into Power Rangers.  Spandex clad ninjas with full coverage helmets who can summon robot dinosaurs called Zords and merge them Voltron style into a giant Mega Zord to win the day.  They answer to Zordon, a giant holographic head, and fight the monsters that Rita Repulsa repeatedly sends down from the moon.  Ninjas, dinosaurs and giant robots.  It was famous for the obvious cut between the American actors doing their day to day thing and the original Japanese footage being used once they were in costume.  Ever wonder why Kimberly was the only Ranger wearing a skirt?  Because the Yellow Ranger in that Japanese footage is a dude.  (The more you know!)  That’s all you needed and it’s still on the air in some iteration to this day!  Why mess with a good thing?  If it’s not broke, right?

 Unfortunately Hollywood is following a current and overused trend of trying to make things dark and gritty when they reboot them right now.  That’s not to say it can’t work, but it really feels like a forced excutive decision by the movie companies some times.  This new Power Rangers update has a lot of things that work really well for it as they try to make a serious and less campy approach to one of the most popular cheese fests ever.  They also make some big missteps.  I know that Zordon famously asked for “teenagers with attitude” in the original and wound up with the nicest kids in town, but this version makes an over correction by having three of them meet in detention and one of them just not go to school at all.  Turns out Jason has to wear an ankle bracelet now and report to detention for the rest of the year and lost all sorts of football scholarships.  As soon as he walks in he sees Billy (RJ Cyler) being bullied for OCD behavior arranging things on his desk.  Jason puts a stop to it and Billy immediately declares him his new best friend for sticking up for him!  I really liked Billy in this movie, but they make a very clear point early on to have him state that he’s on the autism spectrum and they play it pretty well until he becomes a Ranger.  Then it just seems to disappear and he’s merely giddy all the time.  He’s adorkable, sure, and probably the most likeable character but it would have been nice to see them stick to his spectrum tendencies.  Jason is fairly dismissive until he offers to use his skills to hack Jason’s ankle bracelet in order for them to hang out.  How all true friendships begin!

 Next we meet Kimberly Heart (Naomi Scott) who was set up by her cheerleader ‘friends’ for an incriminating picture that’s been circulating around school and they show up to inform her that she no longer gets to be a plastic.  It makes her so angry that she gives herself a kicky new haircut in the bathroom that Jason is immediately smitten by when she returns from the restroom!  After Billy hacks the ankle device, he and Jason go into a restricted area of the gold mine outside Angel Grove because apparently Billy likes to blast there.  Even though it’s an active mine with security.  Shrug  While Billy is setting his charges, Jason goes off to hike around and spies Kimberly cliff diving while We get Zack (Ludi Lin) and Trini (Becky G.) dropped in as just random kids who are also hanging out in an active work zone after dark.  Her to practice her Karate Kid poses and him to watch her through binoculars.  Like you do.  Anyway, Billy’s blast draws them all and they discover 5 glowing coins embedded in the rock.  After cutting them out, they each grab one and then alarms go off, summoning security and another slightly less vomit inducing chase that AGAIN ends in a horrific crash, this time with a train.  The next morning they all wake up at home with no injuries and no knowledge of how they survived the wreck, plus sick abs and super strength!  Wanna know how they managed that without being seen?  Or what Billy’s mom’s reaction is to the destruction of HER van?  (You see the wreck later on being pulled off the tracks)  You’re out of luck!  Anyway, they get together and decide to go back to try to find answers about the coins and discover a buried spaceship manned by Alpha 5 (Bill Hader) and Zordon’s memory in the ship’s computer.  He informs them that they’re the Power Rangers and they need to learn to defend the universe once they can learn to morph!  Eventually…

 I don’t know if it came with the casting of Bryan Cranston but the biggest drawback of this film is that at 2 hours almost every minute of the Rangers suited up has been shown in the trailers because it only happens in the films final action scene, similar to my beef with Godzilla not having enough Godzilla.  There are training montages aplenty and I really did appreciate the effort it made to give the core cast some substance behind there characters that wasn’t there before, but it’s pace could best be described as deliberate.  The film seems to work the best when it’s trying to have some fun and not brooding so much, which is all too often.  The scene of all the nerd kids idolizing Billy after he knocks out a bully without trying and then being in awe when he gets pulled from the table by Kimberly?  Great!  Fun little scene, use more moments like that as opposed to repeated instances of people mispronouncing Trini as DeeDee.  ???  I assume it’s a joke but I just don’t get it and boy do they keep pushing it.  I wish they had done more with Zack as he had a lot of potential in his backstory.  He doesn’t attend school any more because you find out he’s caring for his terminally ill mother but aside from that reveal he just gets all the “I’m gonna shout quips!” style lines.  Don’t try taking a drink every time he calls Trini “Crazy Girl”, it won’t end well.  Jason is fine in his role as the leader, but as is the curse of the leader role (Cyclops, Leonardo), is pretty bland.  Kimberly and Trini are both solid female role models although I wish they would have come right out with Trini’s sexuality/crush on Kimberly rather than just heavily alluding to it.  Although I was disappointed by him dropping the autism traits halfway through, I thought Billy in the second half was the most relatable character.  He’s just so giddy every time they bring up the fact they get to be Rangers!

 I was not a fan of the design choices for Alpha and the Zords.  Alpha was thankfully less obnoxious than the original, but his super long arms on the tiny body just looked weird and creepy.  Props to Hader for making me not hate him!  The Zords…  I couldn’t tell what I was looking at.  I’ll be honest, aside from the T-Rex and the Pterodactyl they could have been anything.  I had to go online after the movie because I couldn’t remember if the Triceratops was Blue or Black because I couldn’t tell them apart.  Turns out it’s Blue.  For as many montages as we were dealt and given the movies run time, I’d have preferred to see them learning their suits and Zords right off the bat as opposed to trying and failing to Morph a half dozen times and then finally getting it right just in time for the final battle where they go in operating things they’ve never used before.  I know I’m overthinking it, but I hate when people just innately know how to use things like that.

 Lastly we come to the villains.  I’ve got really mixed feelings on this part.  I appreciate they wanted to take it more seriously, and I like what they did with Rita but DAMN.  They may have made her a bit too intense for the audience that’s generally associated with Power Rangers!  Banks is great and and she is wonderfully creepy and terrifying but there is a scene where she’s killed some police officers and you see that she’s ripped the teeth out of one and has dismembered/is CANNIBALIZING the other.  This is while she’s still in her slightly mummified state after a fishing boat pulls up her body and it’s horror movie levels of creepy as she gets her power back to create Goldar.  Because he’s made of gold, see?  I don’t quite get her power set because at first she’s brutally murdering people for their gold, then eating it (WTF?) then just pointing at it and drawing it to her in liquid form.  At least she gets to say “Make my monster grow.”

 Overall, it’s not bad.  It’s not as action packed as you’d expect, but what references do show up are all well placed and fun.  You get some cameos and throwback lines.  Ay-yi-yi and what not.  My favorite reference was when two boys were arguing who got to be the Red Ranger while they’re playing and Trini tells them, “Why not Yellow?”  “That’s a girl!”  “How do you know?”  lol  Love the message and the nod to the original Yellow I mentioned earlier, but unfortunately undercut by the obvious sculpted boob armor on Pink and Yellow…  Best moment, bar none, was when they played the original theme.  Unfortunately it’s just one refrain then back to generic orchestration, but the theater I was in was electrified when it came on!  I’m not made of stone, that riff is freaking amazing.  You could tell everyone was a bit bummed when it didn’t continue throughout the fight.  As usual anymore, stay through the credits.  There’s a mid credit scene that I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to call before it happens but it’s there.  LOL at the guys behind me talking loudly throughout the film complaining about the very thing the scene was about and leaving before it happened.  That’s what you get for being terrible movie attendants!  If you were a fan of the show as a kid, I think you’ll have a great time!  If you’re bringing your kids because of how much YOU loved it…  Just be aware it gets really dark and creepy in places and might move a bit slow if they have to wait over 90 minutes to see any Morphin’ Time.