#which are not JUST those hailing from here but rather those who were infamous for various quirks lol

[nabaath-areng]

Also I received the USB of the digitalized part of the archive and going through it now, there's more that's yet to be digitalized but now everything from photos from every decade of the 1900s to contracts and estate inventories dating back to as early as 1825 among other things...!!!

[theheartsmistakes]

Any Other Name- Chapter 4

Smoke unfurled from the end of the cigarette hanging from James’s mouth as he rested his forearms on the bordering wall that lined the rooftop across the street from the London Institute where he used to call home. Ashes flickered in the placid breeze that drifted in from the North and mixed with the dusting of snow the gray sky had finally decided to release upon the wasteland that was SoHo.

The cold bit at his fingertips, exposed by his fingerless gloves as he took the last drag and then stamped the stub out on the bricks.

It was nearly five in the afternoon when they arrived; he’d been waiting on the roof across the street for nearly an hour when he finally saw the flash of red hair standing out like a beacon in the otherwise gray and dismal world. She stepped out from the cab with a black duffle bag in her hand, in an oversized jumper and bicycle shorts.

She had to be freezing, he thought, as he released the smoke from his lungs. The last time she came to London it was summertime. He remembered the time well. He’d just been expelled from the Academy and kept home from the summer trip to Egypt his friends and sister went on to see the infamous pyramid Institute there. It wasn’t his parent’s intention to keep him behind, but since a number of his academy peers would be attending the trip as well, it wasn’t advised that he be amongst them after the recent series of unfortunate events that led to his unjust expulsion. He wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t purposefully release a demon in the same room as Augustus Pounceby and Alastair Carstairs and their cadre of idiotic sycophants if given even the slightest chance.

Besides, he didn’t mind being left behind. He got to spend the summer catching up on his reading and training in the Institute’s gym. He’d nearly perfected throwing his blade directly into the target without looking when the Carstairs arrived for official Clave business. Their daughter, who was around the same age as Lucie, arrived with them. Cordelia wasn’t able to go on the Egypt trip either because of a training injury that left Cordelia on crutches and in a cast that wouldn’t be healed for several weeks. He couldn’t recall what happened, but he did remember that her ankle snapped in three different places and the Silent Brothers couldn’t mend it fully without her taking some time off of it. So, like him, she had been left behind. While his mother entertained Cordelia’s mother, she volunteered James to entertain Cordelia.

They spent the entire week she was there reading together while Cordelia rested her foot, sharing their favorite stories until hours into the night. She read to him passages of Layla and Majnun and he showed her all of his favorite parts of London from the top of a Mundane tourist bus. When the days would come to their end and they’d go off to their separate rooms, he found himself staying up at night craving the sound of her voice, the pitch of her laugh, the way her smile transformed her whole face and made his insides unfurl. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from finding their way back to her. One moment he would be reading Hemingway and the next he would be highlighting a passage to share with Cordelia. He’d be eating breakfast with his parents and find himself comparing the color to her hair. Each moment he was with her, it became more and more of a challenge not to give in to the overwhelming desire to kiss her.

He cursed himself for the better part of five years for not saying something to her before she left to go back to Tehran.

It may have been nothing more than a childhood crush at the time, but it flickered somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of her loose hair tumbling in the breeze as she looked up at the Institute.

“Daisy,” he whispered, the word curled in white smoke from his lips.

She turned to look over her shoulder towards him as if she’d heard his voice. He resisted the instinct to duck and instead held her gaze. From where he stood on the roof, he couldn’t make out her profile or even see if her lips were moving. There was no possible way that even if she did see a figure on the adjacent roof a few yards away, that she would recognize him. Still, he found himself holding his breath until she looked away again.

He watched as the Carstairs moved their things into his home with help by the very same Shadowhunters that voted him and his family out. Boxes filled with items his parents didn’t have time to collect before they were evicted from the estate were thrown out like trash to the curb.

“I don’t know why you choose to torture yourself in this way, Jamie boy,” said Matthew as he came up behind James and leaned his back against the railing. “It’s fucking freezing up here.”

James hadn’t heard Matthew come in through the roof door. He was still growing accustomed to the absence of intrinsically knowing when Matthew was near since their Parabatai runes had been destroyed.

“What can I say?” said James, leaning onto his forearms. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“And what have you done this time to deserve this self-assigned penance?” asked Matthew, kicking an empty beer can across the gravel. “And why was I not involved in the crime?”

“Thoughts of murder,” said James, “and revenge.”

“Nothing a few hail Angels and hours of demon hunting can’t forgive.” Matthew spun around and leaned on the railing beside James. “Ah, it’s move-in day. I should’ve known you be stalking the Institute like a starving crow.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Who?”

James nodded towards the Institute.

“The Carstairs girl?” Matthew pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and stuck it between his lips. After a moment of fighting with his lighter, smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth. “Considering she’s only been here for all of seven minutes, no, I haven’t talked to her. Is she cute?”

James turned to glare at his friend. “How would I know?”

Matthew shrugged. “I just figure if you’re willing to freeze your balls off on the roof of this mundane hotel to watch her move into your old place then she must be cute. Didn’t the two of you have a short fling a few years back?”

“It wasn’t a fling.”

“Sorry,” said Matthew around a puff of smoke. “A relationship.”

“It wasn’t a fling nor was it a relationship,” said James laced with annoyance. “We spent a short summer together when you abandoned me to go to Egypt. We read books and I showed her around London.”

Matthew clutched his chest, right over his heart. “Please, James, spare me the intimate details.”

James gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Come off it. I haven’t seen her since we were children, I was just curious if you spoke to her and could tell me how she... seemed.”

Matthew’s pale eyebrows raised. “How she seemed?”

“Forget I asked.”

“No,” laughed Matthew. “Genuinely, I’m happy to see you pining after someone other than Grace Blackthorn.”

A flash of betrayal coursed through James at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name. He’d been in a fairly serious relationship with Grace (serious on his part, but rather noncommittal on her end) that ended abruptly when the Clave sided with Inquisitor Bridgestock in exiling the Herondale family. That very night Grace approached him outside the Institute in Idris and while hugging him, told him that her mother no longer thought it would be appropriate if they saw each other and then left.

He indeed pined for her for some time afterward. He got roaring drunk and sent her a series of fire messages that went unreciprocated and progressively turned to beg until Matthew took away his stele and paper until he was sober and could control himself. Not even a month later, Matthew told him that she started seeing Charles, Matthew’s brother from time to time. James went out and got himself so drunk that he passed out underneath a bridge like a deranged troll.

Grace had been his first real relationship. He’d taken other girls out before, and it was on a date that Grace approached him—or rather stole him—from his date and started snogging him in the back alley of the Devil’s Tavern. That was Grace’s way with him: stolen, secret moments that left him reeling and in desperate need of a cold shower.

But when he tried to hold her hand in public, she’d find a reason to move away from him. If she spoke to her within a group, she barely made eye contact with him. When they attended parties or went out, she insisted they arrive and leave separately. He never asked her why she wanted it that way; perhaps he knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

He stayed with her because of tender moments when he felt the real Grace, his Grace, show herself. Like when they snuck out to Richmond Park and spent the night together lying on the grass, looking up at the stars, and talking about plans for their future. It hadn’t occurred to him then that none of her plans included him.

No, he’d long since stopped pining after Grace Blackthorn and wished for her demise with as much sincerity as he wished for the rest of those who exiled his family.

Matthew could be relentless in his teasing, so James made a quick attempt at changing the subject. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

Matthew shoved his hand into his light blue corduroy jacket pocket and brought out a three-toothed brass key about the length of his pinkie finger and handed it over to James. “I need that back before my mother realizes it’s missing which shouldn’t be until Monday morning when she returns to her office, so make sure that you get whatever it is that you need done with it finished by tomorrow night.”

James clutched the key in his fist. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t?” Matthew blanched. “No, no, it won’t be a problem, because if it is a problem then my mother will take the blame for it. James, I need that key back by tomorrow night.”

James placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “I understand, Math. I will leave the key at your flat tomorrow morning underneath the ceramic dog on your porch.”

Matthew’s mouth flattened into a straight line. “I have your word?”

“Of course,” said James and pocketed the key. “Do you not trust me?”

“Yes, of course, I trust you,” insisted Matthew. “My family has just been under a fucking microscope since everything happened. I had to tell the Penhallow boy that I was going to the shops to pick out new underwear and the bastard trailed me all the way to the strip mall and only left when I started picking out briefs. I would be insulted by his assuming that I am lying if I weren’t so goddamn irritated.”

James tensed. “Are you sure no one tracked you here?”

“Yes,” said Matthew as he took another long drag of his cigarette, “I’m sure. In fact, I tracked Penhallow to the Institute where he is one of the volunteers helping to move the Carstairs family in.”

“You didn’t volunteer?” asked James.

A stream of smoke flowed from Matthew's nostrils. “God no, I may have mentioned assisting my mother on official Clave business regarding a demon possessed artifact in an abandoned warehouse on Bleeker Street, so that is where they all expect me to be. Thomas, I believe, volunteered or perhaps he was wrangled into the job by his parents. The boy hasn’t stopped growing since he turned thirteen and his voice dropped. He looks like a linebacker on one of those American football teams. He will come more in handy than I ever could.”

Nearly a month has gone by with no word from Thomas or Christopher since the exile. As hard as James tried to understand the position his closest friends were put in, he couldn’t stop the sharp pang of abandonment, no matter how desperately he tried to convince himself that it was not like that for them. If the tables were reversed and he had to decide whether to risk seeing his friends or protecting his own life and the life of his family, then he could understand the hesitation.

Still, the anger ripped at his logic. He missed his friends— more than anything else he’d been forced to leave behind, he missed his friends.

“Is there really a demon possessed artifact in a warehouse on Bleeker Street?”

Matthew flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “Yes, but it’s being dealt with by Anna and a few others. I told my mother I volunteered to help the Carstairs move. Everyone believes me to be in one place, when in fact, I’m actually here with you. As long as no one speaks to each other about my elegid whereabouts then they’ll all be none the wiser.”

“Clever,” said James, fiddling with the key in his pocket. “Thank you, for risking what you have to bring me what I needed. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Matthew shook his head and stepped away from the bordering wall. His trainers crunched against the gravel as he spun on his heels to face James. “I may have to appear to be obeying their rules, but that doesn’t mean that I agree with them and it doesn’t mean that I will allow them to win. My life is still very much my own and I still choose to have you in it. You’re more than my friend, you’re my brother, more than my own even. I’ve told you before Jamie, they can erase my rune, but they cannot erase my promise, I will honor our vows as parabatai until I meet my end and not before.”

James embraced his oldest friend, clutching him tight around the shoulders. “I feel the same.”

Matthew returned the embrace. “You’ll take care of yourself, yeah? You haven’t told me yet what you intend to do with that key and I’ve been trying to give you your space and not ask, but if I’m invited to your trial after they catch you, I will deny ever being involved.”

James released him. “But you just said…”

“No where in the vows does it say that I have to stand by you when you do something stupid that I clearly warned you against!”

“It’s implied,” said James.

“I only follow explicit instructions, not implied instructions,” said Matthew throwing his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it under his trainer before glancing at the watch around his wrist. “Shite, I’m going to be late. The Inquisitor saw fit to put a curfew on those of us who were affiliated with you. If I’m home even a minute after seven then I am forced into a meeting with both Bridgestock, Pounceby, and a witness to verify that I am being truthful about my whereabouts. Also, I’m supposed to pick up Christopher to help my father with one of his experiments on weapons infused with holy water.” Matthew’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t effect your demony issue, does it?”

James rolled his eyes. “No more than it effects yours.”

Matthew grinned as he slowly walked back towards the roof door. “My demons have far more expensive taste in poison, I’m afraid.” With that, he opened the roof door and disappeared leaving James staring over the edge as his life once again shifted into something he couldn’t recognize.

___________________________________________________

Whispers of the exiled Shadowhunters crawled through the streets of Hackney, one of London’s most dangerous boroughs and home to most Downworlders that had effectively been pushed out of the bigger, better boroughs by the Clave. Lined with crowded pubs and coffeehouses, and veined with dark and minacious alleys fraught with all manner of salacious activities, the whispers followed James around like his own shadow.

It’d taken him not even a week to develop a reputation in Hackney that allowed him to wander the streets unbothered, though it did involve a significant amount of blood on his hands and a few scars that couldn’t be healed fully with an iratze. Afterward, the whispers turned to warnings and rumors of his ruthlessness; those standing on the streets as he walked back averted their attention or moved out of his path. There were the occasional few that stepped out to challenge him from time to time, but he’d simply have to fling a blade within an inch of their skin and they’d let him pass.

James flipped one of his throwing knives between his fingers as he walked: a silent reminder to those around him of who he was and what he was capable of doing. It was an unnecessary safety measure, but a comfort all the same. The knives were the last remnants of being a Shadowhunter that he has left; now he lived amongst of the shadows he once hunted.

As he approached the great stone arch that marked the entrance to The Hell Ruelle, Hepatia Vex’s nightclub, without uttering a word, the burly guard stepped out his way and allowed James entry.

The place was packed with a mixture of mundanes gifted with the sight, Fae, Warlocks, Witches, Vampires, and Werewolves dancing in the strobing lights that swayed in the exposed rafters to the electronic music that pulsed throughout the building. James dodged dancing bodies until he reached one of the many ladders that went to the second level. The steel bars were warm underneath his palms and littered with glitter amongst other unmentionable things. Once on the second level, he went straight, passed the NO ACCESS signs that flickered above the doorway, and pushed aside the heavy curtain that kept patrons out. Once the curtain closed again, the music went nearly silent except he could still feel the beat of the dancers and music underneath his trainers.

He slipped silently down the hallway, scanning the shadows in the rafters above for any of Hepatia’s spies until he reached the rouge door at the end and knocked three times.

“Who is it?” asked a deep feminine voice.

“James Herondale,” he said and crossed his arms. “I’ve brought what you asked for and I’m ready to trade, that is if you still want to do business with—“

The door swung open and standing on the other side was not Hepatia Vex, as he has expected, but a half-naked girl with star-shaped nipple covers and a skirt that was nothing more than a belt with two long strips of fabric covering her front and back. Long, tanned hips and legs that James had a difficult time ignoring were laid bare and glistening in the dull lamplight. Her opulent eyes reflected like those of a cat as she smiled lasciviously at James.

“Come in, Herondale,” said a voice from within the darkroom.

James shouldered past the courtesan that may or may not have smelled him as he passed and walked towards the plush green sofa where Hepatia stretched out in a black leather skirt and white bralette that nearly glowed against her deep, rich skin tone. The room smelt heavy with magic laced with weed and sex.

Hypatia's eyes wandered lazily over James as she uncurled her hand towards him. “Where is it? Give it to me.”

“No until you give me what I asked for,” answered James and glanced over his shoulder at the courtesan. “And she needs to leave.”

Vex started at James for a moment, the corners of her full, sensuous mouth turned up at the corners until she swung her body into a seated position and crossed one leg over the other knee. “Why the secrecy? Afraid to tarnish your reputation… but wait, hasn’t that been done already?”

“I don’t need all of the boroughs to know my business,” said James, staring at Vex around the ends of the curls that had fallen into his face. He’d been told on countless occasions that a look from him set people on edge. Perhaps it was the color of his eyes or the intensity within them.

Whatever it was, it worked. “Leave us, Femi. Bring us back some refreshments.”

Without a word or much of a sound, Femi left out the door.

Vex bounced the foot resting in the air and drummed her long red-painted fingernails on the couch cushion as she continued to look James up and down. “You look thin. Life in the dirty Hub not treating you so nicely, little angel.”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped James.

“Why not?” grinned Vex, satisfied to have found a wound for which she could press. “Oh, is that not accurate anymore? Should I refer to you as, little demon, instead?”

“Do you want to make the trade or not?” James’s voice dropped into a low, miserable timber. “I have other business to attend to.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Vex as she stood up and walked around the couch towards the minibar at the back of the room. She waved her hand over the ceramic ice holder three times as flecks of red and magenta smoke uncurled from her fingers. The lid to the ice bucket shook until she took it off and removed what was inside.

She sauntered her way back to where James stood. Her cat-shaped eyes slid over him from brow to chest to hips and back up again. Her pupils dilated slightly. “My you’ve grown into a handsome young man, haven’t you?”

James resisted the urge to cross his arms or crumble under her stare.

“But then you’ve always been handsome.” Elongated incisors flashed as she grinned. “Something you inherited from your father.” She reached and grabbed James by the wrist-twisting his arm until his palm was flat and facing up. She dropped three bags of iridescent powder into his hand. “Now for the key.”

James pocketed the powder and retrieved the key. Hypatia snatched it from his hand and held it close to her chest. “Pleasure doing business with you, Herondale. You should go have a dance. You look like you need to unwind and there are other ways to do that without the use of those drugs. I can fall up Fima and show you one of my favorite ways.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I need to be going,” said James, but before he turned to leave he remembered his conversation with Matthew. “I’ll need that key back by tomorrow afternoon and no later. It’s important that I return it.”

Vex dropped the key into the ice bucket and replaced the lid. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I will have someone meet you at Blackfriar bridge.”

James nodded and turned to leave. As he reached for the door handle, Vex’s voice came from behind him.

“And James, if you ever find that you want a real job and not to sell magical drugs on the street, come and see me.��

James didn’t bother to turn around, he turned the handle and stepped out, with absolute surety that a business with Hypatia Vex was not one that he wanted any part in.

Walking out of The Hell Ruelle, James felt as if he could breathe freely again. The warm July night had the streets crowded with miscreants and the company of such, especially in Hackney. He skirted past couples doing more than just making out against the alley walls and avoided the gang of werewolves lighting dumpsters on fire outside of a liquor store and proceeded to howl mockingly at the moon.

He made his way down Briar Street towards the canal where his regular customers would be waiting for him to provide his recently acquired goods under the troll bridge where all manner of questionable deeds went on. He needed to be one of the first ones to get there or all of the most desperate would have bought from someone else.

As he passed an alley towards the end of the busy street, he heard the sound of a female voice coming from the alleyway. He wouldn’t have stopped if it hadn’t sounded so familiar.

He backed up several steps and looked down the alley. Three tall male Fae warriors stood in a row and over the middle one’s shoulder, James could see a flash of red hair, the curve of her face, and the golden hilt of a sword resting over her shoulder.

Something twisted in his gut as recognition overtook him. She looked different, older, beautiful.

“I don’t want to harm any of you.” There was a slight waver in her voice: fear and determination. “I’m here by accident and I’d like to leave without any unnecessary bloodshed. If you would kindly move, I will happily be on my way.”

The Fae warrior in the center removed two blades from the scabbards at his sides and glided them across each other so they made a spark. “I say we remove her clothes piece by piece and allow everyone in the Mill to look their fill of her nakedness.”

“She is a lovely thing,” said the Fae to his right. “Perhaps we could take turns with her and return her back to her people used.”

James’s blood boiled in his veins at the threat and he reached for the throwing knife tucked in his jacket pocket. He hadn’t answered the call in his blood in some time, fighting as a Shadowhunter was too painful. He preferred to get his knuckles bloody and his skin to split, but there wasn’t time for that now and it was far too kind of a punishment for the threat they made towards her.

Cordelia drew Cortana and positioned herself to fight. “You can try.”

“What will you do?” grinned the head Fae. “You’ll cut all three of us down by yourself with that little blade?”

He moved towards her again, but Cordelia stood firm. James couldn’t help but smile at her stony resolve. She would do it, he could see it in her eyes that she would not hesitate, but the bloodshed from either side would surely make waves in the water that his parents and several other Downworlders were trying to still.

James leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt her, Bevan. I’ve seen her take down men twice as skilled as you.”

As the three Fae men turned to look behind them, Cordelia lunged.

A/N:

Thanks for reading! Comments, like, and reblog are my primary motivation.

Next update: Fri, 6/25

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream: The Dark Knight Trilogy & Its Negative Impact on the Superhero Genre

Superhero movies have come a very long way in the past couple of decades, cementing themselves as a genre unto themselves rather than the odd action movie here or there. Almost every year a few new ones of varying quality pop up that incite equal parts excitement and derision. It’s definitely a genre people feel very strongly about, but even people who tend to not love superhero films will admit that Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy is fantastic.

From 2005 until 2012, Nolan reinvisioned Batman in a way that grounded the character in reality. There’s no fantastical elements, there’s no insane science, there’s no superpowers… Everything in these films could happen in the real world. In a post-Batman & Robin world, this was seen as a breath of fresh air, and the critics loved it. In particular, The Dark Knight helped to usher in the modern age of superhero films, releasing the same year the MCU kicked off and widely being hailed as one of the greatest films of all time. That’s right, not even superhero films, films period. These films were impressive, groundbreaking, and… they fundamentally ruined superhero movies for quite a while.

Look, I don’t particularly hate these films. I think all of them are pretty good, in their own ways. But they have a lot of glaring issues that really hamper them a fair bit and yet, somehow, they became the blueprint that studios decided to look at for what they thought a successful superhero movie should be. Nolan’s films are serious, brooding, dark, and lack the whimsy and creative insanity that makes comics such a fun and engaging medium, and I think this right here is what has hurt comic book movies the most over the past decade. These are films that feel absolutely ashamed to be comic book movies, and they desperately want to seem like they’re “mature” and for “adults.” And, unfortunately for the rest of us, this shame translated over into a lot of other films, something we’re only just now recovering from.

Looking at the greatest strength of the trilogy shows this issue pretty well, that being the villains. Nolan’s films gave us truly iconic portrayals of characters like Bane, Joker, and Scarecrow, and you’re not gonna hear me say much bad about them. Cillian Murphy, Liam Neeson, Tom Hardy, Anne Hathaway, Aaron Eckhart, and Heath Ledger all do fantastic jobs as the insidious rogues of Batman. But the issue I have is that by grounding these characters in a realistic setting like this, it kind of misses the point. Joker isn’t using exploding cakes and laughing gas, Ra’s al Ghul isn’t an immortal warrior, Bane isn’t a drugged-up super soldier… They’re all just Guys. They’re Guys With Gimmicks, yes, but at the end of the day they aren’t what should be looked at as the be-all, end-all of the character’s portrayals.

And yet everyone acts like no one should ever play Joker again, because Heath Ledger’s Joker was just so good, guys! And he was good, but I don’t think Ledger’s Joker should be the absolute final Joker ever. Quite frankly, I prefer Phoenix’s Joker, because even if that version is also in a rather grounded film missing the overt weirdness of comics for the most part, he still dresses in a colorful costume, acts weird, tells jokes, and is in general more Jokery. Out of all of these villains, I think Bane and Scarecrow at least come within the ballpark of being close to how they should be, but Scarecrow is horribly underutilized and Bane is given a rather undignified sendoff.

Then there are the bigger issues. Batman himself is really downplayed throughout the trilogy, getting fairly little screentime compared to villains and side characters. This was a huge point of contention when The Dark Knight Rises came out, with most of the film featuring Bruce Wayne, and in hindsight it highlights how unwilling Nolan was to engage with the comic book trappings of what he was adapting. I like Christian Bale a lot, he’s a great actor, but I don’t think he really carries any of the films; in fact, it’s usually the villains carrying the movies. Bale is certainly not as bad as Val Kilmer in the role of Wayne/Batman, but he’s no Keaton, he’s no Clooney, he’s not even an Affleck. A lot of the time, he also just feels like… a Guy. And Batman should not ever, ever just be a Guy.

But perhaps the most egregious fault of the films is what it did to Gotham City itself. In Burton’s films, you really get a feel for the Gothic atmosphere of the city with how it’s designed, and this goes for Batman: The Animated Series too. And even the more cartoonish, colorful Gotham of Schumacher’s films pops and leaves an impact. But Nolan’s Gotham? It’s very much just a City. There is nothing distinct about Nolan’s Gotham, it’s literally just a generic city, and if you even have the faintest knowledge of Batman you will know that Gotham is not just a city. Gotham is pretty much a character itself, a dark, imposing landscape in which Batman does battle with his costumed foes. Every other adaptation I can think of knows to make Gotham feel unique and distinct, but this one just absolutely drops the ball. You might as well just have the city be New York if you’re going to put no effort into giving it personality.

And that all brings me to this: every reviled superhero movie of the past decade, from F4ntastic to The Amazing Spider-Man to Dawn of Justice, all have their genesis in Nolan’s trilogy. He laid the groundwork for these films to exist, and a large majority of the blame needs to be put on Nolan for sapping the fun out of comic book movies. Now, to be totally fair to Nolan, he’s not entirely responsible for what happened to the comic book film landscape; prior to him, the X-Men film series was giving all of the heroes dark costumes and being a bit more serious. But despite those films playing a bit of a part, there’s one major reason I don’t fault them nearly as much: The X-Men films never once felt ashamed to be comic book movies.

You have to understand, people loved grit and edginess in the 90s and had just violently rejected Batman & Robin a few years prior to the original X-Men film, so it’s hard to really fault it for wanting to avoid being too campy. But much like Blade, the films never tried to act like they weren’t still crazy comic book films. Scott still has eye lasers, Mystique is still blue, Nightcrawler looks like a demon, there are Sentinels and Apocalypse and even Dazzler shows up at one point! The X-Men franchise wasn’t always good, but it managed to balance between being silly and taking itself seriously pretty well for the most part. Magneto is still a Holocaust survivor, his relationship with Xavier still has impact, there are still emotional moments here and there, but then you also have Deadpool movies and the multiple comic book style retcons to the timeline that leave the continuity a mess, and something about that just feels right. And all that makes Logan less egregious despite being the sort of brooding, angsty superhero drama Nolan would make, because even if it is those things, it still centers around a dude with metal claws coming out of his hands trying to stop his best friend from wiping out everyone with psychic seizures. Nolan could never make this superhero film.

Nolan’s films, on the other hand, did. These films did not feel like they wanted to be comic book movies, they felt like they wanted to be serious crime films but Nolan was stuck with Batman so he just mashed the two together. And honestly, I’d probably be more forgiving if it weren’t for the hugely negative impact these films and their critical success had on the superhero genre even until this day. The first decade of superhero films as a major contender in cinema were colored by these films. People outright balked at silliness in superhero movies for quite some time, with a lot of criticism levied at the early phases of the MCU for being too goofy; in fact, at times it seemed as if the MCU was going a bit too far in the goofy direction without striking the proper balance, with films like Age of Ultron having most of its tension defused by constant wisecracks. And on the DC side, Nolan’s grounded approach lead to Zack Snyder’s flaccid filmmaking with dark coloration, moody atmosphere, and not a shred of joy to be found. Nolan is essentially the peak of dark, grounded superhero films, and Snyder is the nadir, but Snyder’s awful DC films wouldn’t exist if not for Nolan.

It was a slow crawl getting to what superhero movies should be. Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man were films tossed out only when Marvel was certain they could take risks, because absurd concepts like those would just not have been able to survive if not for years of good will beforehand. That’s not even getting into some of the more bonkers elements of later films, such as Ego the Living Planet and basically everything about Doctor Strange. In fact, Doctor Strange, for all its issues, is still a massive step forward for a genre that outright rejected magic for a long time, instead for a time turning Thor and his costars into a cast of hyper-advanced aliens, with later films having to clarify that there is magic and zombies and so on. The recent WandaVision was able to further clarify this by making Wanda unambiguously magic and not an evil Nazi science experiment.

Superhero animation didn’t suffer quite so much, but that’s mostly because, much like comics, animation is still seen as “kid’s stuff” by way too many people. And even then, they didn’t escape the shadow of Nolan totally unscathed; one need only look into the infamous Bat Embargo, which limited Batman villains so there could only be one given incarnation of said character in media. For instance, the Scarecrow being in Batman Begins meant he could not appear in the animated series The Batman. This lead to such things as no Batman characters appearing in Justice League Unlimited. It was truly a stupidly frustrating time to be a Batman fan when some of his most iconic foes were relegated to only certain appearances because it “might confuse kids.”

Let me again clarify this: I mostly like the Nolan films. I usually like Nolan, though he has become unbearably, obnoxiously pretentious these days. I think a lot of elements of them are great, I feel like they mostly have strong villains, and I don’t disagree that The Dark Knight is a fantastic film. But the thing is these are only good as AU stories, as their own thing; they should not be the template every superhero movie should follow, or any superhero movie for that matter, because they lack the ability to engage with the things that make people love comics in the first place. People love wacky, off-the-wall concepts, superpowered aliens, magic, talking animals, evil living planets, alcoholic ducks, and all that fun stuff.

People desperately want the fun, camp, and wacky stuff back in comic book films, as the success of the goofier DC films like Aquaman, Shazam, and Birds of Prey as well as the success of shows like Doom Patrol in comparison to the critical and audience revulsion of Snyder’s films, with Shazam in particular giving us such bonkers concepts as an entire family of superpowered children and Mr. Mind, the evil alien caterpillar. Thor: Ragnarok and the Guardians of the Galaxy films have become some of the most beloved MCU movies despite being weird, wacky, and wholly embracing the joy of comics to the point the latter films feature Howard the Duck and the aforementioned Ego alongside bizarre characters like Rocket Raccoon, Groot, and Taserface. And the thing with all of these films is that they’re able to balance the weirdness and wackiness of comics without losing sight of human emotion, moving storytelling, and drama. They’re both fun and deep, goofy and yet meaningful. This is what comics are, and what they should be, and anyone who thinks comics should be grim and gritty really needs to think about why they think an entire genre needs to be colored in with only the dullest colors.

I think what I’m trying to say here is this: Make a Detective Chimp movie, you cowards.

[razieltwelve]

Regal (Final Effect)

“How do I look?” Weiss IX asked.

Anna smiled. “I think you look lovely.”

“Lovely?” Weiss frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “I was hoping I looked more regal than lovely.”

Anna tilted her head to one side. “Really?”

“This is the first time I’ll be giving a State of the Alliance address since we began to explore another galaxy. People are anxious to know more. So far, there’s a lot of conjecture and rumour, and not nearly enough solid facts for most people to feel comfortable. I want to project an air of authority and command. I want people to look at me and be absolutely confident that I am the correct person to be in charge.”

“I hardly think anyone has lost confidence in you, Weiss,” Anna pointed out. “You’ve handled this whole situation quite well, and the Alliance’s economic numbers have never been better.”

“Even so...” Weiss glared at her reflection. “Perhaps I should glare more when I give the address.”

“....” Anna exchanged a look with Lord Spikebatten. Her loyal hedgehog was going over some security arrangements for their upcoming trip with the war corgis he was training. Since they were all in their smaller forms, it was a rather adorable looking meeting. “Weiss, you’ve been doing this for years now. You’ll be fine.”

Weiss huffed. “I’m just a bit nervous. I saw your sister’s State of the Empire address...”

“Oh.” Anna giggled. “She does have that air about her, doesn’t she? She’s all ‘Behold Your Glorious Empress Whom None Are Worthy To Even Look Upon’, isn’t she?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Weiss grumbled.

“I really think it’s at least partly due to the Farron genes,” Anna said. “They make it easier for us to look good while maintaining a relatively stern expression. And the Empire does have a more martial culture than the Alliance. In the Empire, people prefer it when the ruler projects an air of ‘screw with the Empire and die in a hail of glorious Imperial plasma’. The Alliance is a bit less militant.” Anna grinned. “I think they respond better to your usual approach, the one where you try to explain things the way you would to a business partner or employee.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Weiss sighed. “And Blakey does say I tend to look more adorable than menacing when I glare.” Weiss glared. “What do you think?”

Anna tried very hard not to laugh. Weiss’s adorable glare was not at all helped by the fact that she was definitely showing now. It wouldn’t be more than a few months before the baby arrived. “I think you’re absolutely terrifying.”

“Liar.” Weiss rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should give my speech while sitting on a war corgi in its war form.” The war corgis immediately perked up, tails wagging. “It would be a reverse Dia-Farron effect.”

“Oh, you mean about how they always brandish hamsters at people when they’re trying to appear harmless? Well, it’s obvious, but it does seem to be effective. But I really think you should just do what you normally do. People are worried. They’re concerned. Sit down, have a chat with them, put them at ease. It’s something you’re good at.”

Weiss nodded. “Yes. I think I will.” She moved to slide onto Anna’s lap onto to realise that the size of her belly made it impossible to squeeze between the table and Anna. “...”

Anna chuckled and stood up, easily lifting her. “And, hey, I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“Oh?”

“My sister likes the whole stern empress in absolute command thing because she’s always been a big believer in the power of Farron tyranny to make things more efficient.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Although all of the Children of Remnant have a fairly martial culture, there are definitely still levels involved. The Empire contains pretty much everyone descended from the Clans, who had an infamously martial approach to dealing with their problems. Even the Dia, who were considered somewhat less likely to stab people, were only considered less stabby because they preferred to use guns. The Empire has, historically speaking, been the one to enter battle first whilst the Alliance has often taken a more moderated approach. This may also be influenced by the political structure. Weiss IX is not an absolute monarch the way Averia VII is, so some level of compromise and negotiation are needed.

That said, Averia VII is a phenomenal public speaker. If you were to rate emperor and empresses on their public speaking ability, she would definitely rank in the top ten with solid arguments for her to be put in the top five.

Weiss IX is not as good a speaker (although still a very good one), but she is an incredible administrator who has shepherded the Alliance through a period of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity. It’s why Blakey has not so subtly warned anyone thinking of stepping out of line that there will be consequences for any... stupidity. Yeah, Blakey’s mom and Weiss’s dad might be enemies, but she and Weiss get along just fine. 

Fun fact: The trip that Lord Spikebatten is planning is to Remnant. Weiss IX wants to have her child in the ancestral manor of her family (i.e., the manor that Weiss and Ruby lived in with their family). She wants her child’s first breaths to be taken on Remnant where everything began. Anna thinks it’s a wonderful idea, although she and Lord Spikebatten will be fortifying the manor like you wouldn’t believe.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[writers-hes]

late christmas.

i love christmas and i love angst. please enjoy!  to those who read five years, thank you so much for liking and reblogging it! if you haven’t read it yet, check it out here. 

also, don’t forget to stream adore you! if you did, what are your thoughts about it? i absolutely love it and i’m currently writing a fic about it. i suppose you just have to wait and see! 

WARNING: unedited + swearing

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

in which you and harry flew to new york to spend christmas together but it seemed like christmas wouldn’t be as magical as you thought it would be.

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

you were excited for the holidays. you always were because in your family, it was a big deal. your father would put up the christmas tree, your mother would bake your favourite christmas-themed sugar cookies, and you and your older brother would help out in the over-all christmas preparation. you absolutely loved christmas as it was the only time of the year that you weren’t stressed. finals were done, you’re home with your family, and everything just felt like they were in the right place. christmas always meant family time.

that’s why your family was shocked when you told them that you would spend your christmas with harryi n his new york penthouse. they agreed, however. ever since you and harry met for the first time, you were inseparable. you spent thanksgiving together and even hosted a halloween dinner in his london home. 

there you were, in harry’s new york penthouse. all alone. you set up the tree alone, decorated the tree alone, and hung the christmas star, alone. you were starting to regret coming here all the way from the uk. you’d rather do all these with your family and friends back home but harry insisted. “think of it as the first of our many holidays together, love!” he said. together, he said but he was out with his friends. it’s been two weeks since you arrived in new york and it’s been two weeks since you and harry had a proper talk. on your first night here, you made love. the next day, he was gone. that was what happened and that’s what’s always happening—him coming home late or when he was sure you were sleeping and then leaving early in the morning. you barely saw each other even though this was supposed to be your ‘alone’ time—away from your families and friends. 

honest to god, it was starting to get to you. tonight was christmas eve and he was nowhere to be seen. you’ve been texting him but there was only sickening ‘read’ receipts that showed up on your phone. 

love: harry where are you

love: harry where have you been

love: harry come home, it’s christmas

love: harry please talk to me

love: did i do something wrong?? 

you also left a few voicemails in his phone. you hated it. you hated being lonely on a christmas eve but you had no choice. it was your first time in new york and you found it scary. 

“harry? please come home…it’s christmas eve and i wanted to spend it with you,” you said on the voicemail. “please. did i do something wrong? we can talk about it if you want, just come home. i—i prepared dinner,” beep.

you sighed, looking at the simple christmas dinner you prepared for you and your boyfriend. tears were welling up your eyes as you stored the dinner in some old tuppeware. you laughed lightly, seeing that anne was probably the one who convinced harry to get some tupperware. “it’s always nice to store the left overs in containers. that way, whenever you decided to eat it, it’s always fresh.” she said during your halloween dinner. 

you couldn’t help it. you missed harry and quite frankly, he treated you like shit. you wiped away the tears that escaped from your tear ducts. you had to leave and you wanted to leave. you opened up your phone to text harry again. 

love: i’m just going out. text me once you’re on the way home. 😊 

h: i’m not coming home. i’m spending christmas eve with my friend. 

your heart broke. you pressed his name and waited for him to answer.

“hello?” harry asked from the other phone. 

“what do you mean you’re spending christmas eve with your friend?” 

“can you stop being so clingy? it’s just rob. he asked me if i wanted to eat dinner with his family and i said yeah,” 

“you told me you’d spend christmas with me harry! it’s been two weeks and i barely even talked to you! isn’t the reason why i flew to new york is to spend christmas with you? and i barely see you. you don’t reply to my messages and never answered my calls. i spent two weeks trying my best to make this christmas just like home. i set up the tree alone and cooked you your favourite dinner and you’re telling me that you’re not coming? what’s the fucking point of me coming here if i’m alone? you know what? fuck you, harry. i’m staying somewhere else. i’m going home,” you raged. by the time you told him you were going home, a sob escaped your body. it alarmed harry how affected you were and he was guilty. you ended the call and made a beeline to harry’s bedroom. sobbing, you packed up your things and went to the building’s ground floor. there, you hailed a cab. you needed to get away from harry’s building. 

“please take me to the cheapest hotel in the area,” you told the taxi driver. you only had the allowance that your parents gave you for the trip and money that you saved over the year. you were a college student for god’s sake, where are you going to get the money that you do not have? you were silently sobbing in the backseat and you knew that the driver was getting uncomfortable. you phone kept on vibrating inside your coat pocket and you ignored it. you knew that harry was blowing up your phone. you soon arrived at a building and paid the taxi driver his fee, even adding a little tip for working during the holidays. you hauled your big luggage from the back of the cab. you thanked the driver and made your way to the hotel. 

“hi, do you have any vacant rooms?” you asked the reception. it was the night before christmas in new york—you were hoping to have at least some place to stay. 

“hello, ma’am. i’m sorry but we’re fully booked,” the tall receptionist said. he smiled sadly at you. 

“well—do you, uh, know any place that has any vacancy at all? i’m not picky, please,” you begged. this holiday quickly turned into a nightmare and all you wanted to do was go home. tears were welling up your eyes and you knew that the receptionist was looking at you with pity. 

“i’m sorry. i’m afraid all hotels in this area are fully booked,” he said. you nodded and mumbled a string of thanks and apologies for being annoying. the receptionist said it was okay. you exited the hotel and was on the streets of new york, freezing. you had your big luggage beside you and you were looking for places that you could possibly stay in. you looked around and saw a coffee shop that was full but you were sure that they had a table for you. you hauled your big luggage and huffed. you made a beeline towards the cafe and scanned the room. there was a table right beside the big window wall. you sat on the vacant table. a waiter asked you what you wanted for a drink and you told him you wanted wine. you weren’t sure if they served wine but anything that could make your forget about the douchebag of a boyfriend is enough. he nodded and gave you a menu, telling you that he’d be back in a few minutes with your drinks. you scanned the menu and saw that they had truffle gnocchi. it was a little expensive and you were out of budget but you didn’t care. you were devastated. a few minutes in and you ordered your plate. 

you were drinking your wine when you saw a girl, who was about to enter her twenties, discretely trying to take a picture of you. you ignored her and looked at your phone. you turned it on only to see harry’s name all over the screen. it’s been two hours and he still couldn’t contact you. 

“fuck!” harry shouted inside is new york penthouse. he was mad at himself for being such an asshole on what was supposed to be a romantic getaway. he left a handful of voicemails and texts but nothing seemed to be enough to make you come back to him. he looked around the place and only then did he realise that you set up a beautiful christmas tree. he also spotted a few gift boxes from you to him and to his family. his eyes lingered on the boxes for a second and then looked at how his staircase had christmas lights on. there was even a little santa claus at the top of the staircase. he went to the kitchen and saw that you even made the table a little fancy. he opened the fridge to see containers of untouched food that was supposed to be for the both of you. it warmed his heart how you managed to pull off his favourite meal. he also noticed a little pitcher of chilled sangria to match the meal. he also saw how you stocked up his fridge with junk food because you planned to just stay in during the christmas day, catching up on your favourite show, brooklyn 99. he even promised you that you would visit where the infamous 99th precinct. it wasn’t a real station but you found out from the internet that it was the 78th station near sixth station and barclay’s avenue. you were so excited to take a handful of pictures to post on your instagram—even bringing a ‘gina knows best’ hoodie that you bought. 

you’ve been staying at the cafe for awhile now and you knew that the waiter was starting to get agitated. he’s been passing by your table, giving you looks as there was a queue outside. you sighed sadly and paid for the bill. you left the cafe only to find out that it was colder than it was hours before. the cold air nipped you skin and you were shivering. you walked for a few more blocks until. everything in new york seemed full. you were contemplating on whether or not you should go back to harry’s and swallow your pride. you knew that it wasn’t that far from where you were. in the end, you decided that, it was worth it to swallow your pride and be safe instead of possibly freezing to death in the cold winter of new york. 

so, you hailed a cab and told the taxi driver where you needed to go. 

you arrived at the tall building where his penthouse was located an hours later, thanks to the traffic. you went straight to the elevator and hoped to god that he wasn’t there. you arrived at his apartment and opened the door. it seemed as if he already went home but the space looked so empty. you left your luggage beside the doorway and laid on the couch. you were so drained, you didn’t even bother to remove the coat that was exposed to the pollution of new york. 

you were half-awake when harry entered the door, dishelved. he’s been looking for you around manhattan, driving in his range rover. he was removing his outside shoes (a trait he got from you) when he saw your figure laying on the couch. he immediately ran towards you. 

“oh my god, i’m so glad you’re okay. i’m—bloody hell, i’m so fucking sorry for leaving you like that,” he rambled. he held your face in between his hands, noticing how cold your cheeks were. “i know you’re mad at me right now but is it okay if make a brew? just wanna make you feel warmer, love,” you nodded and he rushed to the kitchen where he stayed and boiled water. he took out his tea container and rummaged through the choices to look for your favourite tea, raspberry and vanilla. it took a few minutes for the electric kettle to boil the water. he poured the water and added milk and sugar, just the way you liked it. 

he carefully rushed to you and laid your tea on the coffee table. you drank from it and mumbled a soft ‘thank you’. 

“i’m so sorry, y/n. i’ve been such an asshole to you,” he started. 

“yeah…why did you leave me here though? if you didn’t want to spend time with me, why did you make me come down here?” you asked. it was one thing that harry loved about you. you were always frank and straightforward with your thoughts. 

“it’s just that…i don’t know. i’ve been so stressed lately. i didn’t want to take it out on you so i left. i’m so sorry, love,” 

“what were you so stressed about, harry? you know i’d always be here with you,” you asked. he was still kneeling in front of you, as if praying for god to forgive him. 

“i—“ he looked like a fish opening and closing his mouth. how could he possibly say that your father didn’t approve of him when harry asked him if he could marry you? how could he possibly say that your dad never liked him? how could he possibly say that to you—who always thought that the most important opinion belonged to your father? it’s been more than a year since you started dating and he was pretty sure that he wanted to marry you someday. 

“you couldn’t even tell me. it’s okay, you know? but leaving me here, all alone, in a foreign city—i felt so lonely. i just—did i do anything wrong?” 

“no, baby. it was…something else. it’s something else that i’ve been trying to ignore and fix but i couldn’t fix it. no, i’m not cheating on you or anything,” he reassured before continuing, knowing that you were paranoid about boyfriends who were not loyal because all your exes seemed to cheat on you and then blame you for their own doing. “i’m just stressed and pressured. i don’t know how to make it right. please, please. please, forgive me. please don’t leave. i love you. i promise i’ll stay with you just—don’t leave me, please.” he begged. 

“i’m not leaving, harry.” you told him. you knew that he was paranoid about girlfriends who seemed to leave him after a minor inconvenience and you know that it wasn’t his fault, even though the media portrayed him to be this man who never seemed to last in a relationship. harry seemed to calm down at your words but he still couldn’t stop the apologies that spilled from his mouth. “look, i don’t know what it is you’re struggling with right now, love. but whatever it is, i’m sure everything would be okay, yeah?” you told him. he nodded at that. the sadness that worked its way up to you seemed to go away. tonight, your only mission was to make harry feel better. and even if you didn’t know what was bothering him, you had to make sure that he felt good. “how about i reheat the meal that we have and tomorrow, we could stay in?” you asked him. 

“i’ll do it. i’ve been a shit boyfriend to you. please, let me do it, love.” he mumbled. you nodded. he brought his face closer to yours and you were kissing. it felt so good—it’s been two weeks, anyway. the loneliness that you felt and the stress that he was under was gone. it was you and him and him and you. 

perhaps, christmas wasn’t as bad as it seemed to be at all. christmas just started a little late. 

[legobiwan]

TCW Recap: “The Gungan General” (S1, E11)

I HAVE A LOT TO SAY ABOUT THIS EPISODE AND 90% OF IT IS ABOUT OBI-WAN AND DOOKU. THIS IS GOING TO BE *LONG*, PEOPLE.

Hondo would disagree, I think.

Speaking of whom... Narrator guy: “...the brigand, Hondo Ohnaka.” This is great. Brigand. Hondo would love it. 

And now what might be one of the greatest scenes of denial/rationalization in all of Star Wars, and I’m including Obi-wan’s infamous equivocation when it came to telling Luke about his father:

These guys are a mess. 

Come ON, Kenobi. (And you, too, Anakin.) I mean, honestly. “wE WeRe DruGGed, OhhhBvIouSlY.” Please, we all saw you chug that pirate drink, Kenobes. At least Anakin actually only took a sip.

I feel like this incident was kind of formative for Anakin. This won’t be the first time this episode we see Anakin’s Sith incarnation quote Obi-wan.

But you know what the absolute best part about this entire scene is? Dooku has been watching this go down the entire time. I MEAN. First of all, how did they get Obi-wan and Anakin tethered to Dooku, who would probably have rather swallowed his lightsaber than be in the same room as Anakin. But then he sits there, watches the last of his Lineage passed out on a floor and denying anything had happened? AMAZING. 

CAN WE PLEASE NOTE the first thing Dooku says, the very first words out of his mouth are this:

The first thing Dooku does is praise Obi-wan for being smart. And he calls him “Master Kenobi.” I have always been fascinated by Dooku’s predilection for calling Obi-wan by his formal title, because he certainly doesn’t do the same for Anakin (who Dooku usually refers to as “Skywalker” or some other demeaning, generalized noun.) I think (I would need to check again), but I think Dooku only calls Obi-wan by his first name in AotC, when he’s trying to play shared love of Qui-gon card on Geonosis. Sometimes he’ll refer to him just as “Kenobi,” but very often, and usually when Dooku is saying something complimentary to him, Dooku will use that moniker. It’s fascinating. The way these two are framed - the blocking - this episode is also telling and I’m going to point it out, because I feel like the animators went out of their way to show Obi-wan and Dooku together, and that, at times, Obi-wan was deferring and conferring with Dooku as much as Anakin. Which...so. much. to. read. into. that.

Oh yeah, and Dooku’s wonderful meditation pose here. He was meditating. I love it! That pose will come back later in this review. 

Okay, so I’ve mentioned this before, but the way they are tethered. Dooku to Obi-wan to Anakin. In perfect lineage order, Obi-wan the linchpin between the two sides.

Bless Hondo and his mother. 

You know what I find funny? The turncoat pirate, whatever-his-name-was thinks it’s going to be so easy to pull one over on Hondo. Hondo, who somehow captured two of the most accomplished Jedi in the Order and a Sith Lord. Who knows what a Sith Lord is. Who knows what a lightsaber is (laser-sword.) Hondo plays dumb and fast-and-loose because he can. He expects his men to turn on him and knows he’ll deal with it. Smart man. His mother was smart, too. Also, he is hilarious I love Hondo so much. 

So Palpatine sent Jar Jar on this mission so it would fail, right? At least, that would be his reasoning. But! Jar Jar was super-competent this episode! (More on that later. I am part of the Jar Jar Defense Squad, I have to admit.)

Plus, Jar Jar’s antics just make me laugh. 

Here’s a question. Those binders our trio had. They’re Force-suppressing, at least a little bit, right? They have to be, otherwise, there’s no way Dooku would be wasting his time levitating a knife off a plate to jimmy the cell door.

Now, I love the whole exchange here: Dooku: “Do control your protégé’s insolence so I can concentrate.” Obi-wan: “Anakin!” Anakin: “What?” Obi-wan: “Control your insolence. The Count is concentrating.”

This is great for about five different reasons. One, Dooku always addresses Obi-wan and Obi-wan only, never Anakin, unless it’s a retort to something Anakin said. The term protégé is also funny. I don’t know, it’s just very Dooku language. Now, mind you, Dooku doesn’t know Obi-wan all that well. They met on Geonosis, Qui-gon may or may not have told stories about Dooku to Obi-wan (my guess is that Qui-gon didn’t, given their contentious relationship when Obi-wan was a Padawan). So this is really the first time Dooku is getting to learn just who Obi-wan is, and Obi-wan is responding with some first-class snark. And the two of them low-key snark each other the rest of the episode. There’s an almost-playfulness to the exchanges between Obi-wan and Dooku (as opposed to Anakin and Dooku who just want to rip each other’s throats out) and you have to wonder what is going through both their heads at this point.

Dooku: “Well done, if I do say so myself.” (you asshole, Dooku) Obi-wan: (snark)

Anakin out there having PTSD from being chained to a Sith Lord and watching his Master low-key banter with his Dark Side Grandmaster 30-something years later.

 Yikes, they killed off two pilots and a Senator in that crash?

Okay, the whole deal with “Do we know where we’re going?” Anakin absolutely cannot ask that question of Dooku because Dooku will tear him a new one. Obi-wan, however, not only can get away with it, but get some semblance of an answer out of Dooku. These two, I SWEAR.

I don’t know, this screencap just amused me.

Getting back to blocking. Check this out:

Anakin gets the keycard while Obi-wan listens to Dooku. This is telling and it happens more than once. 

Again with the blocking. Again with Obi-wan getting away with sassing the hell out of Dooku. Also, Dooku’s claim of “Of course it’s safe?” Did this man train Qui-gon Jinn, or what? Honestly.

“I don’t want to kill you, per se.” Oh, Hondo. “You seem like decent fellows, even you Count.” Interesting observation and Hondo’s not wrong - at this point, at least. Hondo is observant. He knows what a Sith can do. Dooku could do serious damage and he’s controlling himself here and Hondo, I think, notices. 

And then after Hondo leaves? Obi-wan addresses Dooku first.

hmmmmm

Interesting that they bury Senator Kharrus on Florrum and don’t try to bring the body back when they do make a deal of bringing back the bodies of slain Jedi to Coruscant. 

THIS PART

They way Dooku is in this shot, almost observing like he’s some kind of teacher. They way Dooku turns Obi-wan’s own words on him with the “most impressive” bit. Poor Anakin must really be confused as to what was going on there, because a) he wasn’t part of this subtle banter and b) Obi-wan is bantering with a Sith Lord who happens to be Obi-wan’s Grandmaster and there’s a lot more connection between those two than between Anakin and Dooku. 

Competent!JarJar!!!!

The framing, again. You know, in recounting this, it kind of strikes me how much this is an episode about Dooku and Obi-wan, with Anakin being kind of an afterthought. 

I have to talk about this little moment. When Dooku says he would kill them both if he didn’t have to drag their bodies. Look real closely at Dooku and Obi-wan here.

That little movement at the end. Dooku actually gives Obi-wan a little shove! Not to hurt him, but probably to get back at him for the way Obi-wan pushed him behind some crates by the shoulder earlier. These two are having a constant, very very subtle confrontation throughout this episode, each one answering the other in a mirror. And Anakin is just *super* confused. I mean, wow, are Dooku and Obi-wan a mirror of each other or what? 

FRAMING ALERT

And then this. Obi-wan saves Dooku. I’ve already gone on about this at length elsewhere but the symbolism of Dooku’s tether breaking, Obi-wan reaching out, the way they are inverted, the way it could be implied that either Obi-wan could pull Dooku up or drag Obi-wan down, that Anakin could destroy them all if he let go (what?!?), the gap between Obi-wan and Dooku where Qui-gon should have been. This is one of my favorite bits of subtle symbolism in the series. SO. GOOD.

Okay, this is the last bit we get with Dooku and Obi-wan interacting, so I should be wrapping this up soon, hahahaha. Things to note here. Dooku is always angled towards Obes, the body language says everything. Obi-wan is meditating in a position that mirrors Dooku’s from the opening, and Anakin is not. The entire rest of this scene you have to wonder if there’s some kind of Force communication going on between those two. And in the last screengrab, it almost looks like Dooku doesn’t want Obes to leave. They have a bizarre, twisted relationship and I. LOVE. IT. (plus, that was kind of a Dooku-ish line there, Kenobi.)

*adopts Hermione Granger voice* EXCUSE ME, DISNEY, IT’S BOMBAD clankens! Don’t be doing by boy Jar Jar wrong here.

You know that’s right. I am fully convinced Jar Jar didn’t actually slip when he took control of that tank. While Jar Jar is clumsy, he also uses that to his advantage sometimes. A little bit like Hondo plays the fool. 

I love the fact Hondo is just like, well, “I guess we have to torture them now.” It’s so random, hilarious, and over-the-top.

Oh, Hondo.

Ah, now that Obi-wan is gone Dooku can let loose and kill people. How much do you want to bet he was reigning in his impulses because Obi-wan was around and he still entertained the notion of getting Kenobi to his side? Because I think so. 

No more Kenobi = time to murder someone brutally.

It’s nice to see Dooku flying his own ship for once, instead of hailing the droid Uber. He’s not only a good swordfighter, but I imagine a pretty good pilot and fond of racing in his younger days, if I’m remembering Jedi Lost correctly. 

AND FINALLY. This is why Hondo loves Obi-wan. Ha! Yeah, we’ll let you go Hondo, but Dooku knows where you live. 

I love this man.

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

Ghost Kid Chapter Twenty-One: It Was an Accident

Mu still wasn’t quite at full strength yet and it had been a while since she’d last exerted herself and thus it wasn’t long before she collapsed to the forest floor onto her hands and knees, gasping for breath. That kind of thing didn’t happen in dreams. Meaning this was very real and thus that Hat Kid was indeed dead. She’d had to have died in the crash, especially considering how mad she’d been at Mu, saying Mu had killed her.

Mu hadn’t though. It wasn’t her fault. “It was… an accident,” she mumbled out loud to herself as she leaned back against a tree. “An accident.” She hadn’t intended for Hat Kid to get hurt at all, let alone that badly. So she couldn’t be held accountable for it.

Except… she’d caused the crash. If she hadn’t snuck aboard the ship or pushed Hat Kid into the command console the ship never would’ve crashed and Hat Kid would still be alive. So even though it was an accident it was still her fault. And to think she’d been mad at Hat Kid because she’d gotten ‘the better deal’ in the crash. It was the other way around though; Mu was the lucky one, extraordinarily luck. She’d survived and was doing okay now while Hat Kid was dead.

How was that even possible? It shouldn’t be. Enemy now or no Hat Kid had been Mu’s friend once upon a time. It had been a short friendship but she’d still been the first friend Mu had made since the Mafia had invaded and killed all her friends from before. And Mu’s actions had directly led to her death.

She let out a sob as she pressed her forehead to her knees. She should get back up and resume running because Hat Kid was going to find her soon if she didn’t. She wanted to kill Mu and was probably justified in that desire. Mu didn’t want to die though so she should move and get away but… she had trouble really caring right now. So she just sat there and cried instead because what else could she do?

[A short time later]

“This is starting to get really awkward.”

Mu flinched and scrambled back up to her feet. How could she have let her guard lapse enough to let someone sneak up on her? The world around her was suddenly grey and thick impenetrable fog made a wall around her and the being who’d spoken. He had no legs and wore what might once been fancy clothes. His head was misshapen and his eyes coloured strangely.

“Though I suppose that is my fault,” he continued. “I should add an auditory competent to my intro so that even those who are not paying attention to their surroundings may be made aware of my presence. Perhaps a choir, singing a creepy Latin melody about the moon of course. Or maybe distant howling of wolves singing to the moon, normally a pretty sound but in the right circumstances, it can be bone chilling too. Which do you think would be better?” He turned his gaze back to Mu.

Getting caught sobbing was the worst way to be caught but hell if Mu was going let that define this interaction even if her tears still stained her face. “How about you don’t be a pecking creepy bastard instead?”

“Hmm… no, I’ve tried it a few times, it’s not very fun. Before we head any further into this conversation though we should introduce ourselves. I am Moonjumper, I hail from the horizon.” He gave her a slight bow as if they were at a ball or something.

Mu instinctively glanced around, looking for possible escape routes. But assuming the fog wall wasn’t magically made solid, how far out did it extend? Because running through fog that thick in unfamiliar territory would undoubtedly lead to tripping and crashing into all sorts of things, possibly getting turned all the way around too. So escape probably wasn’t an option here. At least it wasn’t the infamous Snatcher though so… “I’m Mustache Girl, call me Mu. Now what do you want?” Getting snappy with whoever or whatever Moonjumper was might not be smart but she didn’t care.

“I would like to know why you were crying.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It has something to do with Hat Kid, correct? She seems to think you killed her. You mumbled about it being an accident though.” He’d been watching her. For how long though? “Which I’m sure it is for I can’t imagine any scenario where one child would willingly murder another.”

“I-it was. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I didn’t.” That didn’t make it any less her fault though now, did it? She wasn’t going to start crying about it again though even if part of her wanted to.

“Yes, that is often the way of things. Now may I inquire about what your goal in entering the forest is? You were clearly taken by surprise when Hat Kid jumped you so that must mean you didn’t come here to talk to her. Unless you did and her ghostly form is what surprised you.”

This guy had been watching her since even before Hat Kid had jumped her? So… like right when she entered for very close to it. … The forest really wasn’t her habitat, huh? She couldn’t wait to get back to the island where she knew every nook, cranny, alleyway, and shortcut; no one could sneak up on her or follow her there without her noticing.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I am curious and depending on what it is, I might be willing to assist you.”

“Why?”

“First, you’re a sad child, what heartless monster wouldn’t want to help a child they find alone in the words crying? Second and most importantly, you seem to be in opposition to Hat Kid who is aligned with Lukas who I happen to enjoy occasionally causing trouble for.”

“Who’s Lukas?” As far as Mu knew Hat Kid had never had a friend by that name, she’d have heard of it. Though it was possible the friendship had been made after her death.

“The former owner of the body I’m possessing. Which is actually why I like messing with him so much; he had some pretty bad self-esteem issues leading up to his death, it makes me inclined to dislike him. The feeling is mutual though; he doesn’t like me either despite everything I did for him.”

That didn’t answer Mu’s question. Though did it really matter anyway? He was offering her possible assistance with her goal. … Which was stealing the Time Pieces! With them she could undo the crash, make it so Hat Kid’s death never even happened!

“Why would I trust you?” she asked, not daring to get her hopes too high but she could use the help of a powerful being such as Moonjumper. The forest was big, the ship could’ve landed anywhere inside it, searching through it while Hat Kid hunted for her while also avoiding Snatcher wouldn’t be an easy task on her own.

“Because you’d be dead if I hadn’t shielded you from Lukas and Hat Kid. They passed by a while ago, looking to take your soul and eat it. So, would you like to come back to the horizon with me? Maybe we can reach a proper agreement and cause a bit of mayhem, huh?” He grinned at her.

Mu needed the Time Pieces more than ever so… “Okay. But if you try to rob me or anything else I’ll stuff all your organs into a jar.” She probably didn’t stand a chance against him but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let that stop her from threatening him.

“Ohoho, that sounds rather unpleasant even if I don’t really have organs. I shall endeavor to stay on your good side.”

Previous / Next

[ao3bronte]

Obey

0 | 1 | 2

Warnings: Characters are aged up but still drinking underage (legal drinking age is 18 in France). Wild parties, hypnosis and NSFW themes will ensue.

It's barely a few strokes past midnight, but between the Armin Van Buren thumping through the walls of the houseboat and the alcohol coursing through her veins, Marinette can't tell whether she's coming or going. It's unusual for her to actually let herself go, even if her intentions had been entirely pure before the night began; unlike her friends who partied regularly every weekend, Marinette rarely ventured further than her bedsheets on a Friday night in case of an akuma strike.

But tonight was different.

Luka had just scored a record deal with the same label that represented Jagged Stone and Juleka was hosting a celebration party in his honour on their houseboat. This was huge news, especially for her friend and former flame, and Marinette was thrilled to support him. She'd spearheaded the effort by bringing him a guitar shaped cake and caved when Mylène offered her a shot of caramel apple flavoured vodka during their celebratory toast. After all, if she could handle half a dozen kwamis leaching off her energy, certainly she could certainly handle a shot of alcohol without falling on her ass, right?

Famous last words.

While her friends had garnered a certain level of alcohol tolerance over the last few years of raging lycéen house parties, Marinette had always been the DD, the group Mom, the one who would call her friends an Uber and send them on their way with a bottle of water and a pat on the head. Building up an alcohol tolerance was hardly something Marinette even considered simply because drinking wasn't an option when she was a superhero and her friends accepted the fact that she didn't drink, especially since she was nearly a year behind them in age. It was normal, until Mylène offered her a toast and emboldened, she scarfed it down with nary a care in the world.

Choking and coughing as the fire water burned a trail down her throat, Marinette braced herself against the ship’s deck and grimaced while Alya thumped her on the back. She blinked the tears from her eyes and gasped for air as her friends eventually took pity on her, offering her a glass of water which she gladly gulped down to try and extinguish the burn. Why did anyone willingly drink this stuff? It hurt! 

“Trust me, you’ll understand why in a few minutes,” Alya assured her, taking the empty glass of water from her hands, “You just started off with the hard stuff. Hey Juleka, did you guys make any Jungle Juice?”

“Did I make any Jungle Juice...pfft,” Juleka parrots incredulously, rolling her eyes from behind her bangs, “Luka, grab the coolers from the galley!”

She felt a little more at ease by the time Juleka topped up her second helping of their infamous "Jungle Juice", a boozy, colourful concoction that no one really knew the recipe to. Usually, the Couffaines would charge a few Euros per person for access to the house drink but their friends hadn’t even blinked an eyelash when Juleka had given Marinette a stamp on her hand and a drink for free. This was their tiny, alcohol virgin Marinette after all; everyone knew that one red cup of Jungle Juice was all it would take before she passed out on Juleka's bed for the rest of the evening.

Except, one hour and a hundred new guests later, Marinette was still bouncing off the walls with the best of them.

The beat is addictive and Marinette moves her hips to the mesmerising tones, the rhythm of the bass pulsing in time with her heartbeat as she takes another sip of the mysterious purple concoction in her solo cup. She drops it low and whoops as Rose dances alongside her, their thighs grinding together as they giggle at the intimacy of it all. Is this what she'd been missing out on all this time as the sober sister? She felt so free! There was no responsibility here, no homework or crime fighting to keep her down. It felt strange, being herself like this without the looming sense of foreboding lingering over her head, as it often did, especially when she was alone at night. 

“This is awesome!” Marinette cries above the music, giddy as Rose takes her free hand and weaves their fingers together. Her body feels lighter than it has in years, but she still feels enough like herself to keep her wits about her; when Aurore had warned her about the creepy boy pressuring a girl from their grade to dance with him, Marinette had approached Juleka about it and he was thrown out of the party on his ass within minutes! Marinette could handle a little alcohol after all and she was puffed up and proud of herself for being able to keep her head above water, so to speak, even if she'd lost feeling in her fingers and cheeks long ago.

Closer to midnight, Adrien and Kagami strolled across the gangway and the whole party seemed to pause and soak in the moment, nearly bursting with joy at the sight of them. Adrien and Kagami were never allowed to come to their ragers and Alya confirms Marinette’s suspicions straight away as she walks over and outright asks them how the hell they managed to get away from their helicopter parents. Elated, Adrien waves his hands around as he describes how he snuck out of his bedroom window and met up with Kagami in some stranger’s back garden, the latter having snuck out the same way. Together, they hailed a cab over to the Couffaine houseboat, choosing cash over a traceable Uber, and Marinette admired their forethought; if only she were as clever and organised as Kagami and Adrien...maybe she would have already defeated Le Papillon long ago!

"Ooo! I love this song!" Rose cheers, dragging Marinette out of her thoughts and deeper into the throngs of dancing bodies grinding against each other to the beat of Sofi Tukker's latest hit. Distracted by the music, she feels far from claustrophobic; if anything, she loves the way the crowd hugs her body, the heat and the pressure and the sensations nudging her even further into a state of trance unlike any she's ever encountered before. Her heart and lungs tune themselves to the bass line of CamelPhat, the synthesized vocals of Martin Garrix, the wayback playbacks of Tiësto and Marinette's soul seems to dilate to the rhythm of pure, floor-thumping dance music, lost in a drunken flurry of an almost voyeuristic escapade set at 125 BPM.

She runs into Adrien eventually, and Kagami shortly thereafter. He's bought them both a stamp for the Jungle Juice and Kagami looks like she'd rather be drinking water out of the Seine.

"It's not great, I know," Marinette smiles, gently clinking her red cup against hers, "But it's kind of fun, right? Are you having fun?"

Kagami's expression softens, "Are you?"

"I think so," Marinette answers, and it's mostly the truth, "I've been kind of stressed out lately. I feel better now."

"I understand what you mean," Kagami brushes some confetti off Marinette's shoulder and lets her hand linger on the seam of her cardigan, "Santé?"

Kagami holds her drink aloft and Marinette giggles, returning the gesture, "Kanpai!"

~

It’s hard to tell what hour it is when the world is spinning around her ears but she stumbles upon Adrien, quite literally, some time later when she goes to refill her drink. He's chatting with Kim and Alix, the latter of which is trying very hard to keep her eyelids open as she teeters against Kim's side, determined as ever to keep up with him.

"Sorry!" Marinette cries out, feeling a little silly as she extricates herself from Adrien's arms. He managed to keep his Jungle Juice from cascading down her clothing, which is more that she can say for him. He doesn't seem to notice that she's spilled some of her own purple drink on his shoes and doesn't admit to anything as she straightens, red as a beetroot.

"It's alright," he replies, his eyes smiling as he holds on to her shoulders. She's glad for the grounding, considering the way the details of his face seems to blur in and out of vision, "How was last period today? Did I miss anything important?"

It takes Marinette a few moments for her to realise that he’s talking about school, “I don’t think so, really. But maybe…” she trails off, staring skyward at the cloud cover overhead, “Oh, I think M. Legars posted the rubric for our next assignment on Google Classroom?”

“About time,” Adrien’s lips quirk at the corner, “I was beginning to think we’d be going into midterms blind.”

Marinette shrugs, “I guess not.”

“I guess not,” he mirrors, offering her a smile, “This is a pretty awesome party. I’m glad I could sneak out and make it.”

“I’m glad you could too!” Marinette exclaims, her voice coming out a little louder than she intended it to. Her tongue doesn’t feel like it usually does and she sticks it out passed her lips to give it a stretch, much to Adrien’s amusement, “I mean, it’s just like...it’s good that you could come to support Luka!”

“He is a pretty awesome guy,” Adrien takes a sip of his drink and makes a face, “Ugh, this stuff is awful.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Marinette assures him, bumping his elbow with her own simply because she feels like it, “I’m on my second cup and I can hardly taste it anymore.”

“That’s...encouraging, I guess,” Adrien takes a bigger gulp and swallows it with a hiss and a shake, “Hey, I heard you brought Luka a cake earlier. Is there still any left?”

Marinette’s eyes light up, “Oh yeah! There’s still a little bit left I think, but we put it downstairs in the galley so it wouldn’t get all gross,” Marinette explains, her words coming easily to her now. Since Adrien had begun his relationship with Kagami over a year ago, things between them had become much more relaxed than she could have ever expected, “If you go down those stairs over there, the galley is the first door on your...right, I think.”

“Thanks Marinette!” Adrien grins, squeezing her shoulder gently, “I can’t wait to try it. Alya says it’s red velvet?”

“With blue and purple cream cheese frosting!” Marinette wriggles her body, his inhibitions long forgotten, “You’ll love it!”

He laughs, “Perfect, I’ll go get a slice for Kagami and I right now.”

“Okay!” she waves him off as he walks around her, leaving her all by herself on the deck. There are feelings swirling in her gut and try as she might, she can’t seem to pull her thoughts together and understand them. What was she even thinking about a moment earlier? She peers across the throng of partygoers and notices Kagami standing on the sidelines, nursing her red solo cup as Nino chats beside her about something or other. Marinette feels a little bad for her, but at least she’s been able to make a few friends at the party. Adrien is a natural social butterfly and she’s glad his affable and generous nature is helping Kagami come out of her shell.

Smiling, Marinette shrugs and turns back towards the party on deck, already half forgetting her conversation with Adrien in the first place.

She’s over near the captain’s bridge taking her chances at another shot of vodka with the girls when a crackle of thunder and a bolt of lightning careens across the sky. Her hairs stand on edge as Marinette glances upwards, frowning as another crackle of energy lances through the clouds like a spiderweb. She follows the bursts of light with her eyes until her suspicions are confirmed and the horrible realization sinks like a stone in her gut.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight,” Marinette murmurs, wincing as the light burns through her vision. She hears Alya pull her mobile out beside her and glances down at the weather app.

“It’s says it’s supposed to be clear,” Alya reads the temperature, then flicks the screen to the radar, “There’s something over Paris though.”

Mylène looks over Alya’s elbow, “That doesn’t look normal.”

“Nothing is normal in Paris,” Alya snorts, shoving her phone in her back pocket, “Hopefully it blows over soon.”

“Unless it’s an—”

Rushing up from the wind through the trees, the keening wail of the akuma alert sirens around Paris confirms it.

“AKUMA! GET DOWN!”

Another crackle of electric energy bends wildly across the sky and Marinette braces for the static that scrabbles at her ears and her hair, feathering fear up and down her spine.

“It is I, Mesmer!” a disembodied female voice cries from above their heads, the source still hidden within the clouds, “I will reveal your darkest desires to everyone, just like it was done to me!”

Marinette swallows and looks around for the nearest door.

“No longer will you be forced to keep your secrets inside! No longer will you have to hide what you truly are, what you truly long to be!”

The doors are shut. The way is blocked by panicking partygoers, all surging for the exits.

“Look at me!” the voice cries, and everyone’s neck jerks upwards unbidden, “You will heed the sound of my voice! Let me inside your minds! Let me see your souls, and set them free!”

Marinette tries, she really does, but the voice...it...she can’t...it’s…

“Hello Marinette,” the voice cooes like a balm of friendship whispered in her ears, “You have constructed a wall around your heart to keep it safe. You will feel much more comfortable if you tear that wall down tonight.”

Marinette nods in tandem with everyone around her, “Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to be with someone, to let them touch your skin and kiss your lips with reverence? Haven’t you ever wanted to be adored, doted on, appreciated for your beauty, your grace, your kindness? Haven’t you ever wanted to throw away your responsibilities and let your hair down for a little, free to kiss and be kissed by anyone you choose?”

She feels her stomach quiver with anticipation, “Yes.”

“Then I want you to tear away your inhibitions. I want you to be yourself and embrace the girl you truly want to be. I want you to find the object of your adoration and show them what it would mean to be your lover. I want you to find your friends and show them that you’re not the pushover they think you are.”

“I will.”

“You are the strongest mind I have encountered,” the voice commends, dripping like honey, “I like that. I want to reward you, celebrate you. I want to make you their Queen.”

“I will rule them.”

“Release your inhibitions. Stand free and proud of what you truly want to be.”

“I will be free.”

“That’s it,” she commands, her influence combing through Marinette’s hair like wisps of cloud, “What will you do first?”

Marinette tugs the ties from her hair and gasps, the sense of euphoria overwhelming.

“Do you like that feeling? Would you like more?”

She nods, tugging on her lip with her teeth as red hot pleasure oozes at the base of her spine. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before and she thrives on the way it makes her muscles loosen and tighten at the same time, completely in control.

“Show them. Show them the true Marinette. Show them the force of nature you can be.”

[kayincolwyn]

Whatever It Means To Be Human (Easter reflection, 4/12/2020)

As many others throughout the world have been pointing out over these last couple months, these are strange times that we're living in.

Back in December around Christmas I started getting sick, and in January I had to go to the ER for some kind of infection that was giving me a sore throat as well as a fever and headache, got a look over and a prescription for a week long course of penicillin which seemed to knock out the infection (and later got hit with a 1200 bill for that ER visit, because my insurance didn’t cover it, that I still need to pay back, which I was livid about when I first found out about it but now am trying to accept as best I can because I have bigger things to worry about). A couple weeks later I had a followup checkup (with a very sweet and very pretty nurse, so no complaints there) and I remember staff at the clinic being pretty jumpy about some virus over in China (now widely known around the world as the coronavirus, or Covid 19) that I honestly hadn't heard about before then, and they were asking me if I had traveled to China or had any interaction with anyone from there, and of course I said no, and I remember being kind of annoyed by their jumpiness at the time. Well, needless to say, now I can see why they were being so jumpy.

I've had some kind of bug or another off and on since then, like a lot of people do in the wintertime, but because of, well, 'everything that's going on' (a phrase I've been using and I've heard a lot of people using lately, like it's become some kind of collective cultural meme) I find myself worrying much more than usual about a little cough or stuffy nose or feeling a little under the weather. At first, like a lot of people, I thought this was no big deal, that it would be another of those diseases that infected a few people but would be quickly contained, and then when that didn't happen I thought, like a lot of younger folks, that I would be fine and just needed to worry about older folks that I care about, but now I know that I could potentially be taken out by this virus too, and even at the ripe old age of 37, so now I worry about myself as well as others, and I admit that, while I’m trying to be brave, part of me is scared.

Even with that worry and anxiety, and with the whole world changing so drastically in just a matter of weeks, I'm still working (with the realization that janitorial work has more value than perhaps I initially thought or felt) and still busing it to and from work and going to the grocery store as needed, while usually wearing my newly acquired neoprene half mask (with inserted filters provided by a friend) like armor, and while washing my bloody hands more than at any other time in my life, and while trying to boost my immunity as best I can with vitamins and supplements of various kinds. Strange times indeed.

I admit it's kind of odd to be considered an 'essential worker', to hear some even hailing people in my position as 'heroes on the frontline' or something like that, when for years I've felt that being a janitor was equal to being at the bottom of the totem pole, and over the years I have on occasion been made to feel less than by others because of my place on the totem pole (though to be fair I've also received my share of gratitude and kindness from others concerning my work as well, which I'm thankful for and appreciate). I mean, I don't really see myself as particularly heroic (I see doctors and nurses and other healthcare workers who are directly risking their lives in order to save others as far more heroic than myself, for example), but just as a guy trying to do his job in order to provide some service to others while also making a living, but I appreciate the validation nevertheless.

As an 'essential worker' (though even among 'essential workers' I still feel like I'm at the bottom or at least near the bottom of the totem pole), I just want to say that I feel that we all have a part to play in this world, that we all have something that we can contribute to the world, even if it may not seem like much.

Like I have seen some people online ragging on celebrities for trying to entertain others from the safety and comfort of their homes (with many of them being out of work at the moment for obvious reasons) but I would say that trying to entertain or encourage others in whatever way you can, even from a distance, can be meaningful and has its place, because we could all use a little entertainment and encouragement sometimes. I mean, for example, people out there can rag on Gal Gadot for trying to sing Imagine with a bunch of other celebrities who may or may not have any musical talent or ability in some online video, but even as cheesy and cringe-inducing as that may be, I still loved her as Wonder Woman (and through that role she has inspired many people, including many young women and girls) and I appreciate her desire, as well as the desire of everyone in that video, to uplift others in some way. Heck, even just trying to stay home as much as possible, trying to keep your distance from others, trying to be mindful of others, as she and many other celebrities as well as everyday people have been and are doing, in this time can be meaningful and shouldn't be completely discounted.

And to me it's not about being 'essential' or not, or 'heroic' or not, it's just about being human, and doing what you can to be a decent human in whatever way you can.

Of course being human is hard, as every human, no matter who they are or where they are, gets their share of suffering and sorrow in some way or another or at some time or another in their lives (though to be fair some certainly do seem to get a bigger share than others, and some comparatively less), and being a decent human is even harder, as it's often a challenge to do some good or do the right thing with all your faults and flaws and with all your limitations and shortcomings, and then going above and beyond that and being someone that most others would think of as a 'saint', well, that seems nigh impossible.

And what does it mean to be human anyway?

I guess that brings me to something that's been on my mind, and is on my mind more now what with it being Easter and having Jesus on the brain a little more than usual (hey, you can take the boy out of the Christianity but you can't take the Christianity out of the boy).

In times like this where the world is shaken up and we're in a semi-apocalyptic state of mind, where our mortality not just individually but collectively is more in question than usual, the question of what it means to be human looms large for many of us, along with those often asked questions about where we come from, why we're here, where we're going... you know, the usual fare.

Lately I've been reading some books by former evangelical Christians, including Unfollowed by Megan Phelps-Roper, granddaughter of Fred Phelps, founder of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church, as well as books by Frank Schaeffer, son of Francis Schaeffer, an influential evangelical thinker and theologian.

Being a former evangelical Christian myself who is trying to find his way after questioning and deconstructing and for the most part walking away from that way of seeing and operating in the world, I can resonate with much of what they have to say and share, like the pain and loneliness there is in walking away from a community that you can no longer agree with to try and find your own path, or how with freedom to think for yourself comes an uncertainty that you have to get used to because now it's on you to decide what you will believe and where you will stand rather than just following what others have taught you or told you, or the mixed feelings about who you were and where you were when it wasn't all bad and it's part of who you are today and even while you don't want to, and really can't, go back, you're still grateful for it somehow.

And in their books they both wrestle with what it means to be human, what it means to be a good person, with the value of life and the value of love, because those questions and concerns still matter to them whether God or some higher power exists or not, just as they still matter to me on some level.

I've also been thinking a bit about Fred Rogers, better known to the world as Mister Rogers, the widely beloved children's TV host, after watching the recent film which stars Tom Hanks as Rogers, A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood, as well as the documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor?, and listening to a podcast about him called Finding Fred.

My late friend Erin McCarty was a big fan of Fred Rogers (I even sent her this Mister Rogers t-shirt that I found at a thrift store which she wore proudly in some of her photos on Facebook) whom she saw as a real saint, and she was far from being alone in thinking of him as one. Fred Rogers was one of those people who seemed to go above and beyond just being a decent human, as he was by all accounts a highly exceptional human, who, while having his share of quirks and eccentricities, more than most dedicated his life every waking hour to pursuing the good and showing love to others (and most especially children, whom he could be thought to be the patron saint of if he were canonized as a saint I should think) and even in such a way that no one with a sound mind and clear conscience could find any fault in him.

Those closest to him knew that he at times struggled with feeling inadequate, with feeling as though he wasn't really making a difference in the world, like what he was doing wasn't enough, but even so he continued to move forward, continued to try, an artist whose art-form was kindness and empathy (or as that podcast Finding Fred put it ‘a genius at empathy’).

I remember I was talking with a friend of mine about Fred Rogers the other day and he said that he thought if there was anyone who could perhaps have been the second coming of Christ it was Rogers, and while some might think that sentiment a little sacrilegious, I think it's a testament to the respect many people have for the man's character. People may on occasion playfully mock Mister Rogers for some of his mannerisms, for the way he talked or dressed or otherwise expressed himself (though of course much of that was for the sake of the children he was communicating with), but if you were to ask anyone with any sense at all they would admit that he was, if nothing else, a good man.

I guess the same could be said of Jesus, whose teachings about life and love Fred Rogers, being a Presbyterian minister who took his faith seriously (even if he was kind enough and wise enough not to push it on others as many religious folks tend to do unfortunately), sought to follow and apply to his own life as best he could. Many have parodied Jesus in one way or another over the years (in fact the next book I'll be reading just in time for Easter is Lamb: The Gospel According To Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, which I look forward to reading as it sounds like fun) but most would agree that he was, if nothing else, a good man. Even the beloved comedy group Monty Python, most of whom were agnostic or atheist, after studying the gospels in preparation for what would eventually become their classic comedy Life Of Brian, decided against making a film where they mocked Jesus but instead made a film that mocked the church that often failed to follow his example. Instead of focusing on Jesus in the film they decided to focus on a guy named Brian who was mistaken for Jesus, following him on all of his adventures (or misadventures), while occasionally showing the real Jesus respectfully somewhere in the background (much as was done in the film Ben Hur). They said their reason for doing this was that they couldn't help but appreciate much of what Jesus said and did in the gospels, or as they said in their decidedly British way 'you can't take the piss out of it'.

As Frank Schaeffer points out in his book Why I Am An Atheist Who Believes In God (which I thought was a pretty clever title, and one I can kind of resonate with as I’m somewhere in the middle like that myself), some things that Jesus says and does in the gospels, or at least is recorded as saying and doing, don't really make sense or seem inconsistent with the general thread of kindness and empathy that can be seen in Christ's teachings, and having read the gospels at least a couple of times myself (or at least a couple of their English translations anyway, where no doubt much gets lost in translation), I would agree. He wonders if maybe some things were taken out or added in, if the writers sometimes spun some things to bolster their own point of view (which humans tend to do unfortunately), or if some things were simply a result of 'the telephone game' as it were (with most of the gospels probably being written decades after the events that they chronicle took place so that's not really out of the realm of possibility), and he may be right (as much as many Christians out there, especially the more fundamentalist among them, who may believe that scripture is infallible and inerrant, would hate to admit it).

But whatever the case may be, there is still enough of that thread of kindness and empathy in Jesus' story and message that countless people have been inspired by it through the centuries since he was said to have lived and died (and at least according to the Easter story, risen from the dead), including people like Fred Rogers, and also including people like Megan Phelps-Roper and Frank Schaeffer or myself, who even though they no longer identify as Christian still see some value in Jesus’ example and teachings, or at least as they now interpret them.

Many still seek to follow that example and apply those teachings today, including in these very strange, and very difficult, times, trying to walk a path of kindness and empathy when the world seems to be falling apart. I can't really say for sure how much I'm doing that myself, walking that path, with all of my faults and flaws and limitations and shortcomings, but I would like to think or hope that I manage to do a little good each day and get things right at least on occasion.

The truth is though that many of us, including me, feel as though we don't measure up to the standard that someone like Jesus sets (or at least appears to set when you read about the kind of life he led), or even to the standard of someone like Fred Rogers. It just seems nigh impossible to meet that kind of standard. I mean I can't really speak for everyone who struggles with this, but I know that I have often struggled with wondering if I'm good enough, have debated whether I'm making a difference in the world, and have had doubts about whether I am even a decent human, let alone a saint. I feel like I fail or fall short in some way or another every day, feel like I don't care enough, don’t give enough, don't live big enough or love deep enough. Maybe some of my family and friends who see more in me than I see in myself might argue with me on this, but it's still how I feel sometimes, or even much of the time, and is a daily internal struggle for me.

But hearing about Fred Rogers, who some half jokingly (but also half seriously) would call the closest thing to a second coming of Christ that they can think of, having similar struggles gives me some perspective and comfort though, and it makes me wonder if even Jesus himself had such struggles, even if they may not have be written about, even if they were only written in his own heart, as blasphemous as the thought of someone whom many claim and believe to have been the Son of God, or even God in human form, actually struggling with feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt may be, but blasphemous or not that thought gives me a strange kind of comfort.

I remember in reading the gospels one of the parts of Jesus' story that resonated most with me was him wrestling in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was arrested. Just imagining him being scared and uncertain and agonizing in the dirt and just being, well, more human like me, because I've been there too, is somehow encouraging, because if that's God, or a representative of God, or even just a very good man, maybe it's okay for me to be scared and uncertain and to agonize in the dirt too, because maybe I'm not alone in that.

One of the things that Fred Rogers is famous for saying is 'I like you just the way you are'. In the podcast Finding Fred, the podcast host, who greatly admires Fred Rogers, sometimes expressed struggling with that idea, being a black man who has experienced a lot of racism, and also being someone who has been mistreated in a lot of ways by others throughout his life, he wondered how he could like someone just as they were when, well, there was so much wrong with some people out there. One of his guests on the show, another admirer of Fred Rogers, suggested that what Rogers meant by 'I like you just the way you are' wasn't that everyone was perfect in every way, nor that everyone's words or actions or choices should be condoned, let alone praised, or that people didn't need to learn or grow in different ways, but rather that underneath all the dirt and the muck of our imperfection, our imperfect words and actions and choices, and no matter how deeply buried, there is something of value, something of worth, some spark of the divine in us, which can never be completely destroyed, and no matter how much others, or even we ourselves, may try to.

Of course, much like the host of the podcast, many of us struggle with seeing that that is true of those whom many of us would call 'monsters', the murderers and abusers and tyrants of this world, the worst of the worst if you will, but then it appears that Rogers was able to look at people even like that and see something of value and worth in them, seeing something of beauty beneath all of the ugliness, or at least the potential for it anyway.

I think of another man that many could think of as a saint, named Daryl Davis, who is a black man that has made it his mission to try to befriend members of hate groups, including members of the KKK, not in a concerted effort to convert them to his way of seeing things necessarily but simply to give them something to think about through their just knowing him. He has helped many to walk away from the KKK and other such groups simply by extending the hand of friendship to them, and he challenges others to try to break down divides by seeing the humanity in others, including those who are different from us, or even those who hurt us or frighten us.

I also think of Fred Phelps, who was the founder of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church, and who has become an icon of religious hate to many, and what his granddaughter Megan wrote about him in her memoir Unfollowed, how even though to most people he was a terrible human being, even a monster, to her he was her 'Gramps', whom she loved dearly even if looking back she knows that he got a lot of things wrong, and she spoke of how towards the end of his life when he was falling into dementia that he softened considerably, and even to the point that his own church effectively excommunicated him and abandoned him in a retirement home, where Megan and her younger sister Grace, who had recently left the church (and at great personal sacrifice to themselves), snuck in without permission from their family to see him one last time, and Megan says he was mostly lucid at that time, and instead of reproaching them for having left the church he only expressed his love for them in the end. It seems that at the end of his life Fred Phelps didn't cling to his dogma and hate so much as his relationships and love, which is encouraging.

Fred Rogers (the other Fred if you will), whom Fred Phelps himself often mocked as 'a wuss and an enabler of wusses' among other things, even going so far as to protest at his funeral, would have been proud I think that Phelps had come so far at the end, and I am sure he would have said to him 'I like you just the way you are' and I think the humanity buried even in someone like Phelps was what Rogers was pointing to by saying that to everyone he encountered.

Frank Schaeffer spoke of his mother, Edith Schaeffer, in his book Sex, Mom, and God, in much the same way, even going so far as to say that even being straitjacketed by the limitations of her religion and its dogma she was a force of nature and he could see her humanity shine through throughout her life, especially towards the end when, as Fred Phelps did, she softened, and said that ultimately she was better than her beliefs, or that something in her, her humanity, rose above that.

And maybe that humanity, or that divine spark, or whatever you want to call it, was also what Jesus was pointing to and trying to call out, and whether that be in the everyman on the street, or in the seemingly irreparably damaged people that you may find in prisons (or even sometimes in governments) or even among the religious who can get so mired in their ideology and self-righteousness as to forget that spark within them or in others.

It may seem nigh impossible, if not flatly impossible, to live up the standard of what many of us think of as saviors or saints, but I think of a scene in A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood where Roger's wife Joanne says that 'Rodg' (as she affectionately called him) wouldn't want people to think of him as a saint, as he believed that anyone and everyone could walk the path that he walked, or at least tried to walk, and in their own special way.

I also think of how Jesus said to his disciples that they would do even greater things than him, which when you think of the kind of example that someone like Jesus set, namely one where you are willing to die for what you believe in and stand for, that seems like a pretty tall order, but it makes me wonder if, as controversial as this may be and contrary to popular and widespread religious opinion that has been built up around him for centuries, maybe Jesus wouldn't want us to think of him as a savior anymore than Fred Rogers would want us to think of him as a saint, because maybe instead of putting them up on pedestals we're meant to try and follow their example as best we can.

I remember one of the guests in the Finding Fred podcast saying that maybe instead of just looking back on Rogers and his example with admiration and nostalgia, we could also try to be like Fred Rogers ourselves, much as those who seek to follow the way of Jesus (which Rogers himself was trying to follow) instead of just looking back can try to be like him as much as they are able, and in their own special way.

With it being Easter today as I post this, I honestly don't know whether or not Jesus rose from the dead, heck I am not even one hundred percent sure if he even existed (as there are those who argue that he didn't, even if most historians would agree that he did, though most of them think that most of what was written about him was just fanciful legend that was built up around him, which may or may not be the case, because none of us can really know for sure on that since we weren't there, and unless we invent time travel or something it will continue to be a matter of faith, and faith alone), but then I am willing to keep something of an open mind about it, and even with where I am now I can still understand why many look to Jesus as a symbol of hope and the love of God, and why people see something meaningful in the story of his life, death, and resurrection because even if it may not be literally true (and again on that front it is a matter of faith), that doesn’t mean it isn’t mythically true. Whatever the case, I believe that his example and message of kindness and empathy lives on (even if one has to dig through a number of inconsistencies and mistranslations to find it), much as Fred Rogers’ similar example and message lives on.

And I guess this brings me back to 'everything that's going on', and the question of what it means to be human.

One of the things that a lot of people have been saying through this crisis that all of us in the world are facing is that 'we're all in this together' and I think it's safe to say that there's nothing quite like a pandemic to remind us of how much we value our relationships when we are having to keep our distance from others, including those we love, for our good and theirs, and when we are fearing for not only our own health and our own life but also for the health and lives of others.

I recently watched the film Contagion, which came out about ten years ago, and many are seeing it as eerily prophetic as much of the film parallels what is happening now, but one of the underlying messages of that film, as one of my favorite Youtubers, Like Stories Of Old, pointed out, is how much our relationships matter, how much those connections that can so easily be taken for granted matter, when we are faced with existential threats such as the one we seem to be faced with now. More likely than not, as in Contagion, this pandemic, as bad as it may get, will not be the end the world, but it is certainly shaking it up and it appears it will continue to do so for awhile, and in the midst of that all we have for sure is eachother, even if we can only be there for one another mostly at a distance and in spirit.

In A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood there was a moving scene where Rogers says concerning death and how difficult it is to talk about it that 'anything that is mentionable is manageable', and I think the same applies to the situation we are in now, we can face this and face it together, because we're not alone in this mess, not alone in the dirt, even as lonely as it may feel at times.

Our situation is also a reminder (and is another theme in Contagion) of how connected we all are, especially in this globalized world that we now live in. A friend of mine here on Tumblr was telling me in a recent message how this whole situation shows how interconnected we all are, and how every choice we make can impact those around us and can have a domino effect, even having effects, whether positive or negative, that we aren't even aware of.

What he said reminds me of this passage from the classic children's book Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, which I finished reading for the first time just a couple days ago, where there is this exchange between the book's chief protagonist Milo, accompanied by his loyal companions Tock and Humbug, and the princesses Rhyme and Reason:

“It has been a long trip,” said Milo, climbing onto the couch where the princesses sat; “but we would have been here much sooner if I hadn’t made so many mistakes. I’m afraid it’s all my fault.” “You must never feel badly about making mistakes,” explained Reason quietly, “as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons.” “But there’s so much to learn,” he said, with a thoughtful frown. “Yes, that’s true,” admitted Rhyme; “but it’s not just learning things that’s important. It’s learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn things at all that matters.” “That’s just what I mean,” explained Milo as Tock and the exhausted bug drifted quietly off to sleep. “Many of the things I’m supposed to know seem so useless that I can’t see the purpose in learning them at all.” “You may not see it now,” said the Princess of Pure Reason, looking knowingly at Milo’s puzzled face, “but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way. Why, when a housefly flaps his wings, a breeze goes round the world; when a speck of dust falls to the ground, the entire planet weighs a little more; and when you stamp your foot, the earth moves slightly off its course. Whenever you laugh, gladness spreads like the ripples in a pond; and whenever you’re sad, no one anywhere can be really happy. And it’s much the same thing with knowledge, for whenever you learn something new, the whole world becomes that much richer.” “And remember, also,” added the Princess of Sweet Rhyme, “that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach. But someday you’ll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow.”

While I think the main themes of The Phantom Tollbooth are the value of education as well as how you see and experience the world around you, I think this passage could also be applied to how we learn how to live and love, and how you follow a path of kindness and empathy.

It's a process to be sure, and we will all make mistakes along the way, but as Reason says, we can learn more from being wrong for the right reasons than being right for the wrong ones, and trying to apply what we've learned as best we can and holding onto our reasons for doing so is just as important as what we learn. And there's a purpose to it, to living and loving as best we can, and it can impact the world around us, it can be like a ripple in a pond that spreads out in ways we can't know or even imagine, and who knows, maybe it will take us to places that we couldn't have even dreamed of...

Maybe that's something to try remember whenever we get discouraged (and I know I do plenty, as I’m sure most of us do), much like Fred Rogers did, and perhaps even Jesus did, and when wondering whether or not we have cared enough or given enough or lived enough or loved enough, that even seemingly little things can have a great impact and can actually make a real difference in the world.

In Fred Rogers' last television appearance after 9/11 he spoke of how his mother said in times of crisis that you should "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” I remember in the Finding Fred podcast they pointed out how in that message he was speaking to the children who are now grown ups themselves, the ones who had watched his program as they were growing up, and he was pointing to their own humanity, to that divine spark within them, and calling them to become those helpers themselves.

Even in that instance Rogers struggled, as he was so shaken by the enormity of the events of 9/11 that he felt that nothing he said could really help, and yet many, including myself at the time, even not being as familiar with Fred Rogers then as I am now, as I hadn't really watched his show growing up myself (I was more of a TMNT and Transformers kind of kid back in the 80s), were encouraged by what he had to say, and it made an impact, it made a difference. It helped.

And we can help too in our own way, and even if we too may feel shaken up by the events of our own time, these strange times that we're living in, we too can make an impact and a difference, we can help in some way, and however small and inconsequential what we may have to offer may feel, and whether it may feel decent or good or 'essential' or 'heroic' enough or not, we can help, and even if we may not know that we are helping.

As far as the answers to some of those big questions, like where we come from, why we're here, and where we're going, honestly I'm not sure what the answers may be, I mean I have some guesses, but I don't know with absolute certainty (and I'm having to learn to live without that anyway, even as I try to look forward with some hope and look back with some gratitude), but whatever it means to be human, I think it may have something to do with doing what you need to do even when you're worried and scared, with trying as much as you can to lift up others when they're down or maybe even when you're down, with the value of life and of love, with not being alone in the dirt, with seeing some measure of value and worth in jaded and cynical adults as much as you may see it in children, with extending the hand of friendship, and maybe even to those that are different from you, or looking for the humanity even in those that hurt and frighten you, with somehow loving those that others may only see as irredeemable monsters, with seeing the light in someone even if they are held back by things that limit and hem them in, with not insisting that others put us up on pedestals whenever we do some good or get something right but that they try to do the same themselves as best they can just as we are trying to do, with learning and growing in every way we can, with facing difficult times together, with trying to encourage and support and help one another, and even as imperfect as we may be and are. Maybe it has something to do with all of that.

I hope that we'll get through these strange times, that we'll not only survive them but that this may also push us to change some things for the better, that this will push us forward somehow, through death towards resurrection, that this will remind us of our humanity, that spark within us, and while I don't really know why we are in these strange times, or why 'everything that's going on' is going on, really I do hope that in the end it will move us a little closer to finding out, both for ourselves and for eachother, what it means to be human.

[nomanwalksalone]

ALTERNATIVE STYLE ICON:  THE BOURGEOIS REVOLUTIONARY

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Today’s Alternative Style Icon hails from Romantic painter Eugène Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People: The Bourgeois Revolutionary. What can he teach us?

To answer that, we have to consider what he was fighting for. What inspired him to take up a rifle that (as an art critic in The Guardian pointed out) he seems to barely know how to hold? The easy answer is the liberty, equality and fraternity that the French flag, prominently flown here, has come to symbolize, thanks in part to this painting.

Liberty seems like the most accessible element of this painting, personified as she is by an amply-proportioned woman with her breasts fearlessly hanging out. Of course, that’s not just to titillate Isle, but because liberty nourishes the people.  She holds the tricolor standard of the French Revolution above the smoke and chaos, and wears on her head the Phrygian cap of revolution. In fact, Madame Liberty as depicted here has come to symbolize France itself, as Marianne, persona of the Republic.  In modern times her avatar has shifted regularly from beautiful woman to beautiful woman, from Catherine Deneuve to Inès de la Fressange to onetime tax exile Laetitia Casta. So the Bourgeois Revolutionary has taken up arms to both follow a woman (quite liberated, this, for the times) and to defend her, as Liberty and as the personification of republican, rather than monarchical, France.

Which leads us to equality: While the painting’s bloody, smoky and chaotic, it does not depict the events of the original French Revolution that began in 1789. The revolution that English critics accused of leveling down, including through the descent of a guillotine’s blade. Instead, it shows the climax of a four-day, relatively bloodless uprising in 1830, the so-called July Revolution provoked not by bread riots and a shortsighted revolt of the nobility (as was the case with the 1789 revolution), but by a monarch’s steady rollback of the rights of and promises to the people enshrined in the constitution. (A constitution created at the restoration of the very monarchy overthrown in the 1789 revolution.) These began with increases to the amounts payable to the nobles who had had their properties confiscated during the original revolution (in other words, a promotion of the extreme inequality that had led to revolution in the first place), to censorship, and then to the king’s attempts to change the constitution by decree. The Bourgeois, then, may be out on the streets to protect the instrument that had given him his rights, that had even lain the path for a prosperous middle class.

But look (at long last) at his clothes! He isn’t just natty because he has a cause and a stake in society worth dying for. He wears a knotted cravat, a redingote (the French misappropriation of the English word “riding coat”, and used instead for a version of the frock coat), a top hat, and trousers. Trousers! This is a modern man! Before the original French revolution, nobles and the prosperous wore breeches instead, so infamously that the trouser-wearing working class who overthrew them were known by their choice of legwear, as the sans-culottes (literally, “without breeches”). A top hat! If he is among equals, then surely he is primus inter pares, first among equals. In fact, he is part of an unlikely internationale, that of a spreading democratization of elegant men’s dress.  Beau Brummell, by now in syphilitic decline in Caën, has triumphed! He leveled English royal fashions with his commoner’s countrified touch, to garments like those of our Bourgeois Revolutionary friend, clothes that derived from more casual clothing, clothes of plain woven cloth that required cut rather than the draped resplendence of ornately patterned luxury fabrics like silk brocades. Even the French bourgeoisie have adopted this levelling Britishism by now! Equality among gentlemen shall eventually become a question of umbrellas.

Is Bourgeois Revolutionary equal among his peers on the barricades? For this is where he has chosen to station himself, on a heap of cobblestones pulled up from the Paris streets, making his stand alongside other archetypes: an artisan in apron holding a sabre; a student wearing the special bicorn hat of Napoleon’s Ecole Polytechnique, a street kid with a gun in each hand. Marianne has brought them together.  In the cause, they find fraternity. A fight for a better world? They’ll settle for the return of the rights they were defending. Even though well placed in society, Bourgeois Revolutionary knows that after oppressing the least powerful and least popular, the forces of government could come for him.

In fact, the July Revolution led to only modest changes, among them the installation of a new citizen-King (le Roi bourgeois) who paid more attention to his constitutional limits and dressed like a commoner, like Bourgeois Revolutionary in fact.

Even though some historians have theorized that Delacroix painted himself into this picture as Bourgeois Revolutionary, it’s known Delacroix himself did not participate in the July Revolution itself.  Apparently he risked losing the royal commissions he depended on. However, he wrote that “If I cannot fight for my country, I paint for it.” Each of us should do what we can, coming dressed as we are for the occasion.

[hphmbang2020]

A Snadger Story

Merry Christmas, @slytherincursebreaker !!

From your secret santa, @thewasp1995

Elia you know that hearts never lie

A scribbling of a quill scratched the line out.

“No that’s not it.”

Elia, where the mind rests the heart never sleeps

Were I never to wake to see you, tears I would weep

Another scribbling of the quill.

“Damn. Why can’t I find the right lines to this?” muttered a boy of average height with severe but handsome features and neatly combed brown hair.

Making sure no one else was listening in (the Slytherin dungeons were not very well lit and contained plenty of snoops) Felix dipped the quill back into the ink and attempted to resume his little project once more. But this wasn’t just another monotonous essay from Professor Snape….it was far more personal.

Felix Rosier had to resist blushing when he thought of Elia Westerling. A beautiful, vivacious Hufflepuff girl who hailed from Essex. The House of the Badger was often written off as uninspiring or even useless by some critics from other houses, but this particular Hufflepuff was someone he would never soon forget. Slim, curvy, with raven hair and hazel eyes, Elia had a personality to match- confident and self-assured but also playful and a tad mischievous which made her any boy’s match if they tried hitting on her. Felix had never tried himself, but by Merlin he wanted to and rather than embarrass himself with a cheesy pickup line, perhaps a poem would be able to better catch her attention.

Then there was the matter of her family- she was of mostly French and Turkish descent though she was English on her mother’s side, the fact was wizarding blood only went back two generations- two of her grandparents had been muggles. This made it that much harder to confess his feelings, his parents would certainly frown. He could already hear his older cousin, Evan admonishing him.

Intermarriage dilutes the magical blood, Felix. Even talking to one of those wretched creatures is an affront to everything we stand for.

Even with all this in mind, Felix had long decided not to pay much attention to his family’s pure blood prejudices. Elia was a witch that was indisputable, and a damn good one. He wasn’t going to let something so trivial get in the way of at least taking a shot. Besides, Evan had held onto that ideology with an iron fist and look where he ended up? Buried six feet under, killed by Mad-Eye Moody himself.

No, he wouldn’t let remnants of the Dark Lord’s memory bully him into deciding what he wanted, and that was Elia. The bigger question remained, however: how would he give her this poem?

“Alright, let me see…”

“Whatcha doin?”

The sound of a young girl’s voice made him jump almost ten feet in the air, spilling ink all over the desk.

“Merlin’s beard, Allison! Where do you get off sneaking up on people like that?”

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged. “I was just bored and wanted to see what you were up to.”

Felix sighed. Allison Garrison had been nothing but a pain in his arse from the day she had arrived at Hogwarts. It was his first year being a prefect but the last he expected was for them to be so…blunt, or at least that was the case with Allison. She constantly talked back, caused mischief, and lost more house points from Professor Snape in one month than any other Slytherin in an entire year. His memory of his own time at age eleven was somewhat hazy but he was also quite certain that he had been able to keep his mouth shut for the most part.

This first year held no such ability.

“It’s just homework I have to do. Nothing that need concern you, Garrison.”

“It doesn’t look like homework.”

Good heavens, this girl just won’t let up.

“And how can you tell?”

“You keep crossing things out. Over and over again. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take you that long to write a sentence for a Potions essay. And you’re mumbling constantly.”

Despite the negative attributes he associated with the first year Slytherin girl, Felix had to admit she could be quite clever and extraordinarily perceptive for someone her age. It was impressive and at times such as these, annoying.

“Whatever I’m doing, it’s still none of your business, Garrison. Now go.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Hufflepuff girl you’re always staring at-”

Felix cut her off with a temporary silence charm before lifting it.

“Must you always be a problem?”

“How’s it my problem you can’t tell a girl that you like her?” Allison responded sarcastically with a hint of a smirk. “Oh, I can picture it now. A snake and a badger together in never ending love. A snadger! Yeah, that’s what I’ll call it. Snadger!”

“Garrison, unless you want detention, I suggest you take your prattling somewhere else.”

That threat seemed to finally work as she had served a few already and would not enjoy another session pickling toad guts with Professor Snape. Nevertheless, she continued to taunt him as she left the room skipping and singing, “Snadger, Snadger, Snadger” all the way out of the common room.

“The little first year is going to give me an aneurysm someday,” Felix muttered to himself, attempting to return to his poem. With any luck, he could finish it before dinner and give it to Elia then.

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

Felix ran a hand through his hair as he entered the Great Hall, all abuzz with activity as it usually was. He knew Elia liked it that way, but he didn’t want to make it seem like he had done it on purpose. Better to be casually aloof and spontaneous than give away it was all part of a calculated plan.

Making his way over to the Hufflepuff table, he received some confused even hard stares from some of them. It was no secret that Slytherin was the least liked among the four houses and while the puffs were not quite as hostile as the Gryffindors, there was a clear stark contrast between ideologies: hard work versus ambition, fair play versus cunning, honesty versus doing whatever it took to win regardless of moral implications. Thankfully, Elia did not share such sentiments- they had been friends since first year after all, but trying to confess your feelings to girl was still nerve racking all the same.

He tried to calm himself, taking a deep breath through his nostrils.

Just ask for a moment of her time, which she’ll give you. Read her the poem, ask her to Hogsmeade and it’s over. Easy right?

Before he could debate further in his head, an odd sight made him stop in his tracks. A first year Slytherin girl that looked painfully familiar was already chatting away to Elia of all people. Feeling his stomach drop three feet, Felix rushed over as quickly as he could.

“Of all things…what on earth is she doing talking to Elia?” he muttered.

When he reached the scene, the horror reached new levels.

“Oh, hello, Felix,” Elia said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I was just talking to one of your first years. She’s quite interesting you might say.”

“Interesting how?” Felix asked trying to keep his tone as light as possible.

“Oh, I told her everything,” Allison boasted but with a dangerous twinkle in her eye. “I told her you’re my prefect of course, how you keep trying to get me to stay out of trouble, the incident with Devil’s Snare, Merula, even giving me detention. She told me that you guys have been friends for over five years now.”

“That is true,” he replied tersely. Elia seemed like she was trying not to laugh but this was not unfolding the way he wanted it to. The mischievous look on Garrison’s face only spelled further trouble.

“So why haven’t you told her, yet? You know? About the po-mmhmhmmmff”

It was then that Felix’s patience ran out as he covered Allison’s mouth with his hand and spun her away from the Hufflepuff table.

“Very nice to see you, Elia,” he said forcing a smile that was more like a grimace. “But I do believe we must be going.”

He began leading Allison away but the Hufflepuff girl stopped him.

“Felix, it’s okay, let her go. I’d like to speak with you in private.”

Such a calm, reassuring tone from Elia, who rarely turned down an opportunity to tease him, helped deescalate the situation. He released Elia, but not before she licked his hand with her tongue.

“Ack! I’m not finished with you, Garrison. Stay here until I return.”

“Whatever you say,” Allison responded in that same sing-song tone. “Have fun, snadgers!”

Felix had to be practically led away from the Great Hall from the eyes of other prying Hufflepuffs, still mortified from Allison’s meddling.

She knows. She knows that I like her and she’s going to let me down easy. All because that stupid first year couldn’t shut her mouth for two seconds.

Upon exiting, Felix heaved a heavy sigh, figuring it was best to rip the bandage off quickly before the inevitable rejection came.

“Elia, I’m sorry about her,” he said. “I wanted to tell you myself, but she beat me to it, I guess.”

“Felix, you don’t need to apologize,” the Hufflepuff soothed him and then her infamous grin spread across her face like a Cheshire cat. “The truth is, I’ve known for some time.”

“Wait…you were already aware of how I felt?”

“Boys are hardly subtle,” Elia laughed. “Even a Slytherin such as yourself. I’ve caught you staring more than a few times.”

“So, why not say anything?”

“Well for one, listening to Allison jabber on like that was kind of cute.”

Felix couldn’t prevent the pink from spreading across his face.

“She’s getting detention for the rest of the year,” he muttered.

Elia placed a soft, feminine hand over his cheek, turning it to face her. This caused him to go from pink all the way to beet red.

“Felix, don’t punish her. She wasn’t trying to embarrass you; it was actually quite sweet. Nothing she told me was anything I didn’t know already. But she put in a good word for you, saying how you were a great prefect and how you wanted to ask me out with a poem. She thinks the world of you.”

He crumpled the piece of paper in his robe pocket.

“She does, eh?”

“Yes. And I don’t need a poem and an elaborate ritual to be convinced to go out with you,” she teased. “I’ll gladly go to Hogsmeade with you next weekend. Meet me in the courtyard at two o’clock.”

And then, without warning, Elia kissed him on the cheek and winked at him as she walked back into the Great Hall to rejoin the other Hufflepuffs.

Touching the spot where he had received the kiss, Felix proceeded to shuffle back towards the Slytherin table in a bit of a daze, wondering if he had actually just scored a date with the girl of his dreams until a loud, familiar voice snapped him back to reality.

“Felix?”

The Slytherin prefect looked down and saw the little eleven year old girl staring up at him. Functionality returned to his brain, remembering that he had instructed Allison to remain in the Great Hall until he returned.

“You told me to stay here. What’s my punishment?”

Looking into the eyes of the precocious first year, Felix knew she had tried to play matchmaker on purpose and true to Slytherin form, used her own brand of cunning to do it. But more so than that, he also knew that Allison also genuinely tried to make him look good as well, appealing to Elia’s heart and sensibility. The newfound revelation that this first year not only tried to help but liked him was touching.

“You’re off the hook this time, Garrison. Enjoy your dinner.”

Allison mocked fake surprised, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

“Wow! Thanks, Felix! You really are the best prefect ever.”

Giving him a big hug, she skipped away to her friend Rowan but before sitting down, she added, “Enjoy your snadger date! Snadger, snadger, snadger…”

Felix rolled his eyes but allowed a slight smile to cross his face.

He knew this would not be the first nor the last time Allison Garrison caused him trouble.

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review: The Real Ghostbusters- Ghost Busted

Okay, I realize that this is supposed to be a kid’s show, so there’s bound to be moments that don’t make a lot of realistic sense.  But oh boy, this one really went a bit too far, particularly towards the end.

It seems that the Ghostbusters have not received any cases in a few weeks, and they’re all visibly bored.  Janine is flipping through a magazine, Egon is fiddling around with his P.K.E. Meter (and the Egon/Janine shipper in me grins a bit over the fact that he’s sitting with his back to Janine’s desk), Ray is reading a comic book, Winston and Peter are playing cards and Slimer is just lounging about.  And full props to Winston here for attempting to look at the silver lining by saying they could use a break.  However, boredom is not the only issue they have to deal with.  Egon crunches some numbers and determines that if they don’t get any calls soon, then they will be essentially bankrupt.  This is driven home when Janine reveals they’d received a notice from Con Ed, stating that they’re planning on cutting off their power because they haven’t paid off their bills.  At that moment, the phone rings, and everyone goes nuts, with everybody practically fighting to answer it.  Of course, Janine manages to be the one to pick up the phone, only to find out it’s a false alarm- the caller was some random solicitor trying to sell them some swampland in Florida.  (Though points for callbacks, as Peter remarks it might have been his con artist father calling.)  In any event, it’s announced that the Ghostbusters desperately need to rake up some cash, so it might be necessary for them to all get secondary jobs.  (Something Peter is particularly distressed over.)

Regardless, the Ghostbusters and Janine all refer to the classified ads and apply for various jobs.  For the next few minutes, we see their attempts at finding secondary jobs. Peter ends up getting a job at some chemistry lab, but is quickly fired when he causes a small explosion.  Egon tries his hand at being a used car salesman, but that doesn’t work out, as he apparently can’t get a car door open and somehow ends up ripping the door clean off the car.  (Come to think of it, why didn’t Peter apply for the used car saleman job and Egon go to work at the chemistry lab?  Wouldn’t that have made more sense, given their individual personalities?) Janine gets a secretary job at what looks like a fancy office, and it’s clear that this new job is keeping her super busy.  Ray gets a job at a local zoo, but he apparently quits rather quickly after feeding a lion or something.  (Which seems a bit stupid, really.  I would love to have a job that involves feeding the animals at the zoo.  But Ray seems to turn tail and run simply because the lion was able to remove the giant slab of meat from the pole Ray was holding. I don’t get why Ray had a problem with that.)  As for Winston, he gets a job as a taxi driver.  But that doesn’t go so well for him, as he ends up honking at some large truck in front of him, and the three burly truck drivers respond by exiting the truck and actually flipping Winston’s taxi cab clean over.  Okay, granted Winston probably was a bit out of line by honking at the truck, since they were clearly in a traffic jam and it wasn’t as if the truck could go anywhere.  But wouldn’t those burly truck drivers face repercussions from flipping over the taxi cab like that? I admit, I can’t find any real information on any legal issues they would face from doing this, but I imagine it would count as vandalism.  So were those truck drivers hit with a fine after this?  Did they lose their jobs over this incident?  

However, it turns out that, in their efforts to find second jobs, nobody remembered to keep an eye on Slimer, as he’s taken to just roaming around unsupervised.  He ends up stealing a pretzel from a street cart and takes refuge behind a locked gate that guards the door of a closed electronics store so he can eat in peace. And, as bad luck would have it, some jewel thief that just happened to be nearby witnessed Slimer effortlessly passing through the locked gate and he decides to take advantage of this, tricking Slimer into helping him gain access to a jewelry store in exchange for food. Slimer, obviously too naïve to recognize the situation for what it was, readily agrees and unwittingly assists the thief in breaking into the jewelry store.  But as the thief is stuffing necklaces and such into his bag, Slimer notices the Ghostbusters and Janine hanging around outside the jewelry store.  Yeah, they just happened to choose that particular spot to regroup and check up on everyone’s progress in landing jobs.  Excitedly, Slimer begins waving at them, inadvertently alerting them to the current theft going on.  The Ghostbusters and Janine, instead of calling the cops, decide to take it on themselves to catch the thief and give chase.  In the end, Peter ends up catching the thief by firing his Proton Pack at a fire escape overhead, which results in the thief getting trapped in the makeshift cage.

The Ghostbusters subsequently get a check for $10,000 as a reward for catching the thief.  Thinking they might be onto something, they decide to become vigilantes by catching criminals instead of ghosts.  To achieve this, Egon and Ray modify their equipment so the Proton Packs would be attuned to the bioelectric fields of living individuals and the Ghost Trap would produce a solidified energy cage.  (Not certain how sound the science behind such a thing would be, but oh well.)  And so, things progress from there, with the Ghostbusters rebranding themselves as the Crimebusters.   We’re then treated to a mini montage that shows the newly dubbed Crimebusters continuing to make the front page news as they proceed to apprehend various criminals, with Mayor Lenny even hailing them as his new special task force.  Before long, crime throughout the city dropped by 30%, and the Crimebusters are soon out of debt, with an additional $30,000 surplus.

However, Ray decides to jinx things by stating the infamous phrase of ‘what could go wrong?’  It turns out that the top crime boss in New York (whose name is simply Crimelord, indicating a severe lack of creativity within the criminal sect) is not at all happy that the Crimebusters’s efforts are effectively putting a monkey wrench into his operations.  In an attempt to scare them off, Crimelord ends up arranging for Janine to be abducted from the Firehouse, leaving behind a ransom note that states the Crimebusters must stop their crime fighting activities if they ever want to see their secretary again.  Of course, the Crimebusters are not easily deterred and decide to take matters into their own hands.  Egon modifies the P.K.E. Meter to track Janine’s bio-rhythm (has Egon memorized the bio-rhythm of everyone on the team, or just Janine?  If it’s the latter, that’s actually kinda adorable) and they manage to follow the signal to this building that’s actually an entrance to some underground subway storage facility. Of course, Ray ends up loudly tripping over a subway rail, which ruins their efforts at sneaking up on Crimelord’s goons.  And a full-on shootout erupts.

And this, dear readers, is one of the major issues I had with this episode.  The fact that the Crimebusters charged in blindly into a place that was undoubtedly filled with hardened thugs who would sooner shoot you than look at you instead of alerting the authorities, who are supposed to be trained to handle hostage situations.  After all, this IS supposed to be a kid’s show, right?  Isn’t that one of the moralities many kid’s shows try to incorporate? Encouraging kids to view the police as people who are there to help serve and protect?  Having the Ghostbusters/Crimebusters take matters into their own hands seems a bit counterproductive.

Either way, Egon ends up saving the day by managing to magnetize the subway tracks, which results in the guns the thugs were using to fly out of their hands and attach themselves to the tracks.  (No explanation as to why the Proton Packs weren’t also affected.) With the threat of getting shot to death nullified and the thugs effectively captured, the Crimebusters are able to enter the abandoned subway car where Janine was being kept hostage, leading to a really nice moment where Egon personally unties Janine, with the two sharing a rather sweet hug.

Sometime later, the Crimebusters storm into Crimelord’s office building.  They inform him that Slimer had personally spooked his thugs enough to force them to provide signed confessions that implicates Crimelord as the one who ordered Janine’s abduction.  (Why would they actually confront the dangerous crime boss about this instead of actually turning in the evidence to the police?!)  Of course, Crimelord isn’t willing to come quietly, and he manages to escape by activating a force field he just happened to have, as well as an elevating chair that enables him to escape through the ceiling.  (How does he have those things?!  Is Dr. Claw his brother or cousin?)  Upon reaching the roof, Crimelord attempts to make good his escape on his personal helicopter. But the Crimebusters are soon in hot pursuit in the Ecto-2, which has finally made a reappearance in the show.  For the next few minutes, we get a whole dogfight between Crimelord and the Crimebusters.  In the end, Winston is able to bring down Crimelord’s helicopter by disabling the propellers with a well-aimed shot from his Proton Pack.  Of course, Crimelord doesn’t die when his helicopter crashes, as it is effectively skewered by the Chrysler Building.  Of course, I didn’t expect the episode to actually have this guy die in a helicopter crash.  Again, it’s a kid’s show.  Still, I think it would have been cooler if they showed Winston’s arm getting nicked by one of the bullets being fired at him from Crimelord’s helicopter.  Not that I wanted to see Winston harmed, of course. But there were bullets flying everywhere.  The fact that his arm didn’t get grazed in a miracle.  Was there some sort of network mandate that prohibited the appearance of blood?

As the episode comes to a close, the Crimebusters bask in their success at getting Crimelord behind bars.  However, they also realize that, in doing so, they might have just put themselves out of business.  With Crimelord out of the picture, it might mean that the city is free of criminals. So they’re now at the same exact spot they were at the start of the episode.  But, as luck would have it, the phone starts to ring.  Wouldn’t you know it, someone has a ghost problem!  And seconds later, a second ghost related call comes it.  So it looks as if the dry period of no paranormal activity has come to an end. And the Crimebusters become the Ghostbusters once again.  In the final moments, the Ghostbusters drive off in the Ecto-1 as Slimer and Janine return the Ghostbusters sign to the front of the Firehouse.  And, out of nowhere, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man appears on the screen, watching the Ecto-1 drive off before turning to the camera and winking.

Um…questions.  Why is the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man roaming free?  Isn’t he supposed to be in the Containment Unit?  And why is he winking at us?  Are we supposed to suspect that he is somehow responsible for ghosts appearing in the city again?  If so, was he doing it to help the Ghostbusters get back in business?  Because if memory serves, he does become an occasional alley to the Ghostbusters in future episodes.  Rather like how Godzilla eventually stopped being an antagonist in Kaiju films and became a protector of Earth.  Also, I do wrinkle my nose at the show showing the Ghostbusters become vigilantes.  Isn’t that basically sending a dangerous message to kids that they can do the work of the police and take down criminals and crime bosses?  Then again, I suppose it’s not that different from people like Batman, Daredevil and Spider-Man taking the law into their own hands.  I don’t think many kids try to imitate their comic book heroes.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

[kpopchangedme]

Saint-Agnès de Roma | Mark Tuan

A scholarship student like you has no business hanging out with the cool, filthy rich, teens of your private Academy... But somehow you still end up playing a naughty game with that one guy…

|| M.List || GOT7 ||

Protagonists: Mark Tuan & You

Word count: 8.2k

Genre: (N)SFW | Seven Minutes in Heaven | Boarding School | Enemies | First Love | **Unholy stuff**Catholic references**Swearing**Suggestive**

Lysandre’ note: FINALLY POSTING A NEW FIC. Trying to see if my shadowban is gone for ever and ever and ever. :’D I’m excited (can’t you tell?) and hope you like this.

Snippet: “You were kind of expecting the Reverend Mother to appear and throw the door open, yelling at you and Mark to get on your knees and recite Hail Mary any seconds now. He smiled, face glowing, illuminated only by the small rays of light coming through the door crack. Mark had a dangerous animalistic smile, one exposing canines and baring far too many teeth, often it made him look spooky.  “Relax.” He commanded, hand climbing slowly on your side as his breathing neared your cheek. “I’m not gonna jump you. You were such a tease earlier. Is this really your first time?””

It was the long weekend of Thanksgiving, which for the rest of the students of the country, meant enjoying great food with their loving families. To the students of Saint-Agnès de Roma however, it was merely an opportunity to leave the dormitory and go wild for four days straight. If Jackson – the youngest son of the Wang family, and occasionally your best friend – was the one telling this story, he’d probably put it that way: Thanksgiving was the Saint-Agnès get-fucked Holiday. For all those ridiculously rich teenagers that long weekend meant; ski trips to the Rocky Mountains, manors deserted of any parental figures, countless parties and even shopping sprees to London or Paris.

You couldn’t care less about all that.

For you, every year, holidays only meant having the girl’s senior dormitory all to yourself. For a few nights only, you wouldn’t be woken up by your roommate’s grinding her teeth, your studies wouldn’t be delayed by some jock disrupting the peace and quiet of the library. Thankfully, they were only a few students that stayed over during the rare weekends of freedom: the ones with family issues so bad they’d rather be here than home, and the ones with an official school punishment.

You were neither; the exception, the scholarship peasant, there merely to make others feel better about themselves.

This year’s get-fucked Holiday however, you had agreed to do something quite unorthodoxy.

Soothing imaginary wrinkles on your skirt, you breathed in slowly to gather courage as you neared the Wang’s mansion. You were beginning to wonder why you accepted to come in the first place. You shouldn’t have given in to your best friend’s plea, him begging didn’t make you special in any way. Jackson had always been extra like that. He was a social butterfly and he was ‘close’ with everyone and their mothers. You guys were polar opposites and there were days where you were convinced Jackson believed himself to be the center of the universe, which was only partially right.

Still, even with his amazing social skills, sometimes it seemed that Jackson couldn’t understand the most basic things about humans in society: Birds of a feather flock together.

No matter how hard he’d try, his friends would never accept you.

It wasn’t true that finally joining one of his little ‘get-togethers’ would suddenly make you fit in with the cool crowd. Besides, it’s not like you even wanted those rich brats to like you. You’d gone through Middle School and most of High School invisible. You could endure what was left of Senior year being known as "that kid”. It wouldn’t kill you and you’d much rather spend your Friday night alone at the dorm, binging the latest tv show on Netflix, than with all of them.

Unfortunately, Jackson would never forgive you if you bailed out now. He freaked out when you tried to refuse his invitation for the hundredth time. He kept insisting tonight was going to be the ‘greatest night of your life’. Unfortunately, if all the invitations to his previous parties were anything to go by, you bet you’d still hear this argument to try to convince you to come to the next one too… And all the ones after that.

Jackson couldn’t stand the idea of people staying on the sidelines, and you knew why. He was just as righteous and idealistic as his father, Mr. Wang – probably the only billionaire in the world who always insisted to be called by his first name.

Ruiju Wang was one of the biggest benefactors of, not only the Middle School of Sacred Heart and its big sister’s Saint-Agnès de Roma Academy but also of the local orphanage. That was the only reason a kid like you got to meet a golden spoon heir like Jackson in the first place. You being a big bookworm and nerd was only coincidental, and Ruiju, seeing your potential, offered to the Sisters of the orphanage to sponsor your studies in the top schools of the area. You had always been thankful, graduating from Saint-Agnès Academy, despite your unfortunate background, guaranteed you’d get into one of the best universities of the world.

Thanks to the Wang’s gigantic fortune – mostly made in the late 70s by grandma Zhou, who Jackson once told you built a highly illegal traffic ring of tobacco and opium in British controlled Hong Kong – you now had a promising future. Perhaps that’s why you hated to disappoint your best friend. A future was a gift most orphans of the world would kill for.

Perhaps that’s also why you made it to his giant wooden front door, Friday of this Thanksgiving Holiday. Your finger hovered for a short second over the doorbell, still hesitating to join the party. But even so, your choice had already been made, you promised Jackson...

Seconds later, you were already following your very excited friend through the maze of corridors. It seemed you were heading to the East living room where you had already been countless times for the Wang’s charity events. It was an isolated part of the house, as opposed to where the rooms of the three living servants – but they called them employees – were. Ruiju and Sophia Wang had left for Australia to visit their eldest son and his family. Jackson opted out, favouring this little get together instead.

“I am sooooo glad you came y/n! You are not going to regret this!”

You could only lie through your teeth, this would be your first party ever and you didn’t belong here at all. If it was anything close to what you heard from rumours at school or seen in 90s teen movies, you’d flee without hesitation.

“TA-DAH!”

Jackson threw the doors of the living room open in front of you, spreading his arms widely. The small group of partygoers inside turned to stare at your entrance, as though you dramatically interrupted the most serious talk ever. He wasn’t kidding when he said it would be a small gathering, there was only around ten people, and you knew all of them from school.

“Wow, isn’t this a sight to behold.” Salome – head of the Senior’s Girl Dormitory, Captain of the Girl’s Lacrosse team and second-best student of Saint-Agnès – giggled, staring at you up and down. She was the devil incarnate and you threw an accusing glare at Jackson, who had conveniently not mentioned her being here. She hated you for always placing first despite lacking the help of expensive private tutors and made sure your life was hellish because of it. “How’d you manage to leave school y/n? I bet your convent strongly opposed.”

“I took the bus.” You answered sarcastically, choosing to ignore her last insinuation. You weren’t a nun, and you took the glass of colourful punch Jackson was already handing you as if to prove it.

You drank the cold alcoholized juice, walking closer to the group. It tasted like what you always imagined a vacation to the Caribbean would; sugary, with too much stuff going on, but overall enjoyable. Tonight would be your first time really drinking alcohol, but you were determined to try to blend in and that clearly meant boozing. A lot.

“I didn’t know public transportation served this neighbourhood,” Salome mused, frowning in disapproval.

It didn’t. You always had to walk 30 minutes after the nearest bus stop to make it to the Wang’s.

“Anyway, I’m glad you could join us.” A dangerous smile stretched her lips and you swear you saw Mark Tuan – descending of a long lineage of Saint Agnès alumnae and infamous serial-dater – squeeze her shoulder to ease her. It looked like these two were on again, his right arm was stretched to enclose her against his chest, as if afraid she’d dare breathe if he’d let go for a second.

“Everyone, this is my best friend y/n, she goes to Saint-Agnès too.” Jackson beamed as you carefully sat at the last empty spot of their circle. In front of you, Salome exchanged a long look with her friend Marissa – a total bitch from a new money family. The others all smiled and nodded, nonchalant at best. You had known most of them for years although you’d never spoken, and you were pretty sure they also already knew who you were. “Be nice, she’ll join our game! Where were we?”

“Katy was about to tell us about the weirdest place she has ever woken up in!” Salome laughed and Katy’s boyfriend Luis – the grandnephew of the Tsar of Bulgaria, or whatever – groaned, embarrassed for her.

“Come on, tell us!” Someone else’s pressed on, impatient. “It can’t be bad enough for you to strip.”

Immediately it clicked, and your gaze widened, staring at the pile of abandoned socks in the middle of the circle. Apparently, even filthy rich teenagers had nothing better to do than playing dumb games at parties. Still, you were glad their attention had left you completely.

Truth or Strip was sort of a legendary game at Saint-Agnès de Roma, and, as far as you knew, it was the first time an outsider was witnessing the closed circle of cool kids playing it for real. Maybe your luck just turned, this was a great behavioural observation opportunity.

“I once woke up in a…” Katy paused for effect and Luis tilted his head, frowning in anticipation. “... Gentlemen’s Club in Miami!”

“Boooo!” Marissa exclaimed as soon as the confession left her mouth. “Who hasn’t?”

You laughed as everyone did, certain 99,9% of the world’s population had never even set foot in that sort of exclusive place.

“BUT,” Katy raised a finger to defend herself, “the night actually started in Los Angeles!”

Impressed clapping followed, and you smiled in your glass as their sick oversharing game moved on. Apparently, you were as invisible here as you were in school, which was a relief, even if you promised Jackson to make friends. Everybody got drunker by the minute and almost an hour later, they were still playing the game.

Jinyoung Park – of Park Films, by far the largest movie production company in Asia – lost his shirt in a very gentlemanly manner, refusing to give away the name of his first conquest. Mark Tuan lost his too, refusing to share the weirdest place where he ever had sex. Chao-Xing – daughter of a Chinese real estate mogul, rumoured to own more than a third of Vancouver – took off her tights to keep the phone number of Justin Bieber her dirty little secret. Hyunwoo Son – of the South Korean ambassador’s family – gave up his (rather outdated) Ralph Lauren’ Polo to avoid spilling the tea on the craziest thing he used his diplomatic immunity for.

Everyone kept losing pieces of clothing except you, and you were starting to feel the dangerous buzz of the alcohol through your veins. So far it was all fun and games, perhaps it really was a great thing you’d come to this party.

Looking at them making fools of themselves felt surreal and oddly satisfying.

Studying these people in their own habitat could be great for your plan of pursuing an Anthropology Major. It made you feel like your very own Jane Goodall in the Kenya jungle, learning how to interact with primates.

“Jackson!” Jaebum Im – rumoured to be the secret love child of a top actress and one of Hyundai’s already married chairmen – slapped a hand on the built shoulder of your close friend, ready to get him to confess some horrible deeds. “Who’s your first love?” There was a collective roll of eyes at the easy question, but it caught your attention. “Truth or Strip!”

“Y/n,” Jackson answered immediately, not embarrassed the least by it and you blushed when everyone looked at you. Your friend was way too honest at this game, he only lost a single sock so far. He bluntly answered almost everything.

“What!?” Marissa – both of them infamously dated for a year during your time at Sacred Heart’ Middle School – sneered, staring dagger at you. “When?”

“My family sent me at least a day per week at her place when we were young, so we got really close.”

“Your parents sent you to... a-an orphanage?” Her mouth dropped, clearly horrified by the idea. “Is that even legal?”

“Yes.” You replied before Jackson could get offended for you, grinning at her unemotionally. “We used to play together every weekend since we were 8 years old.”

“Well well…” Salome, who seemed to have forgotten your existence until then, smiled diabolically. Perhaps she really had forgotten, everyone was pretty drunk by then. After all, the party was already going on a full swing when you joined. “Looks like we haven’t played with you yet… What should we ask y/n?”

“It’s not how the game works.” Youngjae Choi – golden son of one of the teachers, Mrs. Choi, and main soloist of the Saint-Agnès choir – cut in, trying to stop her. Half of an official nerd himself, he was already too familiar with her dirty shenanigans. Lord knows what he was doing here tonight, maybe your common friend forcefully dragged him too. “It’s Jackson’s turn to ask!”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, miffed. “But it has to be y/n since she hasn’t played yet.”

“Y/n…” Jackson frowned, seemingly unable to think of a question invasive enough to satisfy the vultures, but still soft as to not make you regret you’d come. “Um…” Also, he already knew everything about you. Growing up in a Catholic orphanage wasn’t exactly the most propitious background for nurturing some dark and wild secret.

“Come on…” Another one sighed.

“Are you still a virgin?” Jaebum asked curious, earning himself a warning glare from the host.

“It’s too obvious she is,” Katy giggled, turning his more innocent question into something displeasing. As though being a virgin was nasty and shameful, you clenched your jaw. “Has she even ever been kissed to begin with?” From the corner of your eyes, you spotted Tuan straightening, probably ready to join in and make fun of you.

“Give me a second, I’ll think of something.” Jackson – your actual first kiss, by the way – ignored them, but you felt your face warm up.

Ultimately, the impending question didn’t matter, because you knew just the way to remain in control of their game, stay ahead and not give them the pleasure of embarrassing you. It’s the only advantage to being picked on often, you learn to understand the rules better than the ones making them. It’s like chess, if you’re always a move ahead, they can never truly get to you.

To survive tonight and fit it, you’d have to channel your inner Jane Goodall; think like a primate; become a primate.  

It was a good thing you were done with your second drink. Already, your mind was numb in the most perfect way, you felt courageous and unbeatable.  You were going to show them – those rich brats – show them you weren’t scared of anything. You could be fun. You could play and act dumb too. You could misbehave just like them.

Just as Jackson was opening his mouth to ask something, you started to pull at your dark t-shirt, riding it up and out of your suede skirt. The room automatically fell silent, everything stood still. The only thing you could hear was the sound of the stereo in the background, playing the dirty pop of the Hit 40. All the other girls only had stripped off their socks, tights or blazers so far, not wanting to take off anything more substantial, but you weren’t like others.

You’d rather expose yourself before they’d try to expose you.

After you threw your t-shirt on the pile of already stripped clothes, you sat there in silence as the boys cooed, highly conscious of your bra and mini skirt. Thank God you were tipsy enough to still act confident. Like another – primate you.

“What the heck?!” Jackson yelped, gaze crazy wide as he looked anywhere else but your exposed skin. “I haven’t asked my question!”

You shrugged, playing cool, “My answer is Strip.” Turning to Salome, you mimicked her earlier smirk. Right now, she looked like she had swallowed something nasty.

See? Virgins can be so much fun.

“Awesome...” Jaebum clicked his tongue, clearly entertained. “Looks like it’s your turn now, brainiac.” The boy’ Lacrosse captain handed you a third colourful drink, eyes dangerously lingering on the curve of your boobs.

By your standards, Im was the most handsome guy at the Academy, not that you’d ever tell anyone. He appeared out of nowhere at Saint-Agnès in 10th grade. According to the rumours, he earned himself this one-way trip by stealing his dad’s favourite sports car and crashing it into the Han River. His father was said to have sent him to Catholic boarding school only because his mother cried and begged for it not to be Military Academy. Jaebum was a ‘no comment’ type of guy, so nobody ever got to the bottom of his story. If it was true, you had to admit his mom horridly failed him. You were pretty sure Saint-Agnès’ Reverend Mother was scarier than any drill inspector could ever dream to be.

Accepting the drink, you blushed for everyone to see. It felt as though Jaebum’s eyes were fire on your neckline, as though it were his fingers and not simply his gaze that was on you. You didn’t feel exposed, you felt seen. Every single guy in the room – except Jackson – had his eyes glued to you and surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

“Let’s stop now.” The host gloomily stared away. You knew him enough to be aware he thought he was responsible for letting his schoolmates corrupt you.

“Yes, let’s play another game.” Salome agreed all too eager, having recovered from your little stunt. You smiled widely as you took another big sip of the tropical punch, aware she was fuming.

“The Knot?” Marissa suggested.

“Strip Pong,” Luis replied, running his hand up and down Katy’s thigh.

You rolled your eyes as the ideas kept coming, all games you had no clue how to play and clearly involving losing more clothes and dignity. Mark Tuan snorted at your dramatic gesture, catching your attention.

He was also childhood best friends with Jackson, but you never hung out together after you entered High School. Jackson was the only one who kept publicly addressing you, whereas that jerk played the other kids’ scheme, the invisibility one. Mark offered you one of his legendary lopsided grins as you held his gaze. You quirked a brow in distaste for him to see, a part of you wanted that almighty guy to know he had no effect on you whatsoever. Not anymore anyway, you were way past that naive 11 years old phase where you thought he was kinda cute. Nowadays you weren’t one of his fangirls, dying for him to notice her.

Coming from alumni and rich – you-have-no-idea-how-rich – kind of family, Mark Tuan stood at the very top of Saint-Agnès eligible bachelor hierarchy, the type you bet student’ parents slyly mentioned at family suppers: “Are you friend with the Tuan kid? I hear he’s as beautiful as his mother. She was a Miss Universe in the late 80s.”: “Isn’t the oldest son of the Tuans in your class? He’s old money, they left Mainland China many generations back.” or perhaps even: “He’s worth 20 billion at the very least. Please, do shag him and get knocked up”.

You, however, had no parents shoving you his way. Mark Tuan had been the quiet and hard to get close with type even in Middle School, and of course, it took a Jackson Wang to break down his walls. But he wasn’t the shy kid following you two around anymore. Now Mark had found his own species and returned to the wild. Like all of them, he was all about Gucci tees, yachts, drugs, fun and whatever. You definitely hadn’t seen him at Sunday mass in a while.  

From what you heard, he had become as superficial as these other rich jerks, going through girls as models go through clothes. Curiously, Salome always seemed to find a way to pull him back somehow. Why even bother? These two started dating on and off between Middle and High School and never stopped. The same summer you and Jackson had a fling. Why did Tuan like the she-devil though? Even Jackson didn’t have any clue, nor could justify his friend taste for the dark side.

Filthy rich players like Tuan weren’t a ‘catch’, they were the poison of modern society. They thought they could get away with anything.

“Suck and Blow.” Salome decided on the game Authority herself, unaware her very shirtless boyfriend was still checking you out. And boy was that a sight, even you had to admit it. He might’ve grown up to be a piece of shit, but Mark had become one damn good looking turd.

Once everyone agreed, you all stood and – Thank God – got dressed. You picked up your own t-shirt from the pile to put it on, relieved. Sure, you were confident, but you didn’t want to chill with them half-naked all night either. Done, the party spread in a circle again and, sensing your confusion, Youngjae pulled you by the wrist to his right. He then leaned in to whisper in your ear, not as subtle as he intended to: “We just pass a card around with our mouths without dropping it. It’s about timing, the pair that drops it has to deal with a punishment.”

“Ew, that’s disgusting.” You grimaced and he shrugged, apparently already familiar with the game. You didn’t peg him for the type to come to these parties often, but perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps the choir sweetheart had a secret thing for booze and dirty games… How intriguing, you turned to consider him anew. “Are you good at this?”

“I...” Youngjae hesitated a second too long, doubt shading his features, “am really, really bad.” He confessed like a sin, making you laugh. He was cute in a ‘pure guy’ kind of way, you were familiar through Jackson and often shared a table to study quietly at the library. Youngjae was also in Saint-Agnès’ top 5 and didn’t come from a particularly wealthy family, thereby an ally. Jackson once told you that Youngjae attending the Academy was in his mother’s teaching contract. His financial background made him comfortable and relatable somehow. At least you had someone like him here with you tonight. Jackson was way too busy hosting to notice you didn’t know where to put yourself.

“What’s the punishment?”

“Well, obviously, there’s a risk you’ll… kiss, by accident.” He cleared his throat, accidentally adorable. They were far worse fates than sharing a kiss with him, you decided. “And if you drop the card, the usual pun-”

“Have you never played, y/n?” Tuan, who somehow had appeared to your own right chuckled, amused by how clueless you were. “Cute.” You gulped, staring in his almond eyes, he was about the same height as you now. In your Middle School friendship years, he’d been shorter by many centimetres, never managing to grow fast enough to catch up to you. “Don’t worry.” Mark plucked his lips your way and winked, gaze dropping in your neckline. “I’m good enough at this for us two.” If you were reminiscing of young innocent feelings, his douchebag attitude definitely brought you back down to the present.

Strong of your alcohol confidence, you feigned to look over your shoulder in confusion. “Are you talking to me?” You pressed your chest with both hands like honoured to be blessed by his recognition. “Can you really see me?” Tuan blinked, taken aback and Youngjae snorted to your left. He was always a great public, easygoing and always laughing at your stupid jokes.

“Of course, y/n. Your bra was kinda hard to miss earlier.”

Having recovered, Mark’s rude tongue darted through his parted lips to taunt you and your face warmed treacherously. It had been forever since you two last spoke or stood this close. The way Mark was looking at you now felt unsafe, predaceous. You almost took a step away instinctively, but that wouldn’t have been a very ‘primate y/n’ thing to do so you held back.

“Good girl gone bad... I’m all here for you.”

Instead, at that, you rolled your shoulders and exchanged a glance with Youngjae.

“Well, you must not know a lot of good girls, Mark… We’re the very best at being bad.”

Youngjae immediately coughed and the player’s brows shot up, a new glimmer in his eyes. What the fuck was primate y/n doing, flirting? Why would you ever say something like that? Jesus.

“Well, colour me intrigued.” Mark exhaled before taking a sip of his cup and you stared, trying not to hate yourself for saying shit like that aloud. “Then a good girl like you probably has a few bad tricks to teach me.”

You were about to reply with something – hopefully clever – for him to sod off, when Jackson announced the start of the game, standing on the other side of the circle. Your jaw dropped, realizing it meant you’d play between Youngjae and Mark. You’d sooner eat a live spider than kiss that jerk. Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Jackson winked at you, taking out a credit card from his wallet. (Lord knows where it had been!) Without wasting a second more, he put it on his mouth, sucked air and lowered to Salome to his right, passing her the card.

The game had started. Suck. Blow. Suck. Blow.

Pretty simple and self-explanatory. You tried to concentrate on watching the others play with ease to prepare yourself. If you mastered the technique, there was nothing to be afraid of. Still, you suspected it was a lot harder than it looked though and you peeked at Tuan, nervous. In a matter of seconds, it was your turn and Youngjae lowered himself above you, brows furrowed in concentration. You sucked the card successfully, disgusted at the sensation of wetness on your lips. Dreading the next exchange, you turned to the man to your right, not without a certain sense of responsibility. You were usually good at games and you could own this one too. Tuan’s face drew nearer, and you stilled, trying to make it easier for him. You passed the card without any difficulties. Thank God, you sighed, watching it make its way faster and faster around the circle.

You would get herpes because of this stupid party game. Ew.

You lacked time to dwell on that new disgusting realization before it was your turn again. Clearly, the unspoken rule was to accelerate to make things harder. No one had dropped the card yet. Youngjae chuckled gladly when he successfully passed it to you once more and you tried to ignore the dirty wetness from all the other players this time. This time, Mark wrapped his hand around your neck to stabilize himself when you turned to him. Other players had done it too and it made the exchange easier, so you tried not to think much of it. Like you did earlier, when you felt him suck, you blew to let the card go. Only this time, to your absolute horror…

The card fell.

You barely managed to retreat away from Mark’s plucked lips in a panic to avoid any skin contact. Drunkenly stumbling backwards, you hit Youngjae who held you up with strong hands. The small gathering collectively laughed at the fail and Mark winced, falsely apologetic.

“Gee!” He snapped his fingers like a 30s cartoon character who just made a blunder. You stared, bewildered as he bent to pick up the credit card, tossing it to Jackson under a thunder of woos. Mark lost on purpose. You were almost sure of it. Next, to the awfully serious host, Salome was livid, looking like she was about to murder you on the spot.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven!” Bambam – a 2nd generation heir from Thailand, newly transferred after being successively kicked out of his four previous boarding schools in Asia (and very proud of it) – announced your punishment.

Unfortunately, you knew how to play that game.

“W-What?!” You gasped in dismay, desperately turning to Youngjae for help as Mark shrugged at you, smirking.

Seven Minutes in Heaven?! More like: your own personal Hell.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Salome crossed her arms in front of her petite frame, head about to burst. “She obviously dropped it on purpose!” Your mouth opened in befuddlement. It was the stupidest accusation in the history of mankind. “Mark.” She warned, and the young man shrugged again, unbothered by her dirty glare.

“Rules are rules.” He said with a laugh.

“It’ll be the most boring seven minutes of your life, Mark!” She snapped, lacing venom in her words and the others self-conceited asstwats stifled their laughs.

“Excuse me?” Insulted, you narrowed your eyes at the brunette. Alcohol was apparently making you forget that these rich brats’ opinion of you couldn’t matter less. Boring? Why was she taking her anger out on you? You weren’t the one who failed the game and it’s not like you were trying to seduce her disgusting boyfriend.

“Please y/n, everyone knows you’re frigid.” Spiteful, Salome snickered, but no one found her funny this time. Jaebum even took an instinctive step between you two. Wait… Was she jealous, of you? The thought made you secretly ecstatic. Jeez, she should keep Mark Tuan on a leash if she cared that much. It’s not like he wasn’t running around giving it to anybody in the first place.

“Sally, don’t–” Even he tried to stop her, but she cut him off.

“I mean, isn’t she saving herself to take the veil or something?”

Your jaw clenched at that one last insult. You were aware of your prudish reputation, an overly Catholic childhood tends to stick to anyone, but you hated it. Salome regularly used that to publicly ridicule you. This time was different though, and she was either too drunk or stupid – or both – to realize that. She had just shown you her entire hand.

You smiled, she’d given you leverage, the upper hand, something invaluable you never had before. Now you knew her weakness.

“Jackson?” The summoned boy winced at your call, apparently dying a thousand deaths. It was too late now, you were worked up and he recognized that expression on your face. There was no point trying to stop you. “Where’s the closet?” You asked, as if there was some sort of unholy place specially dedicated to playing that game.

“W-What?” He couldn’t have looked more alarmed

“Tuan and I obviously need a heaven.” You pressed on, rolling your eyes. You should’ve stopped, but you were getting way too defiant.

“We do?” Mark whispered for only you to hear, slight panic now showing.

“Rules are rules.” Primate y/n replied to him sarcastically.

You wouldn’t have played Seven Minutes in Heaven with that asshole just to abide by the rules of this stupid party, but if it made Salome lose her mind... Then it was the only reason you needed to be willing. You’d do almost anything to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Youngjae pulled at your elbow, mouthing a very clear ‘don’t’ as a warning, probably thinking you had a death wish. There was no way she’d let you live when she got back to the dormitory after the Holidays. Too bad for her, the she-devil was already making your life a living Hell. You grinned at Tuan, trying to look convincing. You didn’t see him anymore, he wasn’t that former childhood friend nor the school’s hottest manwhore.

Now he was it, your own personal vendetta.

“A closet?” Jackson breathed out, mind completely blank. You bet if it was anyone else playing, he’d laugh and cheer, turning into his usual overdramatic bubbly self. Right now, he looked nothing but dejected.

“To show Tuan a not-so-boring time.” You enlightened, seriously exasperated. This time everyone else came alive to guide you two. Mark, who followed with heavy feet, clearly had a change of heart, but you didn’t care. He was the one who dropped the card. He didn’t have to do it for laughs, to bluff like that. What an ass.

‘We’re still young and they aren’t all that bad. You need to learn to have fun y/n!’

That’s what Jackson had said to convince you to come. I’m trying, you thought, I’m being; not boring. You bet now he was regretting ever inviting you.

You had to enter a guestroom to find an actual closet and it was empty and surely uncomfortable, like pretty much anything in the Wang’s gigantic mansion. Still, in a daze, you stepped it, followed closely by Mark. As soon as the door closed behind, you heard a chair being dragged to block it.

Now if either of you wanted to make a run for it, you couldn't. Great….

“Why’d you do that for?” You immediately ushered and hit his arm, freaking out at the dramatic shift of atmosphere. Before, you were sure he lost on purpose and he must have had intricate ulterior motives. There was no way one of the biggest playboys of the Academy did that just to earn himself seven minutes in the dark with your nerdy ass.

“Weren’t you begging for this to happen just now?” Mark drew nearer and you backed away until you couldn’t escape anymore. His arms found the wall on each side of your head. That proud asshole didn’t seem half as reluctant at the thought of you now that nobody could see him. This situation felt awfully intimate... Even though Salome was probably counting the seconds until she could open the doors.

“Besides, I haven’t done anything yet.” His whisper made you shiver as his breath fawned over your face.

You exhaled anxiously, staring back at him, oscillating. “Your girlfriend is going to kill me.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have drunk that much. Sure, you told Jackson you would try to fit in, but right now, with Mark, locked in this closet... It felt as though you had succeeded at becoming an entirely different person and you wondered if you’d find yourself back once the door reopened.

Jane Goodall did struggle after she left the primates to their jungle and returned to her own reality.

“Who?” He questioned innocently, “When I’ll date for real I won’t play around.” Mark’s right hand found your hip bone in the semi-darkness, thumb brushing your stomach through the fabric. You stilled, not knowing how to react to that. “Sally’s just a little intense,” he glanced down at your lips, “sorry she’s being hard on you.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” The last world barely left your throat. From this close, this turd… He smelled kind of nice. Dammit.

“So… Are you really a good girl?” Mark hummed softly, leaning closer, voice deeper than the freaking Pacific ocean. Betraying goosebumps immediately spread on your skin. Right, you closed both eyes in defeat. That was why he made sure to lose the game. He knew it would turn out like this. “I bet it’s true...”

Mark's tongue darted out, catching the light and your eyes dropped on his lips. It was unfair. You weren’t prepared to face that kind of threat tonight. He was getting all predacious again and you were an easy prey. Sure, you hated the guy… When sober, collected, in control of yourself… Apparently, being pressed against a hot torso in the secrecy of a closet can change one’s perspective. You were almost trembling, blood boiling, body turned to stone; trapped.

“That you’re good at being bad.” Mark let out a weird small exhale, almost inaudible, tilting his head to the side.

Oh God, he was going to make this happen.

You had kissed boys before – OK fine, mostly Jackson and only when you were about twelve – but you had never made out in a dark closed space with anyone and surely that was bound to be sinful. Just being this close with Mark was surreal, electrifying, completely wrong. Did all guys smell like that? Jesus.

You were kind of expecting the Reverend Mother to appear and throw the door open, yelling at you and Mark to get on your knees and recite Hail Mary any seconds now.

His thumb pressed that spot on your hip and you inhaled sharply in apprehension, almost a purr. How humiliating, you’d never even made a sound like that. That jerk’s touch was more inhibiting than alcohol. Primate y/n was a traitor. Hopefully, you’d remember not to ever trust her again tomorrow morning, when you’d sobered up. Mark must have heard it because he smiled, face glowing, illuminated by the small rays of light coming through the door crack. He always had a dangerous animalistic smile, one exposing canines and baring far too many teeth, often it made him look spooky.  

“Relax.” He commanded, hand climbing slowly on your side as his erratic breathing neared your cheek. “I’m not gonna jump you. You were such a tease earlier. Is this really your first time?”

Mark wasn’t that much of a talker in Middle School, this new him was the worst. He chuckled silently, unaware of your thoughts and a resolve birthed in your chest at his amusement. You weren’t about to let that guy boast later to the whole school about how inexperienced you were. Especially not to his bitchy non-girlfriend. Strong of determination and anticipation, you put your own hands around his hips, unsure where else they should go. You weren’t going to freak out. You weren’t going to be boring. You might as well go all out if primate you were about to do this to herself.

“No,” you lied, almost convincing your drunk self. “it’s not.”

“I’m gonna kiss you...” Mark announced with his alpha tone, not buying the lie. Although his statement should have sounded awkward, it made you shiver at the suspense. Through the tip of your fingers on his shirt, you felt his heart thump loudly in his chest. Was he nervous? Surely not, you bet he’d kissed a thousand girls in dark closets.

“Well…” You faked confidence again, acutely conscious of how hot he was now– in every possible way… Even if he was a disgusting manwhore. “Is it coming today or...”

Mark was still baring his toothy grin when your noses brushed. You’re the one who met his lips in the middle, surprisingly tilting your head to help.

He tasted of Caribbean punch, a mix between warm nights, fresh fruits and bonfire. It was addictive, not half-bad. Instantly, Mark’s kiss became insistent, his mouth opened against yours, adding pressure and you obeyed, too dazed to do anything or have second thoughts.

He was trapping you against the wall roughly, ravaging you. He had absolutely no mercy and you were pushing back with all your might to survive, hips, lips and hands all over. This wasn’t about the reality outside at all, any thought of the others completely vanished the second Mark slid his hand under your shirt. You let him do it, skin awaken by the touch, discovering a thousand new nerves on your body.

Yes, you had become another y/n.

That was the only explanation. A y/n that makes out in dark rooms with cool kids and grinds into them shamelessly, but just for seven minutes.

Seven extremely messy minutes.

Mark groaned in your mouth, skilled fingers caressing your stomach softly and you curved against him, craving more, possessed. Your skin was buzzing, like screaming, begging to feel him more. His left hand hiked up your body in a hurry, climbing under your t-shirt in your back and you prayed the door wouldn’t shed light on this scene. It would be terribly embarrassing; you were letting him put both of his hands up your shirt. Mark pressed his leg between yours that opened automatically, and your fingers entangled themselves in his hair, almost for support. He never broke the kiss. He too, probably knew better than to waste any second of whatever shared craziness this moment was.

“So good,” Mark grunted, words shaking to escape his throat and you opened your eyes in amazement, “but so bad.”

Shared hysteria. That was what this was.

You both weren’t done though. He adventured his left hand on the fabric of your bra and you froze briefly. Mark must have felt your hesitation because he kept it there. He didn’t push it further nor did he take it away and it felt weird. Like your heart was about to burst through your left breast for him to hold. Sometimes you dreamed of being touched like that, but it was even better than what you imagined, overpowering.  

Even if it was by Mark Tuan, or perhaps even more frighteningly; because it was him. This was all Primate y/n’s doing, anyway, not yours.

The Reverend Mother would’ve had a heart attack if she knew where you were and with whom. Your head was spinning, imagination taking this even further. This deserved at least a thousand Hail Marys, a plethora of Rosaries.

“Fuck,” He whispered in your mouth, the sound like thunder. “Who knew.”

Not you.

You had no idea you were so easy, such a whore. He resumed kissing you as though this was perfectly normal, but perhaps he just couldn’t stop either. You could feel him through his pants, the bad boy wasn’t so unphased by you. This was so new, everything was exhilarating. Mark rocked between your legs, causing your eyes to roll back in your head. You were enjoying every second of this, you were right; Seven Minutes in Heaven with Mark Tuan was your own personal Hell. Whatever this was would haunt you later on for sure. The smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the touch of his hand. But you were shameless, you took it all. You didn’t have any second to waste before reality hit. Mark pushed against you again and you pressed closer involuntarily, wondering if he was doing it on purpose.

The direct friction on your tights and panties was going to make you lose your damn mind. You slid one of your own hands under his shirt to feel the abs you spotted earlier during the Strip or Truth game. You ran your nails on his body, and he moaned.

Mark Tuan, actually moaned while making out with you.

You stilled for a heartbeat, unsure if this was supposed to be good or not until he bit your lips, rolling it between his teeth. And you came alive again, because... Jesus. That was unexpected. And Lord, that felt like Heaven. Your hands slid to his back to pull him closer and Mark obliged, fingers caressing the curve of your boobs endlessly, every bit of skin not covered by your bra. In the moment, you wanted to ask him to touch you under the fabric, wanted to know if you would break, but your mouth was too busy being full of him.

As though he heard your thoughts, or unable to refrain from it anymore, Mark’s left hand finally slipped under your bra to touch your breast. He brushed your nipple, causing you to make another embarrassing inhuman sound, something low that he swallowed and kept to himself. Thankfully, Mark only became more eager after that. He used his other hand to press you harder on him through his pants, rolling his hips forward. Your whole body was ablaze, alive in a way it had never been before, and surprisingly Mark seemed as equally taken. His kisses were messy, his breathing on your face heavy as if he was running a marathon. According to your heart rate, you certainly were too.

Mark mumbled unintelligibly, something about his will failing and doing this sooner, as he slipped his free hand to where your thighs met. Before you could process what he said, he touched that forbidden place through your tights and panties, even just like that it felt overwhelming and dangerous. Instantly, you fidgeted and dug your nails in his skin. He hissed and stilled too, but you pulled at him, undecided on what you wanted to do next. Reality was still waiting outside that door.

“Mark…” He seemed to recognized the call for whatever it truly was, and his fingers started to move cautiously on the fabric.

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, do we?” Mark’s head dropped in the crook of your neck to suck on your skin. Your whole body was humming at his touch, like wanting to be heard, to scream for the world to know.

Right. Reality. You covered your mouth with your hand, flustered. If you were still logical, sober and calm, you’d push him away, ask him to stop, but you didn’t want that. You wanted Mark to keep going, keep that up for an eternity, nothing else mattered. “Mark, this is s-so…”

Summoned, he grunted on your neck pleased you kept calling his name. “Good,” he asked, lips now brushing yours “being bad?”

Reprobate. Wrong. Lewd. Vile. Immoral. His fingers were still rubbing you, and you sighed, clinging to him, unable to say anything else. Perfect. Mind-blowing. Addictive. Perfectly right.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Hot.

“Me?” Hot. “Have you lost your mind?” You giggled and he joined, complicit.

“Yeah,” Mark’ hands abandoned their dirty deeds to cup your face, pulling you in for a deep kiss, “long ago.”

“When?” Seeing your frown, he grinned way too largely again. He was just about to answer when reality interrupted.  

“ONE MINUTE!” Someone loud – very Bambam-esque – hit the door and you both jerked away, startled.

How many bases did you two run anyway? Suddenly, you wished you knew baseball enough to get the sexy metaphors. Was that only the first base? This felt like way more.

“Fuck,” Mark swore again, exhaling loudly. “Y/n, that was… so hot.” That word again. It was the first time someone used it to describe something about you. Then again, tonight felt like a night full of ‘firsts’. Mark reached for your skirt that had riled up your hips and pulled it downwards, hiding how far your game had gone. The fact that it was his first move gave away how accustomed he was to that kind of heated make-out sessions and you shook your head from side to side, remembering who you were with and why. Right. He was the player of Saint-Agnès de Roma, a manwhore… Surely that was why.

“Did you drop the card on purpose?” You asked hurriedly while he was making sure your t-shirt was back to its original place.

He blinked, staring at you for a long second like you were a dimwit. “Yes.”

“Why?” You were determined to leave this place with a clear answer.

“Well, y/n,” Mark murmured, pressing his lips on yours and running his tongue at the edge of them one last time, “I don’t think I could make myself any more obvious.”

“W-What?”

“TIME’S UP!” Someone yelled – yep, it was Bambam – letting the too cruel light shine on the scene inside the closet.

Thankfully, Mark was standing at a safe distance when the door opened. Still, he must have looked guilty somehow, because Jaebum applauded, impressed.

“Jesus Christ,” Jackson swore – a very rare occurrence – when he saw your ruffled hair and swollen lips.

Another day, you’d feel like hiding away, but, probably because of the rush of oxytocin and all that Caribbean Punch, tonight, primate you just shrugged it off. Your mind was caught up elsewhere, up in the clouds. No wonder that jerk was so popular with girls.

After those Seven Minutes in Heaven, you had learned three new things:

One, Mark Tuan could Jedi trick you into doing absolutely anything.

Two, you could make him lose his mind...

And three…

You sneaked a look his way while getting pulled by Jackson out of the (blessed) closet. Mark was strangely silent, letting his friends tease him without much reaction. He met your gaze and you misstepped, almost falling on the Wang’s luxurious carpet. Jackson caught you in extremis and your clumsiness made Mark snort, struggling to conceal his inhuman grin. There he was, making fun of you again.

And three... Tonight was obviously going to become a regular thing between you two.

And you weren’t the one making the rules.

|| M.List || GOT7 ||

[merryfortune]

Cold Moon Rising

Fandom: Star Twinkle PreCure

Ship: Madoka/Mao

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: set before episode 19

Synopsis: Once upon a midnight dreary, Madoka pondered weak and weary, nearly napping there came a tapping... a midnight thief hailing from the cosmos, tis a visitor, and nothing more, Madoka thought as she confronted Blue Cat.

  Madoka’s room was cold. It was too early in the winter season for her to justify turning on a heater, she felt. This was more a personal rule than a family rule. After all, they had more than enough money to cover the cost of keeping her room sufficiently heated but it was barely December, after all but Madoka thought it would be good practice of self-restraint and discipline if she kept such a personal rule close to her heart even though she was currently suffering for it. Her room was frigid and no matter how she tried to sleep, she felt as though ice permeated her bed. No matter how she clung to her soft blankets and how she pulled her knees up to her chin to solidify her core, Madoka was unable to warm herself.

  Thus, with a little bit of defeat, she drew herself from her bed. She took a breath and she swore, if she exhaled, she would see a mist in the darkness just before her eyes. Though, such a thing did not occur when she finally did exhale.

  Madoka felt that her room was lonely feeling as she made the grand pilgrimage to the other side of it, where her heater was located. She passed her window and she felt a crescent moon’s grace upon her from just beyond her silken curtains. She listened to the tap and scratch of a tree reaching out and touching the glass of her window.

  Madoka knelt and she began fiddling with the knobs on her heater. It was located beside her desk and even with the poor light, she was able to understand how it all worked. Most of it, she felt was committed memory but through tactile touches, she was able to estimate on and off. She flicked a switch and gave a hard twist. The machine groaned and she smiled. She realised it had been quite a few months since it had last been in use so she made a mental note of asking her parents to bring in a maintenance man to check that it hadn’t accumulated dust or anything else which might be hazardous. But, for tonight, for a few hours, Madoka felt like the heater would be safe enough to use.

  She stood up to her full height and stretched. She yawned. She wondered what the time was. Perhaps just after midnight as she had been tossing and turning quite a bit, bristling with strenuous nervous energy and her mind racing with all sorts of things. Everything from items that she wanted to add to her to-do list to even just reliving exciting memories from earlier today. No matter how many times she transformed into Cure Selene, it gave her a rush. It was a lot like the first time she had shot an arrow and it had landed on the bullseye: it was satisfying and gave her a release from the humdrum, got her blood racing and her heart pounding. It was as wonderful as it was distracting.

  Still, with her room slowly begin to heat up, Madoka felt that she might be able to put such feelings to rest and get some sleep. After all, she had school in the morning, she needed some rest. Madoka yawned again and she listened to the tap and scratch of twigs scraping against glass. It was funny, she thought, how one gets used to a type of white noise and then never notices it until a third factor came along. Or, at least that was what she thought before she had a striking resurgence of memories.

  Day in, day out, she would leave from the adorned porch of her house in a limousine and she would go to school. Before that, they would circle back around the garden and then leave via the front gate. The grounds in which her house stood did not possess any trees; at least not this close to the house. Only some low shrubbery and some flowers all encased in sprawling green lawns. Therefore, the ambience emanating from her window now existed in a state of possibility.

  Madoka’s room may have grown warm but her body grew cold. Some sort of terror struck her as she walked towards the window. The curtain did not rustle or flutter nor did it seem particularly unusual. There was not a nary shadow cross its wrinkles and folds which did not seem out of place but as phosphenes spiralled, Madoka gave such a thought no stock.

  She pulled it across, and the vision of the moon dazzled her. Madoka closed her eyes against the light until it dulled. She heard laughter.

  “I thought you’d never come.” A voice said.

  Madoka sputtered as she opened her eyes. Blue Cat. It was Blue Cat. She was gawking directly unto the image and figure of the infamous thief. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was physically impossible, and all Mao could do was laugh as she so easily incurred such distraught from Madoka.

  “H-How?” stuttered Madoka.

  Mao shot up. Her plaited pigtails bounced as she did so. She stood and she still provided no illumination for Madoka until she drew in nearer.

  Madoka placed her hands on the cold windowpane. She looked over and saw that Mao had with her some sort of device which allowed her to hover at eye level with Madoka who resided on the second floor of the mansion. The device took the form of a broomstick but rather than end in straw, it ended in a rocket booster-like adornment festooned with ribbons and bows.

  With a huffy breath, Madoka decided to open her windows. They swung out quietly, which she was thankful for. Cold air assailed her room in the form of a frigid zephyr, but Mao remained unperturbed. She preened before Madoka who held onto herself with freezing hands. They crossed in front of her and she bore her most responsibly stern look with a pouty, lower lip.

  “So, what do you want?” Madoka asked. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  “You can say that again, huh, tuts?” Mao joked. “I know all about your Daddy’s little game. Though, I have to admit, he’s barely a player.”

  “Blue Cat.” Madoka warned with a glare.

  “I’ve stolen anything you; you haven’t got anything of value to me. Well, not in the physical sense. Information, yes, I may have fossicked through a few things here and there.” Mao replied.

  She sat back down on the rod of her broomstick-like hoverboard. Sparks and embers jetted out of the end, not yet setting fire to the flammable decorations but close enough. Mao smiled. She looked so natural, sitting here in the midst of impossibility; bathed in the blue light of the moon and the wider cosmos. She was all too proud and dignified. Beautiful, too, from just behind those sunglasses she wore even now in the thick of the freezing night. Madoka shivered. Wasn’t she cold?

  Mao smiled. “I really should be going, wouldn’t want to attract unsavoury attention from those who would profit to see me behind bars or worse but… I couldn’t help myself. I thought I better say goodbye rather than leave without saying anything. I couldn’t do that to one of my dear comrades from a previous heist. I’m not that cruel…”

  “Well, I’m glad that you at least understand the severity of punishments in store for us both if my Father were to find out about you.” Madoka said.

  “It’s a tough life being a part-time Defender of the Universe, a small-time thief, and all-round good girl for your parents.” Mao teased.

  “Goodbye, Blue Cat.” Madoka said.

  “Yeah, that’s true. You’re not a small-time thief. You helped me! That puts you in the big leagues.” Mao teased.

  “Blue Cat.” Madoka warned again.

  “I know, I know. You bought that Princess Pen fair and square with your Earthling donuts. Promise to treat me to them sometime?” Mao asked.

  “Perhaps…” Madoka relented. “I just don’t want you getting in trouble, is all. Be it with my Father or with other authorities.”

  Mao laughed. “D’aw, you’re so cute, Selene. Worried about me before yourself.”

  “Some has to worry for you.” Madoka said. “It may as well be me. You haven’t anyone else, yes? Your fans as the starlet Mao but no one except us knows that you and Mao are one in the same. I doubt most your fans would take the news as well as Prunce did.”

  “Hm, yes, that is true.” Mao mused and she smiled.

  Her smile fell in between the shadows yet was starlit, nonetheless. Her glasses glinted and she took them off her face. She patted them down so that they sat, just jutting out of from behind the peak of her shirt and let them rest there. Her eyes looked so different without them, and in the dim as well. Madoka was awed by cranberry-like hue of them.

  Both girls shivered slightly as a breeze whistled past. Madoka’s heart ached. She really didn’t want to stay up any later and she didn’t think she had it in her to house an inter-galactic fugitive, even if it was the dead of night. After all, the dead of night always gave birth to the life of dawn. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk her friends like that, even if it meant giving the cold shoulder to another one of them.

  Madoka was sadly enamoured with that smile Mao bore, even as her bare shoulders prickled in the cold night.

  “I’ll bid thee farewell soon enough, Madoka, don’t you worry about that.” Mao said. “I’m nearly done bothering you. Thanks for realising I was here.”

  “I’m glad I did as well. In future, perhaps, you could, um… you could just call my name. I’ll hear you. I promise. No matter how cold the night or how deep the sleep. If you called for me, I would hear you.” Madoka told Mao with a sincere passion limited by that which she could and could not afford. “Promise you won’t catch a cold?”

  “Promise.” Mao replied.

  A lukewarm smile embedded itself upon Madoka’s lips and now, it was Mao’s turn to be dazzled by such a demure smile.

  “But,” Mao added, “there is one last thing I would like to steal from Earth before I leave.”

  Madoka blinked. “Oh? What might that be?”

  “Just a little souvenir.” Mao replied.

  She leaned in and, like the thief she was, she stole a kiss from Madoka. Madoka stiffened. Her eyes widened. Mao smiled into the kiss. It was sloppy and there was a sense that it was ill-practiced. All instinct, going full steam ahead with no thought to technique or anything else which may have made it more pleasant. Yet, Madoka relaxed into the kiss, nonetheless. She closed her eyes and she kissed back.

  Mao was rather dashing in her impulsivity and her own quirky strain of how she demonstrated the suave element of her phantom thief persona. Mao tasted of things that Madoka couldn’t begin to identify. Perfumes from distant places and sweets using ingredients that Madoka couldn’t begin to imagine the possibility of. Her hand reached across and caressed Madoka’s face. Madoka crooned into the kiss, kissing back as chastely as she could but this thief incited something a little less than ladylike within her.

  The kiss ended all too abruptly. Mao’s hand fell away and she laughed to herself. A small, almost forlorn chuckle before she fidgeted with her sunglasses again. Madoka blushed.

  “I’ll be seeing you.” Madoka said.

  “Hopefully not.” Mao replied. “After all, we might be amiable, but our goals are the crosshairs, remember? I don’t want to trample your little heart, is all.”

  “But those crosshairs meet somewhere. I still have some of the Princess Pens that you are after…” Madoka replied.

  “That you do… That you do. For now, anyway. Who knows? Maybe I’ll send you a postcard.” Mao teased.

  Madoka shook her head. “Mm, no, you’re too honourable for that. Surely you would duel for them, fair and square.”

  Mao’s lips quirked. She wasn’t so certain of that. Her expression, and therefore her thoughts, were unreadable to Madoka as she wore her sunglasses, even in the loom of such nightly darkness. Madoka’s heart wretched as she placed her hands on the windowsill once more. The distance between them was so little yet so great.

  “Farewell, Mao, stay safe.” Madoka bade her with a tender voice.

  “Bye, bye, Madoka.” Mao murmured.

  She took a breath and a gust stirred up. Her broomstick rocked upwards in almost hiccup-like motions. She waved her hand nonchalantly at Madoka then jetted off. Madoka’s hair fluttered back in the wake. Sparks, orange and yellow and maybe pink as well, danced in Mao’s trail before she became an inky blue blip like all the other stars of the sky.

  Madoka closed the window and she closed her heart, as well. Blue Cat was not her enemy, but she wasn’t her friend either. Even if her heart did yearn otherwise and the tingling sensation on her kissed lips begged otherwise. Regardless, Madoka did wish Mao nothing but the best. She knew the girl’s goal to be true of heart, even if it put them in unfavourable positions juxtaposed against one another. At the very least, with a clear conscious, Madoka could say that she wanted the phantom thief to be safe.

  She took a breath. Her room was cold once more. She could hear the low, rumbling whirr of her heater regardless. Her mood became crestfallen. It had been strangely warm with Mao, she thought, even though she had endured gust of cold wind after gust of cold wind whilst talking with her. Her heart heavied. She had barely left and Madoka missed her sorely already.

  But, unfortunately, she could not spend her whole night pining; she chastised herself. After all, she had archery practice in the morning, followed by school, followed by studying. And that is assuming that she doesn’t get cajoled into having fun with the other girls or tasked with defending the peace of not only the town of Mihoshi, but the whole planet or other planets too from the Notraiders and their devious forces as well. It was a lot of work for a fourteen-year-old girl, but it was work that Madoka adored, nonetheless.

  She just wished that she could simplify it. Just like how Hikaru and the others had simplified her life by giving her space to breathe and have fun, she wanted to do the same for Mao. She wanted to invite her along and let her have some fun as well as it was more than evident to Madoka that there was something very harsh in her past and it was that pain which compelled her forward, no matter to what trickery or thievery that it took her; she deserved relief from that, Madoka felt.

  Madoka sighed as she climbed back into her bed. Her sheets felt alien around her as she wrapped herself up and dearly wished that she could do the same for Mao despite the reservations her mind put forth, but the heart wanted the heart wanted. No matter how silly, it seemed. Madoka sighed and closed her eyes. She tried to will herself to sleep but still, she was ailed but now, with new thoughts which were all hued an electric blue and in feline shape. Worse still, she was still cold.

[amethystblack]

How do you set up the pokemon teams for the reborn characters? Are some of them based on the online league or the field effects?

Pretty much. I tried to make and plan most of the field effects in a way that would either emphasize a personal theme, or their strategies from the online league. So those would usually be the the starting point. Ideally each character’s strategy should match their personality, and field effects support that strategy.

Julia is the easiest example of the last point. Explosions, right? So she uses selfdestruct, and sonicboom. But in a level 100 online league there is noooo way you can use sonicboom effectively, an even Explosion is pretty trash after 4th gen. So we use her point in the game to enable her theme to appear in her battle.

The same is true of desert rose Florinia. Her ace online was pretty much always a set up stall Cradily, so sometimes her teams would be centered around sand and stall, but there was very little one can effectively do with that at a high level. The low level and desert field allowed me to give her all the cacti and cacti accessories gamefreak could muster to support sand.

Online Corey didn’t really have a specific strategy and frankly wasn’t really great at battling so I didn’t have anything to base off of there. I think his most thematic approach is Venom Drench making everything your Pokemon might do as futile as he insists life is, but to be honest despite half of his Pokemon having the move, I don’t think it sees much use or effectiveness in game either.

Shelly is the most dramatic case of differing from the league. Rain doubles was something she did in certain circumstances, but it wasn’t her go-to. I’m sure I’ve talked about this before but her original strat used prankster Volbeat to Tail Glow > Baton Pass to Speed Boost Yanmega in singles and sweep as much of the challenger’s team as possible. I chose to not make this team for her because I didn’t trust the AI to do that effectively back in episode 4. Now that the AI has been finished, it might be fine-- but I don’t think it’s worth changing the established battle for. It’s also important to introduce doubles as a possibility for gyms somewhat early.Still, as I said, the rain double strat wasn’t unprecedented.

I think the most defining strategy Shade ever had was holding Shedinja as a win condition and using Shadow Tag Chandelure to pick off anything that could kill it until there was nothing left. This never made it into game because Shadow Tag was removed from Chandelure by gamefreak in 6th gen, and again, the AI wouldn’t be able to use Shedinja effectively-- not even now, probably. So his team was pretty much tailored to his field effect, until the addition of Mimikyu, which I think is a perfect new ace for him over his neutered Chandy.

Kiki is another case like Julia where the field effects made her theme possible. I always always always wanted to find a way to use meditate for her in her online league battles because, come on, it’s her move. Unfortunately it’s a bad move that only boosts attack one stage. That was easy enough to fix.

The extent of Aya’s similarities is using doubles. Dragalge and Sludge Wave didn’t exist during her prime, so she mainly used Doubles with sun or rain to sweep with speed doubling abilities. It’s worth noting, maybe, that she’s one of the few leaders that preferred doubles to triples. So, that one in game became based on the field effect, and also with the intention of making it very different from Corey’s battle.

Because Gamefreak decided that caring about Hail was for losers until Gen 7, Serra didn’t have much online except blizzard spam in doubles, which was her infamous old team. Field Effects replaced that entirely since I was actually able to play around with evasion to make her mirror theme happen.Sorry about the hax, folks.

Noel didn’t have much of anything in terms of a unique theme or strat online or otherwise, which frankly, is probably as appropriate for Noel and the Normal type as one can get. So his team was probably just based around covering weaknesses. 

Radomus always used trickroom multis, with the whole black-moving first thing. Field Effects definitely enabled that via chess arena.

Luna was the first one to actually receive a field effect, which is probably part of why her field is so relatively underpowered (the first three fields were all based on canon terrains). Her nickname theme persisted from the online league so the mons were just selected from that to try and use the field as a first trial.

Samson was theme through the field-- anything to emphasize physical strength being the strongman and all. so, Hit Really Hard. a great strategy that worked online, but was much better here. 

charlotte online heat wave spam burn everything who cares

Terra’s doesn’t resemble the online league at all naturally, since Glitch Field is so different. So that was just based on that, keeping several of her signature Pokemon and their unfortunate names.

Ciel-- field enables acrobatics for the aerial dancer. I think this is one that wasn’t as feasible online as one might have liked. Her teams usually ended up using tailwind instead, and triples to use it for longer. 

Adrienn was just dazzling gleam spam online, so frankly his field changing mechanic in game matching him changing the city’s environment too is a huge improvement, but somewhat original. At least the TM kept.

Titania’s theme basically is her field rather than her team, Aegislash aside (which didn’t exist for much of the league), so that was mainly to abuse the environment.

Amaria was always meant to drown you. Get swift swam and pulled underwater and suffer in singles-- or go down with her Perish Song in doubles. Lapras Perish Stall was a strategy Amy used exclusively in the X-League, but it was effective since her win condition basically just became ‘KO 3 Pokemon and perish song the rest’ since a tie favored the leader. Technically that would work in the normal league but she only fought singles in the normal set because she knew it was what most challengers preferred. Her asking which format the player prefers is in reference to that-- though the real amy never switched it out of spite.

hardy was rock flavored charlotte with a side of radomus’ trickroom. before E18 i was realllly torn on whether i would implement his trick room, since it was key online, but I thought it might be possible to do a straight HO team with all the fast rock pokemon that gen 7 added-- and that would definitely be more reliable (as Radomus proved). I’m really glad I chose that approach, but because of its effectiveness, and so that Trick Room could stay unique to Radomus.

and saphira had a grand fucking total of 9 pokemon to choose from before gen 6 so like idk do your best hon

hopefully that’s some adequate insight.

[gwenbrightly]

Maybe

Cross posted from ffnet. Hello everyone! Welcome to the fic that was supposed to be my Valentines Day special… But… I'm not great with deadlines, so it's a few days late. "Maybe" is centered around Kai and Skylor, and takes place between s4 and s5. I've taken some liberties here with how Master Chen's Noodle House operates, and a few other things, but I really hope you enjoy my first attempt at writing Kailor! It was definitely interesting, trying to find the right balance between awkward dorkiness and adorable fluff, but I had a lot of fun writing this, as random as it turned out! Enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

Skylor stared balefully at her watch, silently willing the meeting she was currently in the middle of to reach its end before she got driven insane. The past month had been an exhausting, chaotic mess for her, and she was ready for it to be over. Following her father's banishment to the cursed realm, she had begun fighting to rebuild his noodle empire in a much less criminally inclined way. There had been little time to relax; she'd barely been able to appreciate the fact that she was living on her own terms for the first time in her life before being thrust into the process of orchestrating the many changes that needed to be made. Countless hours had been dedicated to debating and discussing, interviewing and observing, adjusting and questioning. All in the hopes of giving those associated with the many branches of the popular restaurant a chance at a new beginning. And it was nice, to have a purpose. But there were times where she debated whether or not she was actually making any headway.

"But if we reconfigure our employee rights policy as you have proposed, production may be negatively effected, which will most certainly lead to a significant decrease in profit..." A representative from one of the noodle factories pointed out, not at all pleased with the adjustments the redhead had just described. Sometimes she wondered if the individual in question wanted her to fail. She could've sworn she heard someone grunt in agreement. The bespectacled young women across the table from her glanced up from her Borg tablet in concern. Skylor shook her head. Best not to let this situation get out of hand.

"I am aware of that, Mr. Millers. I've already told you multiple times that I am more than prepared to deal with the consequences of any adjustments we make as long as it allows us to give Master Chen's Noodle House the positive reputation it deserves. So, really, I'm not sure why you've brought this up again." She said with a sigh. How much longer before she could retreat to the safety of her apartment? 10, 15 more minutes?

"Miss Chen has made great progress over the past few weeks. Just think of how popular the puffy potstickers have become since she decided to put them back on the menu." June, her recently hired assistant manager added quietly. Yes, she had made the right decision in selecting this girl to join her tightly knit team of employees, even if she was rather soft spoken.

"I am merely... concerned that these changes have not been thought out sufficiently. This business has existed for decades... It would be a shame if someone were to... Run it into the ground with unrealistic dreams..." The man replied in an oily tone, giving her a very fake smile. Skylor frowned. Such behavior was only going to make the meeting more tedious. It was official. He definitely wouldn't mind seeing her slip up.

"First of all, the lack of pay and deplorable working conditions seen in many of our more rural factories could be considered illegal, as I'm sure you know, and second of all, don't think I'm oblivious to what you are insinuating. I had hoped that your expertise and years of experience would be beneficial in reforming my father's business, but if you continue to undermine my judgement and fight me at every turn, I will be forced to ask you to leave." She informed Mr. Millers with a pointed stare. He deflated slightly but didn't seem overly thrilled to have been called out on his behavior.

"...As you wish, Ms. Chen..." For now.

"Good." Skylor declared forcefully, sharing an exasperated look with June, " I propose that we begin implementing adjustments as planned, then. To start with, all workers will now be entitled to a 15 minute break every three hours, and a half an hour break after five. Shifts will be no longer than nine hours, and we are increasing pay to minimum wage. All in favor?" She and June raised their hands immediately. The head delivery truck driver, quality control specialist, and several faculty members hailing from various locations, joined them, eventually, leaving a disgruntled Mr. Millers and one additional factory representative as the only opposers.

"That's eight for and two against. Sorry, Mr. Millers, but it looks like majority wins in this case." Skylor's assistant declared, hurriedly typing the results of the vote for posterity. She didn't appear even remotely apologetic about this turn of events.

"Thank you, everyone, for being so flexible. I know we've experienced a lot of changes lately, but I truly believe they will help make Master Chen's more successful in the long run. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss? I know many of you have families to get home to, so I'd prefer not to drag this meeting out any more than we have to, especially on a Saturday." Skylor commented with a relieved smile. Almost finished...

"I vote we call it quits. Today's supposed to be date night with the wife." Offered the truck driver. The others nodded their assent. Even those who were dissatisfied with the outcome of the meeting were ready to depart.

"Okay, then. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I'll see all of you next week, alright?" The redhead called as conference room exploded into a flurry of chairs being pushed forward and paperwork being packed away.

"Phew. Glad that's over." June told her, watching everyone leave.

"Yep. We survived another run in with the infamous Mr. Millers."

"He sure is determined to throw you to the sharks... I don't know how you do it..."

"It isn't easy, but I'm sure he'll come around. Eventually. Or he'll just straight up quit. But it helps to have such a good team on my side." Skylor replied, elbowing her, "You've been a great help in getting everything organized. I really appreciate all your hard work. And June? Tell Chad I say hello... I can see his car in the parking lot." The assistant manager's cheeks flushed.

"Oh. O-of course. See you tomorrow... Please try to relax a little. I don't wanna end up having to run this place all by myself if you overwork yourself to death..."

"No promises, but I'll try. Now get yourself outta here – don't need keep that boyfriend of yours waiting, right? " The young woman told her friend, practically shoving her out the door.

"Okay, okay. I'm going. Bye!"

"Bye." At least one of them had something enjoyable to do with the remainder of the afternoon.

"Miss Chen? A-are you leaving? There's a customer who's been asking for you for the past half an hour…" The waitress who had suddenly appeared by her side informed her. Skylor cursed her luck. It looked like relaxation would have to wait.

"Where?" She asked, exhaling deeply.

"The corner booth over by the window. You can't miss him…" The waitress replied, pointing. Better get this over with, then, she thought, wandering towards the table she'd been directed to. The master of amber took her time, reluctant to engage in another potentially frustrating conversation.

"Hello? Someone said you wanted to see me… is there a problem?" She inquired, drawing closer.

"Oh, there's no problem," The person replied casually, turning so she could see their face, "I just wanted to talk to the prettiest restaurant owner in all of Ninjago City, that all." And then recognition dawned on her.

"Kai?" Skylor gasped in surprise.

"The one and only. Do you have time to talk for bit?" The spiky haired ninja smiled widely.

"Uh... Sure, definitely. It's been awhile... How have you been since the tournament?" She commented, eagerly slipping onto the bench opposite his.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Trying to keep Cole and Jay from killing each other. Making sure Lloyd actually sleeps at night and isn't living entirely off of peach rings. Solving minor problems for civilians. You hear about that bank robbery last week? Yeah, that was us." Kai told her with a shrug. The redhead's eyes widened.

"Wow, really? Sounds like you've been busy, then."

"Yeah. That's why I wasn't able to visit sooner – though I really wanted to... Especially since Master Wu's decided he wants to try his hand at tea making. He's got all of us helping him remodel Garmadon's old monastery so he can use it as a teashop." She wished he had been able to drop by before now, but she'd take what she could get.

"Oh. That's... That's an interesting decision. How is Lloyd taking it?" He looked a touch guilty, probably worried about his honorary brother. She'd gotten the impression that they were an extremely close-knit family. What would it be like to be part of something like that? Skylor wondered.

"It's hard to tell. He says he's just happy to have his team back together again... We're hoping he really is cool with it, but… getting him to talk about his feelings is like pulling teeth sometimes..."

"Yeesh. Sounds about right from what I've seen of him."

"Basically… But enough about me and my crazy family drama, even if I do admit to being a little worried about the kid. How has life been treating you these days?" Kai questioned (after all, he had come to see her, and she clearly needed to de-stress).

"It's been… hectic, to say the least. You wouldn't believe the number of sketchy business agreements my father made while he was still… around… I've been trying to undo most of them, but it takes time… and, well… there are people who are definitely not gung-ho about all the changes I'm making…" Skylor disclosed with a weary sigh. The master of fire reached across the table and clasped her hands.

"That sucks. I'm sure it'll get better soon, though. You have a that crazy way of winning people over with minimal effort. Few can resist your powers of persuasion." Was it just her, or was the room suddenly much hotter than it had been before?

"Thanks, but not everyone feels the way you do… I just hope it blows over soon. These weekend meetings – that's where I was when you got here – they're killing me… I've barely had time to sleep, let alone enjoy the city…"

"Sounds like you need to get away more… D-do you wanna… Go do something with me to get your mind off of everything?" Kai offered. Skylor froze for a second.

"A-are you asking me out? Like on a date?" She found herself saying, immediately cursing herself for being so forward. This… Dynamic between the two of them was difficult to define. They'd grown incredibly close while on her father's island, but then… she just wasn't quite sure where they stood now…

"Er… Maybe…? I-if you want it to be? I mean, we never did get to play tourist, so…? What I'm saying is… I enjoy you and I… I'd love to spend more time together…and… " The spiky haired young man rambled, smiling awkwardly. His cheeks were noticeably rosier than before. Oh. Yes, she would most certainly be interested in doing so.

"Okay, then… I'd love to go on a maybe date with you, Kai. Thanks for asking." She decided, smirking. His face brightened.

"Great! This is great! So… Uh, when are you free?"

"Say the word and I can be ready in five minutes?"

"Really?"

"Sure. Just lemme grab my purse. That should give you plenty of time to figure out what we're doing…" Skylor said, untangling her hands from Kai's and heading for her office. So, her weekend wouldn't be as tedious as she'd been expecting after all.

______________________________________________________________

"You know, it's gonna be a little hard for me to get out of your car with my eyes shut…" The redhead complained a bit later as she felt the vehicle come to a stop. She could hear the sound of Kai's laughter from the driver's seat.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you don't face plant."

"That's such a comfort, Kai. Really, I feel much better knowing you're there to catch me..." Skylor replied, resisting the urge to peek. He ignored her sass in favor of exiting the car and slipping around to the passenger side.

"Here," The master of fire said, grabbing her hand and helping her step onto the asphalt outside.

"So, you gonna tell me where we are?" She asked, ready to be permitted to open her eyes again.

"Nope. Not yet. I want it to be a surprise." Her companion informed her. Kai gently gripped her elbow to keep her from losing her way. He was certainly taking this seriously given how spur of the moment it had been. It was kind of adorable.

"It's just a little further." Together, they wandered towards the unknown destination.

"I'm trusting you that when I finally get to open my eyes , I won't be standing in the middle of a sewage system or something." Joked Skylor as the master of fire's pace slowed.

"Geez, I'm not that mean… and I'll have you know that Ninjago City's sewers are actually a very interesting place to explore." He started defensively, "Though, on second thought, we'd probably both rather not run into any Serpentine right now, so. Guess I can't really judge too much…"

"I was kidding, dork. But yeah, maybe save that for another time?"

"Well, uh… We're here, so, you can look now." Kai stated awkwardly.

"Whoah. S' bright out here…" The girl blinked furiously. He slung an arm around her shoulders.

"Well, you see, that's what you get for spending all day inside that restaurant of yours dealing with prickly business men. No time to enjoy the sun." She seriously contemplated whipping him in the face with her ponytail, but ultimately chose not to. Looking around, she caught sight of the rather large sign just in front of them.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I've been pretty much blind since we left the restaurant… The Ninjago City Zoo, huh?"

"I-is this okay? It was the first thing I thought of, and-" The master of fire inquired nervously.

"It's totally fine. I've been meaning to come here, anyway. It'll be way more fun when I've got someone to enjoy it with." She assured him with a smile. Kai returned the smile in relief.

"Shall we?" They linked arms and pressed forward, joining the surprisingly short line of people waiting to get in.

Entrance fee paid, the two soon found themselves standing near a large map with arrows pointing to the various attractions and areas within the park.

"So. There's a peacock on the loose. Should I be concerned?" Skylor observed, attention temporarily drawn away from their discussion of which route to take. Kai glanced where she was looking. A very self satisfied bird was currently strutting about, fanning its brilliant feathers for all to see. Several children followed it in fascination. He snapped a picture on his phone to show the others later.

"Nah, it's pretty common for one to be wandering around like that. They're super tame. You're not, like, allergic or anything, right?" She shook her head.

"Nope. It's just… My father tried to keep one as a pet when I was little, and I guess I've never really…"

"Tried?" Her eyes lit up at the question.

"Well, we only had it for a few weeks. It absolutely hated Clouse – I don't know what he did to anger it – but it was always chasing him down the hallways screeching and stuff? Let me tell you, those things may be beautiful to look at, but they make the worst noises imaginable. It was hilarious to watch, though. He'd just be minding his own business, and that stupid bird would come flying at him like he'd murdered its young." The redhead explained, giggling as she remembered the man's plight.

"Seriously? That's priceless?" Kai declared, laughing with her.

"Yeah, and you should've seen how many times he complained about it, too. He was always like, Master, your pet just tried to make me into a pincushion again. Why do you insist on putting up with such a ridiculous creature? Don't you have a button to make it go away? And my father would just go on and on about how glorious its feathers were and how it was worth more than all of Clouse's hair dye collection."

"Wait-Clouse dyed his hair?" Kai wheezed.

"Ooh, now I'm giving away all my dark family secrets. Better watch out, or I'll start spilling the secret recipe for puffy pot stickers or something…" She teased.

"So, what happened to it?"

"Darn thing ended up being released into the wild. Father couldn't bring himself to get rid of it completely, you know, just in case he ended up needing a way to mess with Clouse again… I think it's still on the island somewhere. Used to see it every once in awhile when I went hiking and stuff."

"That has to be one of the coolest stories I've heard in a long time." The master of fire asserted.

"It's… something, alright." Skylor admitted, "Where to first?"

"Have you ever seen a camel?"

As it turned out, while Master Chen's island had contained a variety of exotic creatures, Skylor had in fact, never been near a camel before. So, of course, the spiky haired ninja was more than happy to change that.

"C'mon Skylor, I have a great idea." He informed her, dragging her down the pathway, at breakneck speed, dodging other people as they went.

"Could we maybe slow down a bit?" She panted.

"Sorry, no can do. We don't wanna be late for feeding time. You'll be missing out on a pretty cool opportunity if we do."

"Wait… What?"

They arrived at the exhibit just as the zookeeper began explaining procedures for meal time interaction.

"If you just hold out your hand like this," The zookeeper demonstrated, pressing some treats into their hands. Apparently Skylor was going to be getting up close and personal with the large mammal.

"Nice and steady, Brenda, here, probably won't spit on you."

"Probably." The redhead commented, bemused.

"Yeah, these are her favorite treats."

"What am I even doing right now?" She pondered, turning to Kai.

"Having fun. Duh."

"You won't be saying that if the camel spits on you." Skylor pointed out.

"The chances of that happening are like, super slim. In all the times I've been here before, it's never even come close to being a problem. And besides, I'll still look awesome, even if I do end up with spit in my hair." He insisted cockily.

"Whatever you say, fire boy." She said, finally following the zookeeper's instructions. Hand held out, she watched as the camel approached her. Luckily, Brenda was only interested in daintily consuming the offering of food that was being presented to her, and refrained from salivating on anyone. She nudged the redhead's shoulder playfully when she was finished, looking for more food.

"Sorry," Skylor told the creature, "That's all I got. Go bug Kai. He still has some."

"See? She's just a big softie…" The master of fire stated, letting the camel nibble on the treats he held.

"Yeah, kinda like someone else I know." She replied with an innocent smirk. He raised an eyebrow.

"No clue who that could be..."

"Course' not. Thank you for letting us participate in this. It was surprisingly fun." The girl commented to the zookeeper as they made their departure.

"Okay, you get to choose where we're going this time." Kai stated, linking arms with her.

"You sure you wanna trust me with that? I might make you visit your brethren the porcupines."

" First it was hedgehogs, and now this? Why does everyone always want to compare me to prickly animals?" He groaned in mock irritation, continuing to wander down the trail.

"Well, I mean, you could always restyle your hair?" She suggested.

"Never! I like it the way it is."

"Who am I to stand in your way, then? C'mon, the lions should be just up ahead." They walked in companionable silence, enjoying the nice weather and the distraction from their chaotic lives. Several hours were spent exploring the zoo. Kai showed her all the best places to stand in order to get the perfect view of the animals. Skylor's phone quickly filled with pictures. Good natured teasing was shot back any forth. The sun had begun to set by the time they'd seen everything there was to see. An afternoon well spent, for both of them.

________________________________________________________________"Hey Sky?" Kai called softly, shaking the sleeping redheads shoulder, "Skylor? We're here."

"Wuh?" She asked blearily, running at her eyes. The day's events had clearly wiped her out.

"We're just outside your apartment. You fell asleep pretty much as soon as I pulled out of the parking lot."

"Oh." She was home already?

"Yeah. But that's okay… I mean, we did do an awful lot of walking, and I know you were already tired before we even left Master Chen's, so…" He assured her.

"Hey, Kai?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For today, I mean. It was… It was nice to get away for awhile. With you."

"It was" He agreed, wishing the moment could last longer.

"Let's try not to wait so long between visits next time, okay? I-I missed you…" The girl admitted. Next time?

"I missed you, too… I'll do my best to drop by more often." Promised the master of fire. Skylor shot him a weary grin.

"Well. Good. I, uh… I'll text you?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Goodbye," She said, giving him a side hug. It only lasted for a second, but it was full of warmth.

"Bye. I… I hope things with your restaurant calm down soon…" Kai stated.

"Me too. Good luck with the tea business. Maybe I'll drop by sometime."

"I'd like that." Reluctantly climbing from the vehicle, Skylor gave one last wave before heading inside. Although it would end up being awhile before either of them were ready (or able) to commit to anything official, this day would always be locked in their memories as one of the best moments in the beginnings of their relationship. Their lives would be busy, and filled with danger, but, eventually, they would find their way. Almost as soon as the redhead had left, the master of fire's phone began to vibrate. How on earth did his sister have such perfect timing?

_______________________________________________________________

Nya: So, how was ur DATE with Skylor?!

Kai: #1, it wasn't even anything official. #2, how on earth did u know what I was up to? Stalker.

Nya: It wasn't even that hard to figure out. Ur so hopelessly in love that I couldn't help but notice.

Kai: What? U know that doesn't answer my question – right?

Nya: Fine. Green bean and I checked the tracking device on ur phone.

Nya: We got bored. And there's only ONE reason u'd visit the noodle place. It doesn't take a genius.

Kai: Invasion of privacy, much?

Nya: I call sibling rights.

Kai: Whatever, dorks.

Kai: And for the record, it went great.

Nya: ASDJDHFHSJA! Details?

Kai: Patience, sis. Tell u when I get back.

Nya: Better drive fast then. I'm waiting.

Kai: Kay. I'll make sure to completely ignore every speed limit posting I see.

Nya: Fine. Fair point. Don't get urself arrested. I'm not bailing u out.

Kai: Sure thing. Imma be home soon.

Nya: Love u.

Kai: love u 2.