#(by the way how do people get an opportunity to govern out of nowhere… shouldn’t be accessible to fandom newbies 🤔)

[scary-grace]

the new postmodern age (chapter one) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Written for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, and the prompt 'a day at the beach'! Congratulations on the milestone, and thanks for giving me a chance to write this fic.

dividers by @enchanthings

Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 1

You believe in second chances.

Before the war, you were living on the margins, just like the rest of even the pettiest criminals were. No one would hire someone with a record, even if the record was for something nonviolent, and that meant that you were always hungry, always freezing in the winter and getting heatstroke in the summer, always one step away from doing something worse and getting put away for good. You were going nowhere fast, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get back on your feet. It was a struggle to get up in the morning.

But after the war, something changed. Not a lot, but enough, because after a heartfelt public plea from the hero who saved the day, the world decided to care a little bit about people like you. The government passed new anti-discrimination laws, including one banning hiring discrimination against people with criminal records, and for nonviolent criminals like you, they opened up an extra opportunity – a choice between job training or a startup loan for a small business, so you could pay down your fines and restitution while adding something good to society. Sure, it was all in the name of preventing new villains from being created, but you’ll take it. You took it, picked up a loan, moved out of the city to a small town on the coast, and decided to open up a coffee shop.

You’re not really sure why you picked a coffee shop. Maybe because the town you moved to didn’t have one yet, or maybe because you used to hang out in them a lot when you had nowhere else to go. And the program you’re part of worked exactly like it was supposed to. You had to hire people to help you get the building you chose up to code, and that meant you met people in your new community. You showed those people that the criminals they hated were people, too. You’ve paid most of your fines and you’re able to break even anyway, and even though there’s a sign on the door telling everyone that you’re a convicted felon and you have to answer any questions you’re asked about it, you have customers.

Not just customers – regulars. People whose kids you’ve seen grow up, people who talk to you when they see you out and about. After five years of trying, you’ve finally carved out a place where you belong. So yeah, you believe in second chances. How could you not?

You stand back from your front window, admiring the latest addition. There’s the sign identifying your business as one sponsored by the Nonviolent Criminal Reintegration Act, but just above it, you’ve added a bigger sign: Free Internet Access. Osono, whose bakery makes the pastries you sell, studies it alongside you. “Free access? Shouldn’t it be access with purchase?”

“I thought about it a lot, but no.” You’re sort of lying. You thought about it for two seconds and that was it. “This is better.”

“It’ll attract riff-raff.”

That’s the kind of comment that used to really piss you off, but you know Osono. You know it’s just a blind spot, and you know how to respond. “Most things are online these days. Job applications, apartment listings, information on government assistance. When I was in trouble before, free internet access would have helped me a lot. And I usually bought something anyway, even if it was just a cup of coffee.”

“Not a pastry?” Osono nods at the trays stacked on her cart, and you remember that she’s waiting for you to open the door. Oops. You unlock it in a hurry and prop it open with a rock you pulled up from the beach. “Where were you getting food?”

“Wherever I could.” You were hungry a lot. And sick a lot, because sometimes you had to eat things that were expired. You don’t like to think about that very much. “I stole sometimes so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve paid it all back by now.”

“You know how to take responsibility,” Osono says. She slides back the door on your pastry case without asking and starts loading things in. “I wish more of them were like you.”

“Most of us are,” you say, as gently as you can manage. “We just need a fighting chance.”

Sometimes people forget that you’re a criminal, that you’ll carry your record around for the rest of your life. You can’t let them forget. Osono nods in the way that tells you she’s humoring you and lifts a tray of pastries you haven’t seen before out of the cart. “These are a new recipe I’m trying out. What do you think?”

“They’re pretty,” you say. “Is that chocolate in the filling?”

“And cinnamon. They aren’t vegan, but there aren’t any common allergens in them.” Osono passes you the recipe anyway, and you scribble down the ingredients on the back of the name card you’re making, just in case someone asks. “Tell me how they do, all right? If they sell decently I’ll add them to my rotation.”

“Will do.” You help her with the last few trays. “Thanks, Osono. Say hi to the kids and Naoki for me?”

“Will do.” Osono wheels the cart back out the door, then pauses to study the internet access sign. “Good luck with this.”

“Thanks.”

You wait until the delivery van pulls away before you start rearranging the pastries to your preferred setup. You add “new arrival” to the label for the new pastry, then touch the lettering to turn it a pleasant but eye-catching green before placing it front and center in the case. Then you set up your espresso machine, wake up the cash register, switch on the lights and take down the chairs from the tops of the tables – and only then do you switch on the other sign in your window. It’s seven am. Skyline Coffee and Tea is open for business.

It’s grey and cold, and the low tide is closer to noon today, which means you’re in for a busy morning as the people who walk the beach daily stop in for food and coffee first. Only one person orders one of the new pastries, but almost everyone comments on the free internet access. They say the same kind of thing Osono said, and you say the same thing you said to her if they hold still long enough for you to answer. You say it nicely. It’s an effort to say it nicely, sometimes, but it’s worth doing.

Past noon, things slow down a bit. You decide to speed-clean the espresso machine, and you’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice the customer. It’s possibly also the customer’s fault, since he’s peering at you from over the pickup counter instead of standing by the cash register, and when he barks the question at you, it startles you badly. “What’s the password?”

“On the WiFi?” You tuck your burned hand behind your back. “No password. Find a place to sit down and have at it.”

The customer looks disconcerted. Or at least you think he does – the lower half of his face is covered with a surgical mask, and given that he doesn’t have eyebrows, it’s hard to read his expression. “Why?”

“Why isn’t there a password?” You haven’t gotten that question yet. “I want people to be able to use it if they need it.”

“They’re gonna watch porn.”

“Me putting a password on the WiFi wouldn’t stop that,” you say. “And I’m not the internet police. If somebody starts acting up, I’ll deal with it. If not – just use headphones.”

The customer’s expression twists. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Sure.” You’re not a moron. “It’s not my business what you do. Unless your business starts messing with my business. Seriously. Knock yourself out.”

The customer turns away, and you spend a second being extremely grateful that you went for single-occupancy bathrooms instead of multiple-stall bathrooms before you go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Your hand hurts, but it’s nothing running it under cold water won’t fix later. When you straighten up, there’s someone at the counter.

It’s porn guy, who you really shouldn’t call porn guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. You dry your hands and hurry over. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The customer glances at the pastry case and shakes his head. Then his stomach growls. He knows you heard it. What little of his face is visible above the mask turns red. “No.”

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’ve got these new pastries the bakery wants me to try out, but next to nobody’s tried one yet. If you agree to tell me how it was, you can have it half off.”

“I have money.” The customer shoves a credit card across the counter to you, and you see that he’s wearing fingerless gloves. Or sort of fingerless gloves. They’re missing the first three fingers on each hand. “I don’t need help.”

“No, but you’re helping me out.” You add the pastry to his order and discount it by half, then fish it out of the case with a pair of tongs. “For here or to go?”

“Here.” The customer watches as you set it on a plate. “What is that?”

“It’s babka.”

“I can read. What is it?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. Maybe that’s why people aren’t buying them. “The filling’s chocolate and cinnamon, though. It’s hard to go wrong with that. It’ll be just a second with the coffee.”

You fill a cup, then point out the cream and sugar. Then you realize you still haven’t tapped the customer’s card. You finish ringing up the order and glance at the cardholder’s name. Shimura Tenko. He hasn’t been in before today. You’re not the best with faces, but you never forget a name.

Shimura Tenko sets up shop at the booth in the farthest corner, and although you sneak by once or twice to check on him, you’re pretty sure he’s not watching porn. People don’t usually take notes when they’re watching porn. It looks like he’s working or something. Working remote, but he doesn’t have internet access at home? Or maybe he does, and he’s just looking for a change of scenery. That’s a normal thing to do. A change of scenery is one thing Skyline Coffee and Tea is equipped to provide.

Speaking of that, it’s been a while since you changed out the mural on the café’s back wall. Your quirk, Color, lets you change the color of any object you touch, and choose how long the color sets. You’ve used it for a lot of things over the years, but now you mainly use it to create new murals every few months or so. The back wall’s been a cityscape since the fall, when you saw a picture of Tokyo’s skyline at night and got inspired. Maybe this weekend you’ll switch it out for something a little softer. If people wanted the city, they’d stay there instead of coming here.

Customers come in and out, a few lingering for conversations or to test out the free WiFi, but Shimura Tenko stays put, somehow making a single cup of black coffee last until you give the fifteen-minute warning that you’re closing up shop. Another person might be pissed about someone hanging out so long without buying anything else, but you’ve been there. You let it go, except to ask him how the babka was as he’s on his way out the door. He throws the answer back over his shoulder without looking your way. “It was fine. Nothing special.”

Fine, sure. When you go back to clear his table, you find the plate it was on wiped clean. There’s not even a smear of the filling left.

“Check this place out!” Your probation officer leans across the counter, eyes bright, out of costume and way too enthusiastic for eight in the morning. “It’s looking great in here. You changed something. New color scheme? New uniform?”

“Nope.” You don’t get nervous for your check-ins, but you don’t like the fact that they’re random. Today’s not a good day. “There’s some new stuff on the menu, and in the pastry case. Maybe that’s it.”

“No,” Present Mic says, drawing out the word. He turns in a slow circle, then whips back around with a grin. “When did you repaint that wall?”

“I didn’t paint it,” you say. It’s best to be honest. “I used my quirk. I’m not making money off of it and it’s not hurting anyone, so it falls within the terms of my probation.”

“Take it easy there, listener. I’m not trying to bust you,” Present Mic says. Heroes always say that. You know better than to buy it. “It looks good. Really brightens the place up.”

“I thought it could use it,” you say. “It’s kind of a rough time of year.”

Cold weather always brings you lots of customers, but people are sharper, unhappier, and if they’re in the mood to take it out on someone, they pick somebody who can’t make a fuss or hit back. Somebody like you. You’ve learned not to take it personally. “Not too rough financially. You’ve made all your payments on time. I checked.” Present Mic is peering into the pastry case. “How’s that free internet access thing going for you?”

“Not so bad,” you say. “The connection’s pretty fast, so I get people in here who are taking online classes, or working remote. I’ve only had to kick one person out for watching porn.”

“Yeah, he filed a complaint,” Present Mic says, and your stomach drops. “You made the right call. Don’t worry.”

You’re going to worry. It’s going to take all day for that one to wear off. “I haven’t had problems with it otherwise.”

“Why’d you do it?” Present Mic gives you a curious look. “Free stuff brings all kinds of people out of the woodwork. Why give yourself the headache?”

“I want this to be the kind of place I needed,” you say. “Somewhere safe where nobody would kick me out if I couldn’t buy more than one cup of coffee, where I could use the internet without getting in trouble for it. A headache’s worth that to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, but Present Mic being Present Mic, it doesn’t last. “You really turned a corner, huh? Hard to believe you were ever on the wrong side of the law.”

“We all could be there,” you say. “It only takes one mistake.”

Present Mic sighs. “You’re telling me. Did you catch the news last week?”

“The thing with Todoroki Touya?” The surviving members of the League of Villains all went through their own rehab, and they’re on permanent probation – and last weekend, Todoroki Touya, formerly known as Dabi, lit somebody’s motorcycle on fire after they followed him for six blocks, harassing him the whole way. “I saw. Is he getting revoked?”

“Nope. The other guy was way out of line, and the panel ruled that the majority of people – former villains or not – would have reacted similarly under that kind of pressure.” Present Mic rolls his shoulders, and his leather jacket squeaks. “All I can say is, he’s lucky we’re in the business of second chances these days. Or fifth chances.”

“Why so many?” you ask. “The rest of us are on three strikes, you’re out.”

“Yeah, but you have to mess up a lot worse for it to count as a strike,” Present Mic points out. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a guilt thing. This whole rehab thing is Deku’s idea. And Deku never got over what happened with Shigaraki.”

Members of the League of Villains died leading up to the final battle, but of the five who made it that far, only one of them was dead at the end of the war – Shigaraki Tomura, their leader. To most people, it was good riddance to the greatest evil Japan has ever seen, but Deku’s always been publicly against that viewpoint. Insistent that All For One was the true villain. Regretful that the war ended with Shigaraki’s death, too. “Since he couldn’t save him, he’s stuck on saving the other four,” Present Mic continues. “Which equals infinite chances. So far Todoroki’s the only one who’s needed them.”

You nod. Present Mic stretches. “Let’s take a walk,” he decides. “I’ll buy coffee for both of us.”

“I can’t leave,” you say. “I don’t have anybody else to watch this place. If a customer comes by –”

“Half an hour, tops. Come on.” Present Mic produces a wallet from the inside of his leather jacket. “The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back.”

You lock up, hating every second of it, and follow Present Mic into the cold, a to-go cup of your own coffee in your hands. Present Mic runs through the usual list of questions, the ones that cover your mindset as much as they cover your progress on your program requirements. Some of them are about how you’re getting along with the civilians in town, and you know he’ll be checking in with some of your customers, seeing if their perception lines up with yours. It feels invasive. Intrusive. Some part of you always pushes back. You always quiet it down. You made this bed for yourself, coming up on a decade ago. Now you have to lie in it.

“I’ve got some news,” Present Mic says, once he’s finished with the questions. “The program’s considering early release for some of the participants.”

“Why?”

“The legislative review’s coming up, and they want success stories,” Present Mic says. “You know, people who clawed their way out of the criminal underworld to become productive members of society. I’m putting your name on the list.”

You almost drop your coffee. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mic says. He seems taken aback by your surprise. “I mean – you’re kind of who this thing was designed for, listener. You caught your first charge when you were underage, for a nonviolent crime, and the rest of your case is a perfect example of just one of the many problems Deku won’t shush about. Now look at you. You’ve got your own business, you’re paying back your debt to society, you’re participating in civilian life. There are civilians who don’t do that much.”

Of course they don’t. Actual civilians don’t have to prove they have a right to exist. “If you’re approved for early release, the government will waive interest on your startup loan, and I heard a rumor that they’re considering wiping charges off people’s records,” Mic continues. “It’s a pretty good deal, listener. And you’re making a pretty weird face.”

“Sorry,” you say, trying to fix it. “I mean – felonies are a forever thing. They don’t get wiped.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Mic says, and pats your shoulder. “Even if that doesn’t pan out, you could use a break on the interest. Anyway, it’s not a sure thing, but I put your name up. You’ve got as good a shot as anybody.”

You think that’s probably true, which is weird to think about. You’ve been behind the eight ball since you were in high school. Present Mic throws down the rest of his coffee, then turns back the way the two of you came. “Let’s go. I saw a pastry I wanted to buy, and I bet you have a customer or two.”

You’ve heard things about other program participants’ probation officers taking things without paying, but you got lucky with Present Mic – he always pays. Sometimes he even gives you a hard time for setting your prices too low. And he’s right about the customers. When you get back, one of your regulars is sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the locked door with his hood up and his laptop open.

It’s Shimura Tenko, who you never saw before you started offering free internet, and who’s turned into a regular ever since. The two of you don’t talk the way you do with some of your other regulars – something about the mask and the hood and the gloves tells you that Shimura isn’t looking to make friends. But he shows up two or three times a week, orders black coffee, and camps out in the corner of the café until closing time. Sometimes you can talk him into a pastry, and it’s always a babka. Whether he orders one or not, he’s always hungry when he comes in.

Shimura looks up as you and Present Mic approach. His eyes narrow, then widen abruptly, almost comically shocked. Then he slams his laptop shut, rockets to his feet, and books it, vanishing down the street and around the corner. You feel a surge of frustration. “Can you not scare my customers?”

“I’m out of costume. Even when I’m in, nobody’s scared of me.” Present Mic is lying. You’d have been scared out of your mind to run into him back in the day. “Damn, that guy was skittish. What’s his deal?”

“He’s one of my regulars.” Was one of your regulars, probably. People don’t react the way Shimura just did and come back for more. You unlock the door, feeling strangely dispirited. “Which pastry were you thinking about?”

Present Mic sticks around for an hour or so, long enough to talk to a few customers who don’t run away from him. Most of your regulars have seen him before. He leaves a little bit before noon, after eating three pastries he paid for, and as usual, the café quiets down in the afternoon. You don’t mind. Today wasn’t a good day even before Mic put in a surprise appearance and scared off a customer for good. Days like today, you’d rather have the place to yourself.

Sometimes in the midst of proving you’re a model citizen to anybody who looks your way, you forget that there’s a reason you weren’t. It wasn’t a good reason. Your family wasn’t rich, but you always had what you needed and some of what you wanted. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they loved you. You weren’t the most popular kid at school, but you always had someone to talk to. And none of that mattered, because you felt hollow and miserable and lonely no matter what else was going on around you.

Nothing you did or said could make you feel better. Everything felt the same, and everything felt awful, and no matter how hard you tried to explain, to ask for help, to raise the alarm, you couldn’t get your point across. You had a good life. What did you have to complain about?

The judge who handed you your first conviction said pretty much exactly that. You’ve heard that the sentencing guidelines for minors have changed, that untreated mental health issues are considered a mitigating factor these days, but back then it didn’t matter at all. You got help at some point. You take your meds like you’re supposed to, and you did therapy until you realized the people who monitor your probation were reading your notes. And you’re older now. You know the hollow feeling goes away. But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to tolerate when it’s here.

You’re hanging out behind the counter, staring at your most recent mural and wishing you’d chosen something less cheerful than the field of wildflowers that’s currently decorating it, when the door opens. You barely have time to get your game face on before Shimura Tenko steps up to the counter. “Um –”

“How many heroes are you friends with?” Shimura asks shortly.

“I’m not friends with Present Mic,” you say. “That was a spot check. He’s my probation officer.”

Shimura blinks. He has crimson eyes and dark lashes, matching his dark hair. “Huh?”

“My probation officer,” you repeat. “I’m a convicted felon.”

“Don’t lie. They’d never let a convicted felon run a coffee shop.”

“I got a loan,” you say. “Through the Nonviolent Criminal Rehabilitation Act. It says so on the sign.”

“Your sign says free internet access.”

“Underneath that.” You wonder if it’s really possible that Shimura didn’t see the other sign. Maybe he was just too hyped at the prospect of free internet to look any harder. “How long have you lived here?”

“Five years.” Shimura looks defensive now. “What’s it to you?”

Five years, and you never saw him before today. He must keep to himself. “Nothing. I just – I thought everybody around here knew. I’m not very quiet about it. I’m not allowed to be.”

“Why not?”

You don’t want to do this right now, but rules are rules. “Part of the Reintegration Act involves educating civilians about where criminals come from – like, how a person goes from you to me.”

Shimura snorts. It’s rude, but not anywhere close to the rudest thing someone’s done to you when you talk about this. “The government thinks the people who are best equipped to educate about this are the actual criminals, so I’m legally obligated to answer any questions people ask me – about my record, about why I did it, about the program and why I’m doing that. So they understand what’s happening and why it’s happening. For transparency.”

“And that means anybody can question you, any time,” Shimura says, eyes narrowing.

“Yep. Stop, drop, and educate.” You wait, but he’s quiet, and you’re tired enough and hollow enough that the suspense gets to you first. “You can ask what I did. I have to tell you.”

Shimura nods – but then he doesn’t ask. About that, at least. “It’s dead in here. Did Present Mic clear everybody else out?”

“No. It gets quiet on sunny days when the tide’s low.” You nod through the window, and the sliver of beach visible between the buildings across the street. “I was thinking about closing early.”

“Why?” Shimura’s voice holds the faintest shadow of a sneer. “To walk on the beach?”

To lay facedown on your bed and wait for tears that won’t come, and won’t make you feel any better if they do. “Now you’re here, so I’m open. Do you want the usual?”

Shimura hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “Go home.”

“I’m open,” you repeat. You don’t want him to complain to Present Mic like the actual porn guy did. “Do you want the usual or do you feel like something new?”

“The usual.”

“Come on,” you say. He glares at you over his mask. There’s an old scar over his right eye. “There’s nobody here. Nobody’s going to catch you drinking something that actually tastes good.”

“The usual,” Shimura Tenko says, and crosses his arms over his chest. “And –”

He glances at the pastry case, and you see his expression shift into disappointment. It makes you sadder than it should, but you can fix it easily. You slide the babka you saved on the faint hope that he’d come back out of hiding and into full view. “One of these?”

Shimura stares at it for a full fifteen seconds before he looks up at you. “You saved it for me.”

“Yeah.” You pride yourself on knowing what your regulars like. You don’t want someone you see a few times a week to leave unsatisfied. “One babka and one black coffee, coming up.”

Shimura holds out his card, then hesitates. You’ve never seen him look uncertain at all. “And whatever you think tastes better than black coffee. One of those.”

“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise, or what an unexpected lift it is for your mood. “You won’t regret it. Which flavors do you like?”

“I don’t care.” Shimura waits while you swipe his card, then tucks it away. “This was your idea. I’m going – over there.”

He gestures at the back corner. “I know where you like to sit,” you say. “I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as he leaves, you get to work. You need to nail this. He’ll laugh at you if you bring him a tea latte, so it needs to have an espresso base. What goes well with babka? You already have chocolate and cinnamon on board – what about caramel, or hazelnut? Does he even like sweet things? He must, if he keeps ordering the damn babka. Maybe hazelnut, but what if he’s allergic? You pitch your voice to carry and see him startle. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Not to food.”

You wonder what he’s actually allergic to as you start pulling espresso shots for a chocolate hazelnut mocha. You really hope Shimura likes Nutella, because that’s exactly what this is going to taste like. Using bittersweet chocolate syrup instead of milk chocolate fixes it partway, but when you pour off a tiny bit to try it, it still tastes a lot like something you’d eat out of a jar with a spoon.

Whatever. You’re committed now. You don’t have a choice. You pour it into a cup, make some vague gesture at foam art, and carry it and the black coffee through the empty café to Shimura’s table. “One black coffee and one drink that actually tastes good.”

Shimura eyes the second cup. “What’s in there?”

“You said you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, well, now that I know you’ve done time I’m not sure I can trust you,” Shimura says, and you lock your expression down. That one hurt. A lot. He drags the cup towards himself with his right hand and lifts it to his mouth as he pulls down his mask with his left, but you’ve lost interest in the outcome. You turn and head back to the counter, trying not to feel like someone’s slapped you in the face and convincing yourself at least a little that it works.

You screw around behind the counter, taking inventory and counting down the minutes until last call, but Shimura’s back at the counter with forty-five minutes to go, an empty cup in his hand. It’s not the cup you put the black coffee in. “Fine. You win. I want another one of these.”

“Yep.” You set your clipboard aside and head back to the cash register to ring him up. “For here or to go?”

“Here.”

“I’m closing soon. To-go’s probably better.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Shimura asks. You look up at him, make eye contact, and whatever he sees in your face sets him off. Not in the way you thought it would. “Before, about the doing time thing. You know I was kidding, right?”

“Sure you were. Do you want a receipt?”

“Hey,” Shimura snaps. “It was a joke.”

“Not a good one.”

“Yeah, it was. If you –” Shimura breaks off, his scowl clear even from behind the mask. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t get it.”

“Get it,” you repeat. “You’ve done time?”

“Yeah.” Shimura Tenko covers the back of his neck with one hand. “No charges, but – yeah, I did time. So it’s funny.”

“It’s still not funny.” You lift the empty cup out of Shimura’s hands and turn to start making a second Nutella-esque mocha, trying to decide if you feel better or not. “It’s just not mean.”

A shadow falls across you as you work. Shimura’s following you along the edge of the counter. “So am I getting kicked out or what?”

“Yes,” you say. “In forty-five minutes, when I close.”

Shimura’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. You wonder what his smile looks like under that mask, but you’ve got espresso shots to pull, and you need to focus if you don’t want to burn your hand. You look away, and when you look back again, he’s at his table, laptop open, mask on, chin propped in his gloved hand. No charges, but he’s done time. You didn’t expect that. Even though you’ve spent the last five years of your life trying to prove that you’re no different than anybody else, it still catches you by surprise to learn that one of your customers is like you.

You bring the second drink by his table, then start working through your closing checklist. He stands up with five minutes to go, just like clockwork. He leaves without another word, as usual, but when you step outside, he’s still standing there. “You didn’t ask why.”

Why he did time? “Neither did you,” you say.

“Yeah, but I won’t break probation if I don’t answer.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you say. It’s not quite dark, but the sun’s almost down, and the shadows are growing long. Late March already, but it feels like you’ve got a long way to go before spring. “If I want people who meet me to look at the person I am now, I have to do the same thing for them.”

Shimura Tenko makes a sound, half-laughter and half-scoffing. “They sure did a number on you,” he says. You turn and walk away, and his footsteps follow yours. “Hey. Come on. There’s no way you’re that sensitive.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m just having a bad day.”

A bad day, and you never get a day off. Even if the café’s not open, you’re still in sunshine mode every second, making sure that the people who want to treat you like a criminal look absolutely insane for doing it. You fought hard for this life. You’re glad you fought for it. And today more than usual, you’re just really tired. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shimura says. You’re glad he doesn’t try to apologize again. You know it would be painfully insincere. “How did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“The pastry. How did you know I’d come back?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I just hoped you would.”

You don’t know why you hoped. Maybe because he’d clearly been waiting a while when you and Present Mic got back. Maybe because you remember how much it mattered to have somewhere else to go, whether you had a place of your own or not. Maybe because you’ve gotten sort of a sense of him over the past few months, and you know he’s the kind of person who pretends not to want the things he wants. Wanting the coffee shop he hangs out in to be open and to have his favorite pastry available is such a reasonable thing to want. You were hoping he’d come back so you could give it to him.

Shimura doesn’t say anything. You keep walking, and he doesn’t follow you. When you glance back over your shoulder as you round the corner, you see him standing just outside of Skyline Coffee and Tea, staring intently at something. You can’t say for sure. But you’re pretty sure it’s the sign that explains about the NCRA.

A while back, you read that some countries set aside two days to commemorate a war. One day to celebrate that it ended, another to mourn that it happened at all. When it comes to the war you lived through, Japan does things differently. There’s just one day, a national holiday, where every government office closes and most businesses do, too. For most people, it’s a day to celebrate. There are carnivals, street fairs, concerts, parties. It’s been a holiday for exactly four years and a whole host of traditions have already sprung up around it.

But there’s one person who never celebrates, and it didn’t take you long to come around to his way of thinking. On April 4th, the fifth annual Day of Peace, you close the café early and make the trek to Kamino Ward.

You’re not sure how Kamino Ward became the place. Maybe because the final battlefield’s been overtaken by celebrations, and at least some people still see Kamino as hallowed ground. The place where the Symbol of Peace made his last stand. The place where the Symbol of Fear passed the torch onto his successor. You get there a little while before sunset, and you join the hundreds of people who’ve already gathered there. The crowd looks smaller than it did last year, and it hasn’t grown much by the time Midoriya Izuku, known to the world as Deku, climbs onto the steps leading up to the All Might statue’s plinth.

Someone hands him a microphone, which he takes with hands that tremble ever so slightly. He’s only twenty-one, and he looks old before his time. “I’m here,” he starts, then swallows hard. “I’m here because we didn’t win. Not really. If you’re here instead of at a party somewhere, I think it’s probably because you lost something. Something, or someone, who was important to you. Something you can’t get back.”

It’s quiet. It’s always quiet after he says something like that. “I’d like to think we did something. That we changed for the better,” Deku continues, “but I think we can only say that if we don’t forget what we had to lose for it to happen. So, um – you know the drill. If you brought a candle, great. If you didn’t, we have some. You can say the thing you lost if you want – we have a microphone – but when you’re done, light the candle and put it down somewhere that feels right to you.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it go. “And then you can go. But I’ll stay until they all burn out.”

People swarmed the first two years. This year they form a line, stepping up to light their candles one by one. You never know what to say when it’s your turn, because it’s not something specific you miss. The way things used to be was awful. You don’t miss that, and you weren’t close enough to anybody to lose someone who mattered in the war. But April 4th has never felt like a happy day. It feels wrong to you to be setting off fireworks and throwing parties in response to a war that almost destroyed the world.

A lot of people say names when it’s their turn to light a candle. Some say places. Some share an ideal they lost, a hero they venerated who fell from their pedestal, a dream they had that will never come true. Each lost thing named is met with respectful silence. But just like last year and the year before, there are three names that aren’t, no matter who says them. “Big Sis Magne. Bubaigawara Jin,” says Toga Himiko as she lights her candle. Say Todoroki Touya and Sako Atsuhiro and Iguchi Shuichi, who still answers to Spinner, as they light theirs. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

There’s always whispering after their names, especially Shigaraki’s. But Deku always goes last, and Deku always shuts them up. He lights his candle and grasps the microphone, speaking clearly, firmly. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

You remember what Present Mic said, about how Deku never got over failing to save Shigaraki. Deku was sixteen when he won the war. Still a kid. Was saving Shigaraki really his job? Maybe that’s the point of all this. It was everyone’s job to stop villains like Shigaraki from being created, and you all failed, so it fell to Deku – and he failed, too. It’s one big, sad, ugly mess. When you’re honest with yourself, you’re not surprised that most people try to cover it up with fireworks.

People begin to filter out of the memorial park, and you find a place to sit down. It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. The others who say settle in as well, in small groups amidst the rows and clusters of candles. You’re within earshot of one of the groups. Without meaning to, you find yourself listening in.

“They’d have hated this,” Todoroki Touya is saying, his voice low and bitter. “Every second of it.”

“Big Sis Magne wouldn’t have. And Twice would have liked it,” Toga Himiko says. Her voice is soft. “All the candles. He’d say it’s like his birthday.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Todoroki Touya’s voice goes even quieter. “Do any of us know when his birthday was?”

It’s quiet. “Shigaraki would hate this,” Todoroki states. “You know he would. What did he tell you to tell Spinner, Deku?”

Deku doesn’t answer. Spinner does. “Shigaraki Tomura fought to destroy until the very end.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says. “To destroy. And Deku made him a martyr.”

“He destroyed a lot of things,” Deku says quietly. “All For One is gone. One For All, too – there’s never going to be another Symbol of Peace. He destroyed the way we saw villains. We don’t just get to look at what they’re doing right now. We have to think about how they got there. And he destroyed how we saw ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Spinner says. “How?”

“We didn’t think we were responsible for other people,” Deku says. “Now we have to be.”

It’s quiet again. This time it’s quiet for a while. “Whatever,” Todoroki says. “I’m going home. See you all at the next sobfest.”

“He always says that,” Spinner says, once his footsteps have faded. “He’s gonna get tanked at home and text us just like he did last year.”

“I miss Tomura-kun,” Toga says, her voice softer than before. “I thought we’d all be together at the end.”

“I know,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“And you’re sure –” Spinner breaks off. “You’re sure you couldn’t get his ashes or something? So we could –”

“There was nothing left of Shigaraki,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says. Toga sniffles. “We know.”

The group splits, Toga in one direction, Spinner in the other. A moment later, Deku walks past you, and you do everything you can to fade into the background short of turning yourself camo-colored. It doesn’t work. “Did you hear all that?” Deku asks. You nod. He sighs, or sniffles, maybe. He looks younger up close. “You were here last year, right?”

“And the year before,” you say. The longer you look at him, the worse shape he’s in. “Um, are you okay?”

“It’s just –” Deku’s eyes well up, suddenly. “It’s hard. I can’t say what I want to say to them.”

“Why not?” you ask stupidly, and he shakes his head. “Um – do you want to sit down?”

You wouldn’t ask another hero that, but you feel like it’s worth the risk. Even though he’s twenty-one, you can’t look at him and see anything other than a kid, and it feels wrong to let a kid stand there and cry. Deku sits down next to you. “I know I’m not supposed to ask,” he starts, his voice watery, “but you never say anything when it’s your turn. Most people don’t come here. Even the ones who lost somebody would rather be at a party somewhere. Why do you come back?”

You have to think about it for a second. Deku cringes. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“I sort of do.” It might hit your probation requirements, and even if it doesn’t, you should explain anyway. “What you said earlier, in your speech – I’m one of the people the world got better for. My life would have been awful if it had stayed the same. But in order for me to have this life, we had to have the war.”

“What did you do during the war? Were you in a shelter?”

You shake your head. “The shelters banned people with criminal records,” you say. Deku’s eyes widen. “Nowhere would let me in.”

It wasn’t all that different from the way you were living before – not much food, not very safe. The only difference was a sharp increase in the number of abandoned buildings for you to crash in. But it looks like you’re making Deku feel worse, not better, and you scramble into part two of your explanation. “I’m one of the NCRA participants. That program only exists because of the war – and you, because you won’t let people forget why the war happened. So I want to remember why the war happened, too. And I want to honor it. Them.”

“Him,” Deku corrects, and your stomach clenches. “I wonder what he thinks of all of this. If it’s enough. If it’ll ever be enough. I mean, obviously it’ll never be enough for him, because he doesn’t – I mean, I can’t ask him, but I know he can see it. I don’t know where he is, but if I could just ask him –”

You didn’t realize Deku believed this strongly in the afterlife. You sit quietly, and after a few seconds, he remembers you’re there. He glances at you, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Do you not get to talk about it very much?”

“No,” Deku admits. “People want to move on. And I don’t really blame them. But I can’t. Not until I know for sure.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. He wipes his eyes. You watch the candles flicker down a few millimeters more. “You’re in the NCRA,” Deku says finally. “For job training, or did you get a loan?”

“I got a loan,” you say. “I run a coffee shop now. With free WiFi.”

“Do people like it?”

“I think so,” you say. You think of the kids who come to study, the people who use the WiFi for remote work, the old people who walk the beach every morning and stop by for coffee and pastry afterwards. “I have regulars, anyway. And people talk to me now. They never used to.”

“People talk to me now, too,” Deku says. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”

It is, but it’s not quite what you meant, and you don’t want to interrupt when Deku starts talking about the NCRA. It’s not just that people talk to you. They talked to you before, but now they see you – not as a criminal, but as a person like them, minus the squeaky-clean record. That’s new, and that’s good. You know even less about Shigaraki Tomura than Deku does, but even if he’d hate what’s happened to the world he wanted to destroy, you’re thankful anyway. The world is better now. It’s better because of Deku, and Deku’s the way he is because of Shigaraki.

There are fireworks going off over the bay, distant enough that you can’t hear the sound. Closer than that, you hear music and laughter from a street party you passed on your way here from the train station. Deku trails off after a while, and you don’t speak up again. The two of you sit in silence until the last of the candles burns away.

You get home late, and it’s an early morning opening up the café. Luckily for you, everybody else is also running late courtesy of the holiday yesterday. Osono comes by fifteen minutes off-schedule and full of apologies, and while you’ve got your doors open by seven, it’s not until seven-fifty-eight that your first customers come through the door. It’s a double shot of espresso kind of day, and while you’re pulling them, your customers tell you about the parties they went to last night. When they ask what you did, you tell them you went into the city. It’s not a lie.

After the slow start, the shop stays quieter than usual, quiet enough that when Shimura Tenko rolls up just past noon, there’s still plenty of babka left in the pastry case. You start his order before he’s even opened the door – one black coffee, one Nutella-flavored nightmare – and he stops to drop off his stuff at his usual table before he comes up to the counter. You can tell he’s disquieted by something. “Did Present Mic come by and scare everybody off again? How are you going to keep this place open if no one’s here?”

“Mornings are a lot busier than afternoons,” you say. “And spring’s my quietest season, anyway. No tourists like there are in the summer, and it’s not very cold.”

“Yeah.” Shimura glances around, still displeased. “This place had better stay open.”

“It will,” you say. “One shot of espresso or two?”

“Three.”

“Three? It’s your funeral,” you say, but you pull the extra shot. “Late night last night?”

“I went to a party,” Shimura says. You nod. “It was my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” You cancel half his order. You give people a free drink on their birthday, if you know it and they come in. “Your birthday is April 4th? That’s a tough draw, especially the last few years.”

“You’re telling me.” Instead of retreating to his table like usual, Shimura hovers at the bar. “What about you? Did you go to a party?”

You shake your head. “I went into the city.”

“Which city?”

“Yokohama,” you admit. Shimura’s eyes narrow. “I go to the vigil at Kamino. I have every year they’ve done it.”

“Really,” Shimura says, skeptical. “Why?”

Deku asked you the same question. You have a feeling Shimura won’t like the answer, but it’s the only one you have. “My life is better than it was before the war, because of what happened in the war. I want to be thankful for that. It doesn’t feel right to me to go to a carnival.”

Shimura doesn’t say anything, just watches you. It makes you feel weird. “If I’d known it was your birthday, though, I’d have gone to a party for that. It was your birthday way before it was the Day of Peace.” You’re babbling, and Shimura still hasn’t said a word. “Not that you’d invite me to your birthday party or anything.”

“I didn’t know you’d want to go,” Shimura says slowly. The espresso machine beeps, and you focus on it way harder than you’d do under ordinary circumstances. “Look, I – it wasn’t my party. Just a party. It’s not like I went in a fucking birthday hat.”

“That would look pretty weird with your hood still up,” you say. Shimura makes an odd sound. You look up and see the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “Still, though. I’ll remember for next year. I’ll get a cupcake or something. Even if you don’t want somebody who’s done time at your birthday party.”

Shimura laughs at that. Actually laughs. Your chest constricts, filling with warmth in a way that feels out of proportion to the situation at hand. “I only want people who’ve done time at my birthday party,” he says. “Don’t try to give me that drink for free. You letting this place go under would be a shitty birthday present.”

“Too late. It’s already free and I’m not rerunning the sale.” You pour the black coffee and set it down on the pickup counter, followed by the godawful Nutella drink. “Happy birthday plus one.”

Shimura rolls his eyes, but they’re still crinkled slightly at the corners. He doesn’t respond until he’s already halfway back to the table, and he’s so quiet that you have to strain your ears to hear. “Thanks.”

You should say something. Something like “you’re welcome”, or “any time”. Something that sounds like good customer service, instead of what you’re worried will come out of your mouth if you open it right now. The conversation is over. Nothing else needs to be said. You turn to face your small workspace, searching for a distraction. There has to be something you can clean.

It’s been so long since you had a crush that you barely remember what it’s like, but you’re pretty sure you have a crush on Shimura. As far as crushes go, he’s kind of a weird pick – because he’s a customer, because he’s not the friendliest, because he hasn’t given any indication that he likes you at all. He likes babka and free internet and the horrible off-menu mocha you make just for him. That’s it.

It feels weird to have a crush. Weird in how normal of a thing it is to do, when you’ve been so focused on looking normal and pretending to be normal that you haven’t done anything actually normal in a while. But maybe this is a good thing, and maybe it’s okay. You might get released early from your NCRA requirements, and even if you don’t, you’re doing well. You can afford to like somebody again.

The café stays quiet, and with two hours left before closing time, you’re getting bored. Bored, and you haven’t switched out the mural since before your last check-in with Present Mic. Now’s an okay time for that. You scribble a sign to prop up on the counter – I’m here, just yell – and head towards the back wall. You have to pass Shimura to get there, and as you do, he looks up. “I’m not looking,” you say. “I’ll just be over here.”

“Doing what?”

“A new mural,” you say. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Shimura decides to start right away, and you flex your fingers more out of habit than anything else. Then you set your hand on the wall and activate your quirk, changing the entire wall from the wildflower mural back to the same blank neutral as the others. That’s a good start. Now you just need to figure out what you’re going to do with it.

Actual muralists sketch and line their work. They work from references and they draft the design before they actually start painting. You know that because you used to want to be a muralist yourself. You could sketch and line things, but these days you’re more about feelings than anything else, and feelings take color. You block the wall into a few sections – you remember to do that, at least – and fill in general colors, running your fingers along the edges to blur them together. Grey base and sides. Dark-colored middle. The entire upper half of the wall is light. It’s not until you’ve added the half-circle above the horizon that you get a real understanding of what you’re making.

It's another cityscape, or the ruins of one, something you saw in photos or maybe in person. It looks a lot like the sunrise view from Kamino Ward, the sky on fire with deep purple and orange and pink and gold, the reflection of those colors splashed across the sea, the wreckage of the city bathed in morning light. You’ve done enough therapy to psychoanalyze yourself, and it’s not hard to see what you were going for with this. Things are horrible. Things were horrible for a long time before today, but the sun is still rising, and the sunrise is still beautiful. And it’s a lot easier to see now, with all the other stuff out of the way.

“That’s not paint.”

You weren’t expecting Shimura to say anything, and you weren’t expecting him to pay attention to what you’re doing. But when you look back over your shoulder, you see him staring, his phone set aside, the lid of his laptop shut. “It’s not paint,” you say. “Just my quirk.”

“How does it work?” Shimura asks. You turn back to your mural, and you hear him get to his feet. A moment later he’s standing beside you, answering his own question. “You can change the color of things you touch. And decide how long it stays that way.”

“Yeah.” After using it your whole life, you’re pretty good at it. You can fine-tune stuff, enough to add shading to the buildings and the rubble at the sides and bottom of the mural without compromising the light from the sunrise. “Not a very powerful quirk.”

“You could still cause trouble,” Shimura says. You could. And you did. “This is how you got your charges, isn’t it? Stuff like this.”

“Graffiti? Yeah,” you say. You remember the rush you got the first time you tagged something, the first time you spilled your thoughts and feelings in a way no one could ignore. “Except when you do that, you get charged with trespassing and vandalism, and when they figure out they can’t remove it, you get charged with destruction of property. Throw in malicious unlicensed quirk usage and – boom. Felonies.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Me or them?”

“Giving somebody a felony for painting stuff on walls.” Shimura studies what you’ve done so far. “All of these have been yours, right? Is this the same stuff you were painting before?”

“Not always,” you say. This conversation falls under your NCRA obligations, but it doesn’t feel like it’s the reason Shimura’s asking – and it’s not the reason you’re telling him. “When I first got into it, it was just words or sentences. Stuff I couldn’t figure out how to say out loud. The first time I really got busted, it was for tagging the side of my parents’ house.”

“Your parents called the cops on you?”

“And pressed charges,” you say. He’s staring at you again. You pretend you don’t notice and fuss over the shoreline in the mural. “I got better at it when I was older. The art got better, anyway. But I got in more trouble because of where I put it. And I guess what was in it.”

“Anything I’d have seen?”

“I don’t know. Where did you hang around?” you ask. You got booked in most of the big cities in Japan during your criminal career. “Uh, I did the UA barrier. The one with the – you know.”

“The human shields?” Shimura bursts out laughing. “Did you have a sibling in Eraserhead’s class or something?”

“No, I just thought it was stupid to do the Sports Festival a week after what happened,” you say. Shimura snickers. “It felt like they were using the kids as props to distract from how much of a mistake they’d made, and I was mad about a lot of other stuff, too, and – yeah. I kind of went off.”

You really went off. There’s no other way to describe triggering the UA barrier on purpose at two am so you could make a crude mural of All Might, Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist hiding behind a bunch of kids in school uniforms. Shimura is still snickering. “Damn. I’m surprised they call you nonviolent with how bad you hurt their feelings.”

“They had to replace the whole barrier,” you say, and Shimura wheezes. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“No, but it is funny.” Shimura glances at you over the edge of his mask. “And now you run a coffee shop and make things like this.”

He looks away from you, back to the mural. “Is this something real? It looks familiar,” he says. Before you can answer, his eyes widen, and he says it himself. “Kamino Ward. Why would you paint it like that?”

“It’s how I see it in my head. Or how I feel it. I don’t really know.” You reach out and use the tip of your index finger to highlight one of the buildings that’s still standing in sunrise gold. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Shimura reaches out and touches it with one gloved hand. “People are going to be pissed at you.”

“If they recognize it.” You’re not too worried. “Most people just look at the colors.”

“I recognized it.”

“You’re not most people.”

You instantly wish you hadn’t said a word. Shimura Tenko glances at you quickly, then looks back to the mural. “Yeah,” he says. “I was there.”

Your stomach drops. “You were?” you repeat hopelessly, and he nods without looking your way. “I’m sorry. It’s – insensitive. I’ll take it down –”

“No.” Shimura catches your wrist before you can make contact with the mural. “Leave it. I was gone for this part. It’s a nice view. The horizon, I mean.”

That’s your favorite part, and you’re not even done with it yet. “I still have some stuff to add,” you say. Shimura nods but doesn’t let go of your wrist. You pull at it slightly. “I need this back.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Shimura recoils like you’ve burned him, then backs away. Way too far away. You’d say he was making fun of you, except you can see his eyes over the mask, and they’re expressive in spite of his complete lack of eyebrows. “Sorry. I don’t usually – touch people.”

“It’s okay.” Your wrist feels tingly where his hand made contact, and there are butterflies in your stomach. He doesn’t usually touch people, but he touched you. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Shimura turns away completely. “I have to work.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“I know.” Shimura slides back into his booth. You turn back to put the finishing touches on your mural.

He’s right about it. In the hour left before you close, at least one customer who trickles in gives you a hard time for putting up something so upsetting. You listen to his concerns, but you stick to your guns, and when he sits down to wait for his order, you see him watching it. Just like Shimura is, the screen of his laptop long since gone dark.

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Divergent Series: Allegiant (2016)

The Divergent Series: Allegiant makes it clear. The series has petered out. We’ll never get the fourth and final chapter. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Everyone could see this franchise was only green-lit because of the desperate appetite for more Hunger Games films. Still, it’s a bummer to see the poorly-conceived world, its uninteresting characters and lame twists go nowhere in the end. Well, not really.

The walls surrounding Chicago are opened, allowing the remnants of humanity to see the outside world -until new leader Evelyn (Naomi Watts) closes them again. As dissension brews within the city, Tris (Shailene Woodley), Four (Theo James), Caleb (Ansel Elgort), Christina (Zoë Kravitz), Tori (Maggie Q) and Peter (Miles Teller) leave to find the ones who sent the message contained within the 5-sided box from the previous film. Hopefully, they will have answers and a way to restore peace.

Although the plot is new, we get the same beats as before. Tris realizes the government body she trusts is up to no good. She rounds up her friends - and Peter, whom she keeps bringing along despite having betrayed or bullied her at every opportunity beforehand - and sets off. Then, we learn Tris has some kind of special skill or quality she never knew she had until the big conclusion where, once again, she takes up arms and tells us all it’s time to fight back! Every time, these events made us raise an eyebrow at the world. It never seemed to make sense. Shockingly, Allegiant finds ways to make its flimsily-constructed setting seem even stupider. Tris stumbles upon the architects behind the 5 factions. What could’ve possibly prompted them to take Hogwart’s 4-House system to the extreme and build an entire society around it? Let me tell you.

Years ago, mankind went overboard with genetic manipulation. It resulted in most of humanity becoming mentally unbalanced and the world ruined. The few who didn’t buy into messing with their DNA opted to wipe everyone’s memories, throw them into these cities whose backward politics would keep them alive and hope for the best under the theory that people’s genetic codes would eventually fix themselves. They were right. Their plan worked. While everyone else's personalities are stilted, Tris is “pure”. She's the sign that the human race is back on track! It explains what we've seen before but seems needlessly convoluted.

At least Allegiant isn't boring. The teenage angst in the middle of much bigger things, guessing aloud how evil the obviously evil characters will be, pointing out the plot holes or the way these people’s jobs could’ve been made much easier, these things will keep you entertained during the film. Was this how director Robert Schwentke intended to keep us engaged? No, but I take my entertainment where I can get it.

The Divergent series began on shaky footing but it kinda-sorta showed some promise. With each subsequent chapter, some revelations hooked you in, we made some steps forward and the finish line seemed within eyesight. Then, the next chapter would begin, backpedal and make you wonder if those at the helm knew what they were doing. I know these films are based on a series of books, that "the whole story" was told over three novels but movie-wise, they could’ve easily stopped with Insurgent. They didn't, which means this franchise ends up going nowhere. There’s no need to watch Allegiant if you’re a fan of the series. All it does is leave you disappointed. If you were watching out of obligation/morbid curiosity, it's even more of a letdown. Come to think of it, the whole series leaves you unsatisfied. Just watch Hunger Games again. Heck, I’ll settle for The Maze Runner. (On Blu-ray, December 14, 2018)

[the-social-recluse]

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[tg-headcanons]

Touka Was Done So Dirty So I Must Analyze It

I have a lot to say about how poorly Tokyo Ghoul turned out. There was so much wasted potential, so much meaningless angst, so many straight relationships crammed where they didn’t need to be, and so many sudden, anticlimactic plot points. But of all of the mishandling and poor choices, I think that Touka’s treatment is the worst.

Touka was a complex and interesting character. She was raised by loving parents, one of whom died early, the other lived a little longer while doing everything he could to impart lessons to keep her and her brother alive. When he died she was suddenly forced to become her brother’s guardian and rush out into a world that is so much less forgiving than her father was. They got taken in by her uncle and his friends, housed and fed, and she even got the opportunity to pursue an education which is a monumental luxury to ghouls. Despite resenting humans for the way her family was massacred and she is forced to live, she became close to a human, looking past her trauma for a friendship she cherishes. Her brother reacted badly to the idea of her being around such a dangerous person who could have them killed like their parents were, and ran off to join Aogiri, leaving her and her uncle as the last remnants of their family.

Touka is angry, and id say rightfully so. Her parents murder, being forced to grow up far too fast, being forced to live in this war she was drafted into at birth, any one thing would be enough to fuck someone up. She has all that going on, so understandable, she’s going to be pissed at the world. If it ended there it would be perfect, a great starting point for a character to delve deep into the concepts of society shaping identity, but then the worst happened

Touka is an archetype I like to call ”Angry Teen Girl”

Before we talk about the archetype, let’s talk about teen girls in real life, specifically how they’re treated by society. The teen girl in the public eye is simultaneously the epitome of beauty who is seductive and manipulative and lustful, as well as airheaded and shallow and naive and pure. The way that changes has to do with the convenience of the adult male onlooker. She’s A tactical mastermind when she doesn’t want to fuck you and she’s an airhead when she has opinions. She’s a prude when she doesn’t respond to advances and a whore when she wears a t-shirt. Most importantly, she’s a silly stupid baby when she demands independence and respect, and a grown woman who should know better when she acts her age

Teen girls don’t have the same understanding that boys their age do. When a teen boy messes up its “oh he’s 15 he’s still learning.” When a teen girl messes up its “shes 15 shes practically an adult she should know better by now.” Because adult men have decided the teen girl is desirable, she’s forced to grow up faster to save them the shame of acknowledging that she is a literal child. And after being treated like stupid children and sexy mature adults, teen girls are rightfully angry. This is so universal, so all encompassing, that almost every teen girl has this undercurrent of anger and grief at how they’d been socialized. Because of that, it too is brushed off as “stupid teen girls and their silly little feelings.”

This is where the Angry Teen Girl trope comes in. There is so much history behind women’s treatment, so many valid reasons for a teenage girl to be pissed, but this character is almost always played off as a joke. Either a joke or something to fix.

Back to Touka, let’s run through this again, this time through her eyes. Her family was perfect until it was taken violently away, she had to become violent against her dead fathers wishes to protect her little brother, that little brother who she was forced to sacrifice her bloodless life for left her for having a single friend, she lived her whole life knowing that no matter who she is or what she does the world hates her and she’s going to be murdered by the state. She has to deal with all of this, and then she meets Kaneki, who tells her to her face that he’s better than her because he was human, not realizing that not eating people is a privilege from birth that she never had. Touka is angry, and Touka is a child. A traumatized child who isn’t in the right for her violent reaction, but isn’t an adult with a peaceful world who knows better

Now if people just hated her for that then fine, but there is a huge overlap of the people who hate Touka for her aggressive personality, and people who love ayato. For every “she’s a bitch who’s so mean and super violent and shouldn’t be killing investigators when she doesn’t need to and deserves getting hurt” there’s a “he’s a sweet boy who’s trying his best and he killed all those people because he’s traumatized.” More and more, it’s clear that the same sympathy given to ayato, the much more violent and aggressive sibling, is not given to his sister. Right off the bat, she’s easy for many to dismiss because the misogynistic tropes that made her are fully reinforced

She is established as a complex person who simultaneously resents humanity for how ghouls are treated and doesn’t want them dead. She’s aggressive to her loved ones as a way to protect them and kills investigators so they don’t have the chance to threaten them. She’s angry because of how she spent her whole life just barely avoiding death at the hands of a genocidal government, she’s angry that she has to live this way, she’s even angry that she had to become violent at all and couldn’t live the peaceful life she could have had

But because she is an Angry Teen Girl, nothing matters except “But She’s such a bitch”

Now Touka at this point is still a great character, but things go south fast. The focus shifts from the world and complex relationships to Kaneki. Out of nowhere, Touka is pining after him. Out of nowhere, she has feelings for him. It was more convenient to just Insert Romance instead of developing them. Even if it stopped here Touka would still be a great character, but it didn’t.

After she fled anteiku, her character died. Not only was she completely cast aside during Ken’s Plot Convenience And Honestly Lazy Amnesia arc, but everything behind her character was stripped to its bare bones

You see, the Angry Teen Girl is only a teen for so long, and she can become one of two things: Hysterical sad evil woman or Calm Momwife. It’s a problem a lot of male authors have of only seeing a woman’s anger as a character flaw. In order to keep her as a hero, her anger needs to be “fixed,” and even that isn’t done well.

Suddenly, her drive is gone. Her love of Yoriko is completely abandoned, as is her reason to care for average humans. Her ambitions of collage and success are cast aside. Her complicated feeling towards her brother become “oh I get it it’s all cool I love him and just want him safe no hard feelings haha.” By the time we see her in Re:, she is no longer Touka. She is just the Momwife personality she got crammed into because Ishida just couldn’t think of a use for this previously complex character than “Wife And Mom.”

I’m not saying that she should have stayed angry and aggressive, but she should have stayed consistent, she should have changed over time and for coherent reasons. Such pivotal parts of her character are unceremoniously thrown out, we don’t even get a good explanation for why she turned out that way. Yes, she could rebuild her family with her brother, but it should have been built up to. Yes, she could leave Yoriko behind, but it should have any reason for it at all. Hell, I’m a die hard Hidekane fan, but I’d say she could have had a great romance with Kaneki if it didn’t come out of nowhere

She was “calmed” by having her dreams stripped from her after losing anteiku. She was given her “happy ending” by getting knocked up from desperate and uncomfortable pity sex. She was a girl who wanted to go to collage and protect her loved ones, she had queer undertones of being in love with her human fried, she had reasonable aggression as a self defense mechanism. Any one of these things could spring into an arc of their own.

But all that was thrown out in favor of being the most convenient straight love interest for Kaneki, though her personality was so incompatible with him that it had to be stripped bare to even pretend it works

If she had been given the same treatment as her brother and had her anger treated as a byproduct of the way she’s forced to survive rather than a self caused character flaw, she could have been perfect. If she’d been kept in the focus and not shoved aside for so much of Re:, she would have been good. If any part of her character at all stayed in tact, she would have been fine. But instead she’s reduced to either a Bitchy Child or Momwife. She was so interesting, and I wish her character didn’t get gutted for the sake of her male family and rushed love interest

[365days365movies]

February 18, 2021: The Danish Girl (Review)

Before I go into ANYTHING else...let’s talk about the actual Danish Girl, Lili Elbe, or Lili Ilse Elvenes.

Oh, uh, full warning, this is gonna be LONG, so skip to the bottom if you’re just here for the Review! OK, history time!

Now, what the film The Danish Girl notes about the beginning of the transition is pretty spot-on, from what I can tell. After marrying portrait painter Gerda Gottlieb in 1904, the two lived in Italy and France before moving to Paris in 1912. Yeah, that’s over 14 years before they’re shown doing so in the movie. Inaccuracy #1. In 1908 (here comes number 2), Elbe (Einar at the time) painted this portrait of trees along a fjord in Denmark.

Yeah, NOT in 1926, as the film says. But, yeah, that’s a nitpick, I recognize that. Anyway, the revelation came when model Anna Larssen (not “Ulla”, which is Inaccuracy #3) was late, and Gerda asked Elbe to fill in. When Larssen eventually showed up, she suggested the name “Lili”. Basically, this scene from the movie was pretty goddamn accurate.

Except for the dates, anyway. Because while the movie mostly takes place around 1926 and afterwards, this probably happened closer to 1920, in Paris. So, yeah, Lili spent a LOT more time as Lili in real life. Additionally, Lili was pretty goddamn public about the whole thing, inviting guests and hosting parties as herself, rather than as Einar. At the same time, Gerda was getting pretty goddamn famous for her paintings of Lili, like this one.

Which, yeah, are really good! Also, they were considered lesbian erotica by many! YEAH! And here’s a fun fact: Gerda may not have been straight-up straight. Yeah, the film and the book (we’ll get there) kind of ignored the fact that their marriage was annulled by the Danish government, not by the two of them. Inaccuracy #4. Now, obviously, their relationship ended, and Lili ended up getting together with a man (we’ll get there, too), but there are a LOT of unanswered questions about Gerda’s sexuality, and views of sexuality (which is barely hinted at in the “male gaze” speech in the beginning).

After the annulment, the two just...drifted apart. Their relationship dissolved, and the details on that are fuzzy. By 1930, Lili was headed on a completely different path. She wasn’t a painter like Einar (and it turns out that she thought of them as two entirely separate people, like two souls living in the same body, which the movie got mostly right), and she was mostly unsatisfied with her career, life, and other things. And that is where Drs. Erwin Gohrbandt and Magnus Hirschfeld come in, NOT Kurt Warnerkros...yet. He’d come in for the other five (YES FIVE) surgeries, but wouldn’t be involved with the first. Inaccuracy #5, and also #6, while we’re at it! See, the film would make you think that Lili was the first complete gender reassignment surgery, but she was actually the second. The first would be Dora Richter, in a procedure that was performed by Dr. Hirschfeld from 1922 - 1931. YEAH. BIG-ASS INACCURACY THERE. Here’s Dora, by the way:

Anyway, Lili had her first procedure, to remove the testicles, performed in 1930. In the same year, the divorce between Lili and Gerda was finalized, and Lili legally changed her name. Two more procedures were performed, the first to implant an ovary, and the second to remove the penis and scrotum. Inaccuracy #7, by the way. And, hey, let’s go for number 8! Let’s talk about Henrik, a dude who didn’t exist. He and Hans were both very loosely based on an art dealer named Claude Lejeune.

Claude was an art dealer (there’s the Hans part), and was indeed in love with Lili. They got together around early 1931, and he’d actually been in love with her for a good, long time. He proposed to marry Lili, and she accepted, also hoping that the two would be able to have children together. But to do that, it was believed that Lili would need a uterus. And, obviously, having children would be MILES more complicated than that in basically EVERY way, but this was early in medical science’s understanding of some of that biology.

In any case, however, Lili would need both a uterus and a vagina to feel whole. And so, the fourth surgery was scheduled. And she had that surgery in 1931, a couple of weeks after Dora Richter successfully had the same surgery performed. But, sadly, Lili wouldn’t be so lucky.

Lili’s body rejected the uterus, and while transplant rejections of any kind wouldn’t necessarily be fatal now, they definitely were back then. They attempted to remove it, but that subsequent 5th surgery caused infection, which caused a fatal heart attack three months later. Lili Elbe died on September 13, 1931, at the age of FORTY-EIGHT. Yeah, Inaccuracy #9.

By the way, you may be wondering: what about Dora Richter, the first successful person to get these surgeries? Well, she disappeared...in Germany...as the Nazis were coming into power...yeah. Fuckin’ YIKES.

And so, that’s the true story of Lili Elbe. And there are far more differences than that, I’m sure, but those 9 inaccuracies aren’t insignificant, that’s for sure. Although, it probably doesn’t help that the movie was based on a fictionalized book.

Oh, uh...did I not mention that? Yeah, this movie is based on The Danish Girl, by David Ebershoff, which means that this film is essentially a cinematic game of telephone. Which, uh...not great. Granted, Ebershoof made some other...interesting changes, which the film didn’t inherit. In the book, for example, Gerda is named Greta, and is American? Um...why? I dunno, it’s kind of weird. Oh, and that’s not including one more issue with the movie. But, you’ve waited long enough, huh? Recap of the film is here and here if you wanna check that out! Let’s get to the Review already!

Review

Cast and Acting: 8/10

I am...conflicted. So let me start here by saying that the acting in the film in and of itself is fantastic, all-around. Not a weak actor in here, that’s for sure. Let’s start with the side-roles, for once. Ben Whishaw, Matthias Schoenaerts, and Amber Heard are all good. Heard’s accent is a little shaky, but they’re still all solid performances. OK, how about Alicia Vikander? She’s great! And she won the Oscar for...Best Supporting Actress. Um...wait...Supporting? But not Best Actress? Uh...OK. That’s a little weird, let’s be honest here. But, Alicia Vikander did deserve that win over...oooooooh, Rooney Mara in Carol? Maybe not...damn.

And OK...let’s get into the elephant in the room, huh?

Eddie Redmayne is fantastic as Einar Wegener/Lili Eber, and I genuinely think he had a great shot to win Best Actor...but, yeah, Leonardo DiCaprio definitely deserved it, I think that goes without saying. Hell, that year had a SOLID line-up for best actor. And Redmayne had even won it the year before for The THeory of Everything, another biography where he played Stephen Hawking. But ALL of that said...HNNNNNNNNNG, there should have been a transgender actor cast in this role, ideally. Now, I’m fully aware how difficult that would be, as Hollywood isn’t extraordinarily diverse in terms of including trans actors in massive mainstream projects. It’s better now, but it’s nowhere near ideal. But if anybody knows an actor who would’ve fit this role and performed it well, I’m DEFINITELY interested. So, despite that controversy, Redmayne was pretty goddamn great in this role. But, uh...that doesn’t mean everything is perfect...

Plot and Writing: 5/10

OK, that seems low, I know. But it’s pretty goddamn damning that this movie was based off of a heavily fictionalized book instead of the actual life story of Lili Eber and Gerda Gottlieb. And because of that, there are not only some missed opportunities, but some straight-up damning inaccuracies. That’s a set of pretty poor decisions, I tell you what. Not sure why Lucinda Coxon came to that decision when adapting this screenplay, but it wasn’t exactly nominated for Best Screenplay. And the writing certainly isn’t bad, but it is...overly saccharine sometimes, especially for a film based (loosely) on a true story. I dunno...just not the best set of choices here, sorry to say.

Directing and Cinematography: 8/10

Tom Hooper shouldn’t direct musicals. However, since this wasn’t a musical, directing and cinematography here is pretty damn good! Real talk, this is a gorgeous looking movie, and the way shots are framed are fantastic. Perfect? Weeeeeeeell...given the fact that painting is a main focus of the film, for both Gerda and Einar, there should’ve been more painter-quality shots in here, I think. And while the cinematography by Danny Cohen is pretty fantastic, I can’t say that it’s perfect. Still, in terms of lighting and general skill, it’s still quite a good looking movie.

Production and Art Design: 10/10

But the deficiencies in the direction are EASILY compensated for by the production design! Like, hot DAMN, this is a good looking movie, like I said! That goes from the construction of the sets, to the gorgeous outfits all over the place, especially Lili’s outfits. Some iconic pieces of wardrobe there, that’s for sure! But if I have ONE complaint...this movie never once felt like the 1920s. Yup, good old anachronistic complaints from me again! Yeah, I’ll change the record one of these days, I promise. But even with that, it’s hard to ignore just how good this movie looks, to be honest. It’s just...gorgeous.

Music and Editing: 8/10

As I type this, I’m listening to a track of the film on YouTube, and it is a beautifully delicate tune. I’m not sure that I’d be able to associate it with the film if presented to me on its own, but it’s definitely a nice track to listen to by itself. Playlist worthy? For somebody, almost certainly, but not for me. One of these days, a film like that’s gonna pop up, I swear. But for now, Alexandre Desplat and his score are gonna stay off my iPhone. This really is a nice score, though, I promise. Editing by Melanie Ann Oliver is pretty good as well, and I’ve no complaints about it, to be honest. Overall, this side of things was quite nice, if not the most notable thing I’ve ever seen or heard.

I might have been a little harsh, but it’s still got an 78%.

This is a good movie, but...I dunno, the inaccuracies do bug me. Hell, there are WAY more than what I’d mentioned, and I mentioned a lot. Not to mention the other glaring issue: no trans people at any stage of the production? Really? No script consultants, no writers, no NTOHING? That’s...egregiously bad. Like, holy shit, guys. And, yes, this includes Redmayne, because even though he performed admirably in the role...I dunno. I’m no expert on ANY of this, as a cissexual dude with cissexual experience, but it feels a little...reductive, is all. Like I said, if any other actors have been suggested for this role, I’d love to know. The whole thing feels...I don’t know, just not great. 

And by the way, that’s without even TOUCHING the question as to whether or not this film is authentic to the trans experience. Again, I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA, but I’ve also heard that this film isn’t universally acclaimed in the trans community, so to speak. And I’m definitely interested in the reasons for that. All I know is this: from the perspective of a complete outsider, I was intrigued by this films view of the transgender experience, specifically as seen in the earliest days of those realizations happening and being publicly known and reported on. And that’s all I can really comment on, in truth.

WHOOF. That was a goddamn topic, huh? And now, I’m going to continue on the the month of romance with...wait, the 19th is my 5-year anniversary with my GF, pictured here:

Ravishing. Anyway, I think I’ll let her pick from my choices for this next one. Hold on a sec...OK, then. Sing it with me now! AND DO I DREEEEEAM AGAAAAIN, FOR NOW I FIIIIIIIIIIIIIND...

February 19, 2021: The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

[anjuschiffer]

The Wayne Twins

Just woke up from a 3 hour nap and decided to make some tea when another story concept came to me.

I’ve always been down for bio!dad bruce, hell, I’ve been writing content for it (and even holding an event for it), but!

What if... Bio!dad Bruce AND Bio!mom Talia, meaning... TWIN AU (although Talia isn’t exactly the best mom here either :D)

So basically, Marinette is brought up the same way as Damian, but instead of a sword, she’s an expert at using a rope dart

Her rope dart is black with a single red feather, a sliver dart at the end

However, while Damian is taken to Bruce, Marinette isn’t. Instead she remains with Talia

She’s taught about the miraculous, that she is to investigate the whereabouts of it and to retrieve it

Marinette accepts the mission and wanders the world to look for it

3 years pass, Talia yet to receive any news about Marinette, wondering if she also betrayed her like Damian had. It had been a year since her last report

Turns out, Marinette was still on her mission, but hadn’t been able to contact her mother about her progress on it. She had a lead that told her that the miraculouses were somewhere in France

Marinette had almost been caught by the French government when she tried to cross the border, but still managed to get by.

Now using a fake identity, Marinette got an apartment and school documents to ease her mission

Now it was a matter of time to find it

Now, at this time, Damian was more open towards Bruce, finally dropping the last piece of information Bruce needed to know

“Father, there’s something I need to tell you.” He hesitates when Bruce remained silent. “I have a sister.”

“As in-”

“No, not older.” Damian digs through his pocket, having a picture to show him. Single photo he has of the two of them. “My twin.”

Ensue Bruce losing his shit because why is he finding out about his other child through his own? Why didn’t Talia tell him about Marinette?

Ensue the hint for Mari, taking a year to track her down at Paris since Damian didn’t know of her whereabouts for 3 years and Talia wasn’t giving out any info about Mari

Once they do find Marinette, she’s managed to find and have the Ladybug miraculous in possession, despite Fu’s gut telling him it was a bad idea, but gave it to mari because Wayzz said she was the perfect candidate

However, Mari has been conflicted on whether to give it to her mother, her principles being tested.

Also, something like this happens

It had been a walk home, after fighting an akuma and once more giving Adri-Chat Noir the cold shoulder that she feels like she’s being followed

She quickly whips out her rope dart, tying up the stalker, only to find Damian before her

“Damian. What...what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your father?”

“He’s our father.” Damian emphasizes, not untying himself at all

At that Mari purses her lips, quickly setting Damian free, but doesn’t run up to him even though she wanted to. After all, Damian was the only person she considered family. She resented their mother and grandfather

“You still havent answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“I want you to meet father.”

“No.” Mari growls, her rope ready to attack if she hand to. “He’s not my father.”

“Whether you don’t consider him to be or not, he is by blood.”

“No he isn’t!” She attacks, leading to the two fighting, although Damian mainly dodges or has to free himself from multiple captures. “You’ve gone soft. Mother would be disappointed.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shouldn’t you have reported to her already?” Marinette loosens her grip on her dart, allowing Damian to take advantage and knock her out.

She wakes up at her apartment, where she’s face-to-face with Bruce

“Marinette, meet our Father.” “Father, meet Marinette, my sister... your daughter.”

Bruce remains still, observing the girl, wondering why Talia never told him about their little girl 

Bruce attempts to talk to her, but she breaks out of the apartment, once more fleeing from them

Bruce attempts to go after her, but Damian doesn’t let him

“She’ll keep doing that until she wants to face you. I may not know what she’s been doing for the past three years, but I did grow up by her side for 10.”

Marinette looks for a new apartment and tells her mother about the situation at hand, Talia reassuring her everything is going to be fine and to just focus at the mission at hand

Some time passes and the opportunity finally happens. She’s appointed guardian. 

“Mother, I finally know where the miraculous are.”

“Good. Once you have them in your possession, we’ll finally have the ability to complete the League’s goal.”

While Marinette is happy that her mission is almost over, she doesn’t want to hand them over to her mother, something beckoned her to not do it

If living in Paris taught her one thing, it was that she had the power to change

her classmates had shown her kindness despite her cold demeanor, the bakers around the block showed her love and warmth, treating her like family whenever she dropped by

Her coldness melted around these people, even around the Lila girl that got under her skin. While she didn’t like Lila for attempting to frame her for her mistakes, she certainly did like her for her story telling. She should consider being a director or writer.

She knew that she can change, that she didn’t have to suffer from Talia’s rules anymore if she didn’t return

For Talia never truly loved her... she was a mere tool to her...

“She can’t have you.” Marinette muttered to herself, looking at the kwamis with sadness “She’ll abuse you. She’ll hurt you...just like she did to me...and Damian.”

While away from Talia, Marinette had learned more about herself, learned that she liked to sew, that she loved parkour and acrobatics

She learned these, because she was away from Talia, from her controlling mother

A month passed, Marinette now in Gotham, realizing that if she wanted to escape Talia, she was going to need help.

As soon as she stepped into Gotham, she already found it.

She had carelessly let her guard down, surrounded by thugs when Nightwing had fended them off

“You shouldn’t be out here at this ti-”

“I need to speak to Batman.” 

“And why’s-”

“Let me speak to Bruce.”

“Hold on a sec, how-”

“He’s my father and Damian’s my brother.” Marinette cut to the chase. “I need their help.”

Dick nods and brings Marinette to the batcave, where Marinette rushes to hug Damian, which confuses the hell out of Tim and Jason

Upon seeing Bruce, Marinette awkwardly hugs him, apologizing for the mess their first encounter was

Bruce hugs her tighter, happy that Marinette finally acknowledged their relationship

“So why are you here?” Jason asks, Marinette telling them about her situation, explaining to them her plan (don’t know if I should make her show them the kwamis or not...)

They agree to help

Talia ends up dropping in the next day, much to the family’s surprise (although they already had everything in motion)

Talia ends up dodging the other bats, chasing Mari and cornering her in a room, Marinette telling them that she can handle it, much to Damian’s worry

“Marinette, come now. Hand them over.”

“I won’t.” Marinette defends, looking at the miracle box in hand. “I will never give them to you!” 

Talia rages, beginning to tell marinette how soft she had grown, that she was throwing her opportunity of a life time, that she was stupid for casting aside her right to the ‘throne’

“No I am not! While I’m not the prodigy like Damian, nor am I strong like my father, nor as cunning as you, I know one thing! I’m happier than I’ve ever been since I left the League and I want to continue to be that way!” Marinette yelled, slipping on the Cat Miraculous, shouting catacylsm, holding the miracle box with her other hand

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Something that all the previous guardians should’ve done.” With a shit-eating grin, Mari destroys the box, Talia screaming

Talia gets taken down by Bruce although she ends up escaping and retreating

Marinette finally feels a giant weight off of her, collapsing to the floor

Of course, the plan still isn’t dont

Marinette brings back the Miracle Box (gave Dick the earrings to hold...other rather wear. She changed the earrings to be magnetic) and vows to protect them with her life

“So that’s it, isn’t it?” Damian says, sitting next to her. “What’s next?”

“Dunno.”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Damian offers, Marinette taken aback. “I know you have nowhere else, so why not just...stay with us?”

Marinette looks at the rest of the family, looking at the bruises and cuts on their faces, smiling back at her. Overwhelmed by her emotions, Marinette begins to cry, Damian simply sitting there as she cries.

Her wish was finally granted. She can finally have a warm, kind place to call home.

Tags: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

[aurirising]

Potentially unpopular/controversial opinion

The squad overreacted to Kal's parentage being revealed and he's still a good person

I've had a lot of these thoughts swirling around in my head ever since it cleared enough to process Aurora Burning and I just wanted to get them out since I've also seen a lot of people really hating Kal after this book. Kal isn't, never has, and never will be my favourite character, or probably even top 3, but I have a lot of feelings about this and I think that everyone, including the characters, is being harsher than reasonable.

Okay so, they were all perfectly justified in feeling betrayed and upset because that is an upsetting thing to hear, especially for Scarlett since the Starslayer is the reason her dad is dead and now she's lost Tyler because of the Unbroken and Auri would definitely be questioning everything after all that time together. BUT, they know Kal better than that, he's defended and protected them plenty of times and he's shown that he's loyal to them even if he hasn't told them everything about himself. It's not like every person on that squad gave up their entire life story the moment they met, is it? No. Because People. Have. Secrets. I don't care how much of an open book someone might be, every single person who has ever lived has kept secrets, however mundane or earth-shattering they may be.

I guess technically he lied by saying his father was dead but it's understandable given the circumstances and how he feels about him. But that's not what we're discussing because no one needs another Empire Strikes Back "from a certain point of view" argument. Whether his father was dead or alive, good or evil, it wouldn't matter all that much because, and here's the important thing, PEOPLE ARE NOT THEIR FATHERS.

Kal even explains and makes it clear to them his position and why he did what he did. Like yeah, he hid who he was and used his mothers name to forge a new life - at a place where he could HELP PEOPLE no less - but, can you blame him? Like, he's a better person who tries so hard all the damn time to be better than he was taught to be and people already judge him before they know him on the basis that he's warbreed, there's no reason he should also have to have his life ruined because of his father, whom he wishes to be nothing like. And if anyone, including them, wants proof that he's genuine in his actions, just look at what he has to deal with every day. His own people despise him because of his Cabal - both Unbroken and refugee alike for their own reasons, other species are instinctively distrustful of him due to the same thing, and he's basically all alone in the universe with no one who cares about him or shows him anything but hatred, contempt, or indifference until he becomes part of Squad 312. Like, life would be so much easier if he just joined his father and became what he was raised to be, but he chooses always to be better than that and to fight on the side of good, even if it's the harder path. And if you think about it logically for a minute, the idea that it might be some sort of spy/infiltration thing is completely unfounded just based on the Unbroken's ideals and way of operating. They wouldn't care about that kind of sneak tactic - which also would basically be a pointless exercise given Kal is a 19-year-old student at the academy, if they wanted to destroy the legion or anything, they'd just do it. Like these people are built for and love war, they'd just attack if they wanted to.

Maybe Kal should have told the squad, but I completely understand him wanting to leave that part of his life behind, and how was he to know Saedii would find and come after him? He had no idea what would happen on their mission, no idea the Unbroken would turn up and discover who he was and put everyone in danger. None of them knew any of this would happen. And look, I agree, after Saedii and the Unbroken started coming after them, he probably should have said, but I still get him not wanting to. Yeah being the Starslayer's son probably made the Unbroken getting him more of a priority, but even without that, he's still a warbreed with a Templar sister who hasn't joined them, and that's more than enough for the Unbroken to want to hunt him down and either kill him or get him onside.

Also like, Kal ain't an actor folks, he wouldn't be able to fake the Pull or how it makes him react, I'm sure of it. And you know 6 months of that relationship with Auri and all the feelings that went with it - that he clearly showed since Auri was so sure of it before the reveal - is in no way something he or probably anyone else would be able to fake so convincingly, especially given Auri's gifts.

Now, you might say, "but Amy, he went and joined his father in the end!" and to that I ask, did he? Did he really?

This boy showed clearly in his POV chapters that he despises his father and what he was made into at his hand. And this isn't some third person narrator which leaves us room to doubt, this is first person, this is his actual thoughts. He doesn't want to be part of the Unbroken.

Now, we don't know Kal's entire thought process but I highly doubt he didn't have some kind of plan in going to his father - the only one on the side of good who could possibly get anywhere close to him without being killed. Whether or not his plan was to murder his father from the begining or if that idea only came when he saw Auri being hurt by him is debatable, but he for sure wasn't there to truly join the Unbroken. Maybe it was even just that he had absolutely nowhere else to go. He was abandoned by his squad, he's a wanted criminal by multiple governments, and, as a warbreed, no one else of his species would trust him. Awful as it sounds, to his father is about the only safe place he can go. You can tell he's not happy about it, but I have a feeling he had a plan, or at least the beginnings of one - whether that plan was to help Auri if she succeeded in getting there, kill his father at some point while he was occupied with something else during the attack, or bide his time in the hopes of stopping this all in some other way, is what I don't know. To be honest, if it weren't for the way Auri and the others think and act in the chapters after they abandon him, I wouldn't be surprised if this was actually some part if their plan.

But anyway, that's my 2 cents on the matter of Kal in this book. This was written moments after waking up so I hope it's coherent and I actually covered everything I meant to. But,

Tl;dr: Kal had very understandable reasons for doing everything he did and people shouldn't be as hard on him as they have been.

Edit: I just had a quick skim back through the chapter and although Kal had no real solid plan, he wanted to kill his father and planned to whenever the opportunity presented itself. So, literally how anyone can still be mad at him (except the squad who have no idea), I truly don't understand.

[riversofmars]

This one took a little while as I hated the first draft and had to rewrite almost everything lol. TW for mild dub con but honestly, nothing bad. Hope you enjoy it. <3

Rating: M

Word-count: 4000

Chapter 4: Conflicting Loyalties 

The Doctor couldn’t be sure how much time had passed. There were no windows or anything else to measure the passing of time by but when she heard voices outside, her shirt was dry enough to put back on. She couldn’t make out what the voices were saying but it sounded like an argument. Her coat was still a bit damp but she pulled it on regardless, in case the content of her pockets came in handy. Her shoulder was feeling better, at least the bleeding her stopped, and faintly, she could feel her regenerative energy working on it. It would be healed in no time at all. She pushed her hands into her pockets and stepped up to the bars in anticipation as the door opened.

“No-one is to learn her identity, you can’t just walk her around the palace.“ Yaz was snapping at a second person, attempting to stop them from entering but they weren’t having it.

“I am well aware, Captain, we take orders from the same people.“

The Doctor frowned, she vaguely recognised that voice.

Clearly annoyed, Yaz stepped aside and the Doctor instinctively took a step back from the bars. The Monk, dressed in expensive looking scarlet robes. She had been a while since she had last seen the renegade Timelord. They weren’t exactly fond memories. The Monk stepped closer, looking the Doctor up and down, his expression unreadable.

“Please open the cell, Captain.“ He turned to Yaz who didn’t look happy at all but she had her orders. It was clear that she didn’t particularly like or trust the Monk but it appeared as if she only trusted very few people indeed. Reluctantly she opened the cell.

“You need to take precautions, you can’t…“ She started again but he was one step ahead of her. He revealed what looked like two electrodes in the palm of his hand.

“Perception filter?“ The Doctor realised what it was but she inched back regardless. She knew it wasn’t dangerous but in this universe, she couldn’t be sure.

“Very perceptive, then I’m sure you understand there is no need to resist.“ The Monk smiled, the Doctor bumped into the metal bench behind her, there was nowhere to go but she had no intention of holding still for him. “Some help, Captain?“ The Monk looked to Yaz who rolled her eyes.

“Fine, alright.“ The Doctor held her hands up before Yaz got to close to her. She knew she stood a better chance of escaping if she got out of this cell, plus, a perception filter could prove useful. She held her hand out to the Monk who raised his eyebrows at her but dropped the electrodes into her hand. The Doctor attached them to her temples, flicking on a little switch to the back. It was a lot preferable to having a bag thrown over her head again.

This time around, the Doctor had the opportunity to look around while she was being led through the corridors of the palace. They were in the Citadel, she was sure of it, the passages looked very familiar. It gave her hope that if she managed to get way from her captors, she would find a way out of here. The Monk hadn’t bother with handcuffs either and the Doctor soon realised why. The number of guards around the royal wing was staggering. If she made any attempt at escape, they would be on her in a flash. So she followed the Monk, her stomach turning at the idea of what might come next.

“You’re the first other Timelord I’ve seen around here…“ The Doctor observed but didn’t get a response. “You don’t seem to like the Captain back there either… is that cause she’s human?“ She carried on, recalling the conversation between River and her parents earlier. When Rory had referred to them not liking having them here, surely he was referring to the Timelords? They were on Gallifrey after all.

“Through here.“ The Monk didn’t answer her question, instead he led her to a big door and opened it.

“Love how eager you all are to talk…“ The Doctor huffed and froze in the doorway when she looked ahead and saw who was waiting for her. The Monk didn’t take kindly to her stopping, he gave her a shove forward and closed the door from the outside.

“You must be the Doctor.“ Clara turn to face her and her appearance could have fooled her. She was all button-up blouse and skirt, just like the Doctor remembered her, but she knew better than to trust a first appearance.

“Clara…“ The Doctor didn’t know what to do, she stood motionless as Clara walked towards her.

“Oh, so we know each other over there? That’s good, that makes things easier.“ She smiled and reached out to cup her face. The Doctor flinched back, but all she did was disengage the perception filter. “That’s remarkable…“ Clara looked at The Doctors face in wonder for a moment, almost as if she hadn’t believed what she had been told until she saw for herself. When Clara seemed to have gotten over the initial shock, she reached out for The Doctors hands. “It’s so good to meet you.“

The Doctor hesitated, unsure what to do or say in reply. Clara’s words were warm and inviting but she was clearly one of the Emperor’s trusted advisors, else she wouldn’t have been brought here, so The Doctor knew she couldn’t trust her. She pulled her hands back.

“Please, don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting you. How is your shoulder?“ Clara gave her a warm smile and reached out for her shoulder.

“Fine.“ The Doctor pulled away again.

“Well, you are a Timelord, you should heal fairly quickly.“ Clara smiled pleasantly. “Have you eaten?“

“What?“ The Doctor frowned, confused.

“Well, people always forget, getting so carried away, don’t they, in the heat of it all, the interrogations and such…“ Clara chuckled. “So have you? Eaten I mean.“

“No…“ The Doctor answered slowly, waiting for the catch.

“Splendid.“ Clara clapped her hands together and gestured for her to come and have a seat. The room wasn’t quite as grand as the Emperor’s living quarters but was decked out with similar splendour. On a coffee table, a meal was laid out. The Doctor hadn’t even realised she was hungry until she saw the food. “It’s not a trick, it’s perfectly edible.“ Noticing her hesitation, Clara grabbed a small bowl and a spoon. It contained a small soufflé and ate a spoonful of it as if to prove it wasn’t poisoned. “I love a good soufflé.“ She smiled, delighted, as the Doctor slowly walked up to her.

“Aren’t you… going to question me or something? Find out what happened?“ She asked as Clara moved over, making room for her on the sofa.

“Are you going to tell me?“ Clara asked.

“No.“ The Doctor huffed.

“Then why would I waste my time? Sit.“ The Doctor did, even if she was still reluctant. She eyed the food with the same distrust as the person next to her. She knew it wasn’t her Clara, but she didn’t seem nearly as bad as the other people she had encountered so far. She knew it might well just be a ruse but surely, not everyone could be bad in this place, right?

“Then why am I here?“ The Doctor asked.

“Is this not more pleasant than the cell you were in?“ Clara chuckled eating another spoon of soufflé.

“Sure…“ The Doctor said, looking at the spread of food in front of her. Her stomach actually growled at the sight of it, tempted. “But what are you playing at?“

“Believe it or not Doctor, I’m trying to help you.“ Clara replied and picked up a second spoon, offering it to the Doctor.

“Help me?“ The Doctor looked at her utterly bewildered.

“Yes. You stood up to the Emperor, that’s very brave and very stupid.“ Clara said turning fully towards her. “She always gets what she wants. Believe me. She will have her answers one way or another.“ Her words were firm and persuasive and the Doctor didn’t doubt the truth behind them. “So when I found out about you, I knew I had to intervene.“

“If you want to help me, get me out of here.“ The Doctor replied and took the spoon offered to her. She scooped a bit of the soufflé out of the bowl, eyeing it suspiciously as Clara had another taste, clearly enjoying it.

“You know I can’t do that, they would know it was me.“ Clara shook her head with an apologetic smile.

“Then what…“ How else could this Clara possibly help her if not by allowing her to escape? Hesitantly, she tasted the soufflé and actually groaned a little at how nice it was. Clara gave her an approving smile before carrying on.

“Full disclosure, Doctor, the Emperor asked me to interrogate you to find out how you crossed over to our universe.“ She explained matter-of-factly. “And though you might find it disconcerting, that is something I’m very very good at.“

“I’m not scared of you.“ The Doctor shot back, almost too quickly.

“And I’m not trying to intimidate you. When she told me who you were, I immediately realised what a great opportunity this is.“ Clara went on calmly.

“How so?“ The Doctor frowned in confusion, this was not going the way she had anticipated. She had expected Clara to be like everyone else she had met here, but she was rather a lot like the Clara she remembered. The Doctor scooped up another bit of soufflé.

“I’m going to tell you something I probably shouldn’t so please don’t speak of this.“ Clara carried on and handed her the bowl they were sharing. “Things aren’t going well in the Empire, the population is suffering. They need to be governed, they need to be looked after, instead of focusing on expanding, we need to rule what we already have. The Emperor, however, believes that only conquest is progress and that all problems will go away so long as we keep expanding.“

“That sounds about right…“ The Doctor contemplated her words, it certainly rang true with what she had seen so far.

“As I’m sure you’ve realised already, there is no-one to stand up to her…“ Clara poured a glass of orange juice and handed it to the Doctor who had finished the soufflé.

“And you want me to…“ The Doctor took the drink offered to her.

“I want us to work together. I have a lot of connections around the palace too, I have power but… the military, the generals… they’re just as blood thirsty as her and without their support, any attempt of bringing about change would fail.“ Clara revealed, watching her take a sip and then a gulp as she realised how nice it was.

“Any attempt at a coup you mean.“ The Doctor couldn’t help but point out.

“To put it bluntly, yes.“ Clara nodded.

“How do I figure into this?“ The Doctor asked, waiting for the catch.

“Well, this is where you would have to trust me.“ Clara gave her an apologetic smile and the Doctor knew immediately she wouldn’t like the answer. “If you tell me what you know, I can take it to the generals, secure their backing and after I have power, stop any attempt at crossing between the universes. Please believe me, I am genuinely only concerned with this one and the welfare of the people here.“

“Nice try.“ The Doctor shook her head, she couldn’t actually believe she thought she could get her to talk this way. She had no reason to believe any of this was true. In all likelihood, Clara was just trying to trick her, gain her trust, and take the information to the Emperor as requested. The Doctor was quick to raise her walls again. “Why should I believe anything you say? You’re one of her friends like you were my friend in my universe, my Clara wouldn’t betray me so why should I believe you’d go behind her back?“

“Until recently I would not have. Just like in your universe, I once cared for her - deeply - that’s why I’m here.“ Clara replied with a smile that had something bittersweet about it. “But she has lost her way. Surely, that’s pretty obvious? All the while I’ve been hoping she would see reason but there are other people who’s counsel she’ll take over mine.“ She shrugged as if there was nothing she could do about that and that she had accepted that. “And now, seeing you, well, it’s showing me a version of what she could be… and that’s very tempting.“ She reached out and brushed a strand of the Doctor’s hair behind her ear. She regarded her earring with interest. The Doctor pulled back, startled at the sudden gesture of affection.

“If she’s such a terrible person - which she is - why are you still here if you don't agree with her?“ The Doctor wanted to believe her but she couldn’t.

“I’m not proud of it but I told you what it’s like out there, I’d be stupid to leave the palace… and I guess part of me just wasn’t ready to give up on her.“ Clara admitted and took the drink out of her hand to put it aside. “But now that you’re here…“ She leaned closer and ran her fingers along the collar of the Doctor's coat.

“Clara…“ The Doctor sputtered, as Clara brought her knees up on the sofa to perch next to her, and felt the run of Clara’s fingertips over her cheek.

“Tell me about her, Doctor. Tell me about your Clara.“

“We uh… we travelled together for a time.“ The Doctor answered not sure what sort of answer she was hoping for.

“Is that all?“ Clara asked softly, almost disappointed, searching her face for more.

“She saved me many times in many different lives.“ The Doctor replied, trying not to let Clara’s gestures of affection unnerve her.

“Who’s to say I can’t do that again, now?“ Clara’s voice was soft, almost pleading. “Maybe we can save each other.“ She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the Doctor unsuspecting lips.

“What are you doing?!“ The Doctor panicked and pushed her back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Don’t you miss her, Doctor? Your Clara?“ Clara whispered. “I can see it in your eyes, when you look at me, you wish I was her. I know I’m not and I know you’re not her either but… we could make a great team, you and me. Maybe we don’t even have to involve anyone, maybe you could just replace the Emperor…“ The was a mad twinkle in her eyes at the idea.

“All I want is to get back to my universe.“ The Doctor retorted trying to sound firm, suddenly feeling very nervous. She let go of Clara’s shoulders willing her to stay back while she shifted away across the sofa, putting some extra distance between them. Clara, however, seemed to have other ideas.

“It’s not all bad over here, Doctor, I can keep you safe if you stick with me…“ She gave her a flirty smile and got to her feet. She took a few steps, coming to a confronting stop right in front of the Doctor. “We could work together. Tell me what you know and I can give you everything you want.“ She reached out and tilted The Doctors chin, making her took up to her. “We could do so much together. God knows you’re everything I wish she was…“ She whispered, biting her bottom lip and she looked the Doctor up and down with blatant appreciation.

“Clara, I think you’re reading this wrong, my Clara and I, we never…“ The Doctor didn’t know what to say, how to handle her advances.

“Oh come on, Doctor.“ She chuckled as she slowly started unbuttoning her own blouse. “You’ll be stuck here for a while, might as well enjoy it for the time being. Let me show you what you could have if you work with me… I promise I’ll be gentle.“

“Clara, I don’t…“ The Doctor tried to get up but Clara was right in front of her, pushing her back down and keeping her there. As much as she tried not to look, the Doctor’s eyes were drawn to her half-unbuttoned blouse. “How do you have that?“ The Doctor exclaimed in shock when she recognised the tattoo revealed on Clara’s chest.

“Looking after all, hm?“ Clara smirked and took the Doctor’s hand, guiding it to the black tattoo snaking its way up her chest. “They’re the markings of a Quantum Shade.“

“I know what it is, why do you have it?“ The Doctor tried to pull her hand away but Clara held it close.

“I told you I have power here.“ She smirked and the Doctor felt anxiety rising inside her. No matter what this Clara was telling her or what her intentions were, even if she did want to help and work with her, she was dangerous in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“What is your role here? Why does she keep you around if she doesn’t take your advice? Is it for that?“ The Doctor asked trying to pull away.

“Every court needs a judge.“ Clara whispered softly. “You’re not scared of a little danger, are you, Doctor?“

“And an executioner.“ The Doctor’s eyes widened in horror at the realisation.

“We all have to find a way to make ourselves stand out in this universe.“ There was a mad twinkle in Clara’s eyes that made the Doctor shudder, she had done so well at hiding it until now which was the most disconcerting thing. “Comes in handy with other things too… interrogations… when you can sentence someone to death and you're the only one able to reverse it, works a charm.“ Clara explained, clearly amused at her reaction. “I did tell you I was very good at it.“ She winked at her. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting you, quite the contrary…“ She pushed the Doctor back with surprising strength and straddled her lap.

“Clara, don’t, I…!“ The Doctor exclaimed but Clara silenced her protest with a kiss. She took the Doctor’s hands and placed them on her own hips.

“Help me, Doctor, tell me how you crossed over and we can rule this place together.“ She pushed her hands into the Doctor’s hair and pulled her head back before pressing her lips to her throat.

“Is that really how you interrogate someone?“ Amy called from the door, highly amused, making both Clara and the Doctor jump.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind an interrogation like that.“ Rory commented with a grin and Amy smacked her husband’s shoulder.

“Shut up.“

“I’m so sorry, they just…“ The Monk rushed in after them. Clara looked around clearly annoyed.

“What are you doing here?“ Clara growled angrily. The Doctor took the opportunity of her being distracted to shove her off her lap. Clara dropped onto the sofa next to her but quickly recovered and pulled herself up.

“Just checking in, see how things are going.“ Amy grinned and sauntered closer. She looked to the Doctor who straightened herself up pulling her coat up properly that Clara had pushed down.

“The Emperor entrusted me with…“ Clara stood and stepped closer, meeting the Ponds halfway. The Doctor looked on, conflicted as to who she should be rooting for in this face off. And why was there a disagreement at all? Had Clara spoken the truth and she wasn’t in league with the Emperor as much as the Doctor had assumed, while the Ponds were clearly avid supporters? Or was there more to it that she didn’t know about?

“Yeah, but thing is, we don’t really trust you, so…“ Amy shrugged, answering the Doctor’s question.

“You mean River doesn’t.“ Clara bit back taking a threatening step towards them.

“Same thing.“ Rory shrugged strolling around the room, having a look around, making himself at home. Clara followed his movements with her eyes, her expression one of fury.

“Tell her to sort it out with her wife then, I’m following her orders after all.“ Clara snapped turning to Amy.

“What were those orders, exactly? To give the prisoner a good shag, was it?“ Amy retorted with a cruel laugh.

“It’s none of your business how I…“ Clara started but Rory interrupted:

“Maybe you can make her talk with your head between her legs.“

“Are we any closer to talking then?“ Amy looked past Clara and gave a little wave to the Doctor who didn’t know what to do, she remained seated, trying not to call attention to herself.

“River doesn’t have to trust me. And the Emperor does, so…“ Clara stepped in between Amy and the Doctor, stopping her from getting closer.

“Of course she doesn’t trust you, I wouldn’t trust you near my husband either.“ Amy snarled, giving her a demeaning look up and down.

“You have a type, don’t you.“ Rory chuckled, looking to the Doctor who blushed, despite the fact that she really wasn’t a willing participant in the whole thing.

“You have no business being here.“ Clara growled, her voice low and threatening, she had had enough. The tattoo on her chest started moving, dissolving, evaporating off her skin and turning into black smoke the threateningly curled into the air round her. The Doctor jumped when the screeching of a raven sounded deep from the adjourning room.

“Are you sure you want to do this.“ Amy smirked and pulled a knife from her belt, more than ready to strike.

“You know I do, try me.“ Clara leaned closer and Rory pulled his sword from its sheath circling round her.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s plenty of that.“ The Doctor interrupted, jumping to her feet unable to take the tension any longer. Though these weren’t her friends, she couldn’t watch another one of them die, particularly not at each other’s hands. Quickly she stepped in between Amy and Clara pushing them apart.

“What’s it to you?“ Amy shoved her back and Clara caught her by her shoulders, steading her.

“Stay out of this, Doctor.“

“It would benefit you if we killed each other, so why are you interfering?“ Rory shook his head in amusement, unable to understand what she was doing.

“I just don’t…“ The Doctor couldn’t really explain it. Of course it would be good if they went for each other, she might have an opportunity to escape if they did, but it had been an automatic reaction.

“Monk!“ Clara called looking to the door. “Can you just…“ She gestured to the Doctor.

“Right away.“ The Monk nodded, showing more urgency at her order than he had with the Doctor previously. The chain of command was fairly clear cut.

“Take her back to her cell, just while we sort this out.“ Clara returned her attention to Amy.

“Come along.“ The Monk grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders, he flicked on her perception filter and shoved her towards the door. The Doctor looked around feeling torn. She was grateful to be taken out of the situation with Clara but also worried about the situation escalating. She told herself not to worry about it, it wasn’t her problem, they weren’t her friends. The door closed and the Doctor tried to shake the feeling of dread, reminding herself she had nothing to do with this and that this universe would probably be better off if they fought amongst themselves. It was hard to get used to this backwards way of thinking. The Monk demanded her attention as he walked her down the corridor.

“When I tell you, Doctor, you’re going to hit me in the face and hard.“

“What?“ The words didn’t sink in, they just made the Doctor stop dead in her tracks and whip around confused. The Monk pushed her on, making her keep going as he looked around to check no-one else had heard him.

[the-yellowturtle]

Title: By The Way (I Tried to Say Not to Eat That)

Rating: G

Summary: Zuko really, really likes spicy food. 

Note: This is for @zkdrabbledecember‘s Day 27: Don’t Worry :)

Check out the AO3 Link for the A/N 

For as long as history has been recorded, the Fire Nation archipelago has been known for its spicy cuisine. Believed to be good for chi flow, Fire Nation people till this day will consume chili peppers by the bucketload. Many think that spice is the most invigorating of the flavors, and thus it is not uncommon to find a bowl of plain chili peppers on the table for every meal. Even if someone does not partake in the peppers, the rest of the food will certainly give them their fair share of spice.  

It is undeniable that a high tolerance for spice is a source of national pride in the Fire Nation. However, despite their pride in being able to handle spice, there is one place that even Fire Nation citizens will request a mild dish: Ember Island.

The average Fire Nation citizen likes to claim that they do not fear spicy food. In Ember Island, they say that they fear non-spicy food. If the aroma of a dish fails to make your eyes water, then the dish is bland. Wielding the locally cultivated Sishen Pepper, the Ember Islanders never fail in weeding out who is not a local.

This is the place that Princess Ursa called her hometown, and it is this Ember Island heritage that undoubtedly gave birth to Zuko’s own insatiable appetite for spicy food.

___

Let it be said that Zuko never started to breed his own peppers with malicious intentions. He was well aware that his spice tolerance far succeeded that of the average Fire Nation citizen, let alone the foreign dignitaries that frequented the palace halls. He would willingly and gracefully suffer through the bland food that his guests preferred if it meant protecting world peace.

No, Zuko’s interest in growing peppers began a year or so after becoming Fire Lord. As one might expect, governing a country after a hundred years of war was a daunting task. An exhausting and stress-inducing task. It was during long nights in his study that Zuko discovered one way to cope with his new position: Sishen Peppers. Lots of Sishen Peppers.

Zuko had always loved to eat them with his mother as a boy, and now as Fire Lord he found himself snacking on them at every opportunity. The spiciness of the pepper never failed to reinvigorate him, and made it much easier to focus on the work that still had to be done. Besides daily firebending training, meditation and writing to his friends, eating peppers was one of the few ways that Zuko managed to curb his stress levels.

The thing was, though, being Fire Lord was extremely stressful. And if you ate spicy peppers enough, you would eventually become immune to the spiciness of said peppers. This was the predicament that Zuko found himself in shortly after taking the throne.

The solution? Breed peppers that were even spicier.

With words of encouragement from Uncle Iroh, Zuko slowly began to invest himself in the world of crossbreeding pepper plants. It’s a rocky start, but after a few years Zuko managed at last to produce a tiny, bright red pepper covered in blisters that he was proud to call his own. It was a pepper so spicy that even the Ember Island Representative had balked at Zuko’s offer of having a second bite.

Except for Zuko, the turtleducks were the only other beings willing to partake in the new breed of pepper. Turtleducks being incapable of tasting spice probably had something to do with this. Nonetheless, he decided to name the variety of pepper after his favorite animal.

In hindsight, calling it the Turtleduck Pepper was probably not the best choice.

___

As the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation, Katara was very familiar with the spicy cuisine of the country. Although she initially possessed the spice tolerance of an average Fire Nation toddler, her palette had come a long way. After a few years of spending her summers in the country, she could now easily enjoy the offerings of Caldera City. To her immense pleasure, even her fellow Southerners —her embassy coworkers and their families— began to use the local flavors in their own cuisine. It was heartwarming to see that chilipaprika seal jerky and ginlic chili stewed sea prunes had become beloved by Water Tribe and Fire Nation people alike.

Yes, Katara had developed an appreciation for spicy food. However, she was nowhere near the level of her boyfriend, Zuko. Unfortunately, she was greatly reminded of this fact one day when they were feeding the turtleducks in his private garden.

Katara blames herself. She really does. If she hadn’t been so caught up in staring at Zuko’s gorgeous smile, then she wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation. However, Katara was only human and Zuko always looked so content when he was feeding the turtleducks and he always had the gentlest smile on his face and he just looked so beautiful and her brain just kind of disconnected from reality as she realized once again just how much in love with him she was and—

Instead of taking a bite of one of the blue bell peppers Zuko had personally cultivated for her, Katara took a bite of one of the Turtleduck Peppers.

The effects were pretty instantaneous. Katara knew she wasn’t dying, but between the coughing, the runny nose, the wet eyes, and the intense burning in her mouth; it sure felt like it.

“Katara! Agni! Are you okay?!” Zuko screeched while taking out a handkerchief to dab at her face. “What happened?!”

“The— The peppers! The Turtleduck Peppers!” Katara managed to croak out between coughs, and pointed to the half-eaten culprit on the ground.

Zuko muttered a few curses before handing her some hippo cow milk. “Drink that, it will make you feel better,” he explained as he rubbed up and down her back.

It took chugging down about another two bottles of the milk before Katara could feel her tongue again.

“Do you feel better now? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left the Turtleduck Peppers near y—”

“Zuko,” Katara interrupted, “Don’t worry, I feel a lot better now! And it’s not your fault. I should have been paying more attention instead of staring at you— instead of staring at the turtleducks!”

Zuko froze for a moment before getting a sly look on his face. “You were staring at me?”

“Yes,” Katara admitted with a grumble, dabbing at her wet eyes. “Of course I was looking at you. I love watching you do the things you’re passionate about. You just get this look on your face, and… La! It just reminds me of how much I love you.”

His response was to cup her cheeks and press a quick kiss to her lips, “I love you, too.”

“I know,” she smiled.

[luccislegs]

Hi! Can I get a scenario for Lucci and his girlfriend? After it’s revealed that he is a CP9 agent and she asks him “was our relationship real or it was all fake?”. Happy ending please, this world is already dark and sad as it is. Also you are an amazing writer!

i’m putting the warnings that it’s 2k words, there’s cursing, angst, hurt/comfort, and possible ooc but i tried really, really hard to make him in-character but also still soft for his partner. i really like how this turned out i hope y’all do too.

That night was a blur. 

Your attention was caught between what was going on at Galley-La and setting up for Aqua Laguna, and it made you an erratic, harried, and nervous mess. You were worried for all the people you had become friends with over the last few years, but mostly you were worried for your partner, Lucci. He was one of the strongest foremen on the docks, but whoever was attacking Iceburg was clearly dangerous, and even if you knew he’d be okay, you still worried.

Sleep came in fits and, when you finally woke up the next morning, it was to the news that the attackers hadn’t been the Strawhat Pirates, but Galley-La dockworkers. Your blood turned to ice in your veins as you hurried to the docks, desperate to find Lucci, but most of Dock 1 was empty. Nor could you find the main foremen, or Iceburg. It was via a passing doctor, tending to the injured dock workers, that you got more information. It was the same time you learned that your whole relationship with Lucci was a lie.

You didn’t remember the walk home, and most of the rest of the day was a hazy mix of tears, anger, and betrayal. All of it left you feeling empty and drained, but mostly you were hurt. 

Over the next few weeks, no one knew what to say to you. They couldn’t blame you for being involved with Lucci. He had fooled everyone and no one believed you had been involved in whatever he and his cohorts had done. But condolences didn’t seem right, and there was nothing to forgive, but somehow something had changed and all of you seemed to be dancing around each other like something needed to be said.

After a while, the pain stopped, but you never really stopped hoping he would come back. What he did was awful, and he was a liar and a spy and he murdered people for a living, but even knowing all of that didn’t change how he held you at night or the way he comforted you when you were at your lowest. The way that the foremen and Franky Family made it sound, Lucci was a cold-hearted bastard who didn’t even know what the word love meant, let alone how to love someone. But that wasn’t what your memories said, nor was it what your traitorous heart was telling you. 

It was another one of those nights, where you came into your house and took in the empty space, devoid of the warmth that once made it home, and decided you weren’t going to deal with the myriad of emotions it brought with it. Mentally checking out, you threw your things to the floor, intending to just go to bed, when the creak of a floorboard down the hall stilled you.

Your heart in your throat, you called out, “Who’s there?”

In an instant, a shadow appeared at the end of the hallway, and you fell back with a shriek as Lucci’s towering figure entered the living room. How he moved so fast was beyond you, and you didn’t have time to process escape before he was squatting down in front of you.

He looked a mess. 

There were bandages on his cheek and dark circles under his eyes. His usually sleek and wavy hair was hung limp and dull around his face, which itself looked pale. Gentle hands wrapped around your arms, hauling you to your feet and before you even knew you were standing, you were being embraced. 

Your brain fought to catch up with everything you were seeing and, when it finally did, you broke.

“What the hell, Lucci?” you screamed. Or tried to. Your voice was hoarse with unshed tears, but those too were rapidly beginning to stream down your face. “What are you doing here? If they catch–” 

Wait.

Why were you worried about them catching him? He deserved to be caught. After everything he did: the attempted murder, the lying, the framing, the deceit. 

He more than deserved it. 

Well, that was what you told yourself, but you never even opened your mouth to yell. 

He really looked like shit, now that you took him in. It was clear he hadn’t been having a good time of it since he left Water 7, and you couldn’t help your curiosity. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating your victory with the rest of the World Government?” you snap, wiggling out of his arms. He didn’t let you go without a fight, but when you slapped his hands away, he let them fall.

“That didn’t go according to plan,” he said, watching you step further away from him. He had to fight the urge to follow you, to engulf you in his arms again. He had missed you more desperately than he had realized, more desperately than he had let anyone else know. Underneath his usual aloof demeanor, he was buzzing with anxiety. 

The World Government had done it’s best to train emotions out of him, but somehow you and you alone had gotten under his skin. He didn’t know if it was your soft kindness, or your confidence, or your soundless acceptance of things life threw at you, but he had fallen for you hard. And he had hoped that in time, maybe you could be coaxed to accept him for what he was.

But the universe hadn’t given him the opportunity.

You scoffed at his words and turned from him, wanting to face anywhere but him. For weeks you had thought about what you would say to him if you saw him again, how you would react. And yet, now that he stood in front of you, you were nowhere near prepared to deal with this, emotionally or mentally, and you could feel the exhaustion just beneath the newly formed headache beating at your temples.

“Yeah? Good. How could you? I mean, Lucci, five years. You’ve been here for five fucking years and that meant nothing to you?” you asked, still holding yourself like you might fall apart if you so much as relaxed. He said nothing, and you sighed, tilting your head as if that would alleviate anything. “If it meant nothing to you, if those friendships you formed– or pretended to form, anyway– meant nothing, why are you here? You clearly don’t give a shit about me–”

That set him off. He would readily admit that there was no lingering affection for anyone else in this backwater island, but he couldn’t even lie to himself about his feelings for you.

“That’s exactly why I’m here. I do care about you, though I don’t suppose you have any reason to believe me. Why else would I come back?” he asked. He could feel anger simmering just beneath the surface, though he wasn’t sure if it was at himself or you. You deserved the world and he had lit it aflame and handed you the ashes, and expected you to accept them as a substitute for the happiness you could have had with someone else. 

 Watching the myriad of emotions flicker across your face was like a slap to the face.

Denial, hope, anger, hurt: all of it was an open book on your face and he read them easily, but you stood fast, even as tears streamed down your face. He hadn’t expected it to be easy, hadn’t expected you to come running back into his arms with happiness. It was only fair that he take your anger, because he had abandoned you without a word and left you to the wolves.

The sigh you expelled was tired, your fingers cramping from the white knuckle grip on your arms as you stared blankly at the wall. It would be so easy to give into him, it was what you wanted to do, but how could you ever trust his words again? Shaking your head, you hunched down into yourself. “I don’t think I can do this, Lucci. Three years is a long time to lie, three years is a long time to lie and then attempt an assassination and then come back and ask me to forgive you.”

Your words were barely a whisper, but Lucci caught them all to easily. He could also hear the hesitation in your voice, and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. “_____, would you have believed me if I told you? Would you have accepted it?” He cupped your face gently and lifted your head so he could look you in the eyes. His words weren’t what you wanted to hear, but you talked about honesty, and that’s what he was doing. He was being honest. “I couldn’t trust you to keep my secret. But don’t think I didn’t feel anything for you. Don’t think I don’t feel anything for you.”

Your head was beginning to swim from an uncomfortable mix of too many emotions and too much crying. His hands were warm and real on your face, comforting you. You hadn’t even realized you were cold. 

His words stung, but they were true. You understood the need for secrecy. His job demanded it. But were you willing to accept it? Could you really be with him if that’s how it was always going to be? And what about the residents of Water 7? How could you look them in the eyes when you were sheltering the very person that had almost turned their lives upside down? Your life upside down?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He had turned your life upside down in so many different ways, entwined his life with yours that detangling the threads would require scissors, and you weren’t sure you wanted that. Your memories with him weren’t wrong, weren’t bad, and certainly didn’t reflect the assassin he apparently was. 

“Which is the real you, Lucci? Can you tell me that?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Surrounded by him, the faded scent of cologne still lingering on his crumpled suit and filling your overwhelmed mind, it was too easy to fall into his charms again.

He paused, still staring at you with those soul-piercing silver eyes as he thought about his answer. Who he is is not who is with you, and he wonders if you’ll believe that. It’s the truth, whether you do or not, and when he tells you he can see that flicker of hope again in your tired eyes.

Maybe, if you were a stronger, less selfish person, you would resist, tell him to get lost and take the time to move on. But you were none of those things, and you didn’t have the power to resist the familiar comfort of his callused hands on your skin, or the soft warmth with which he was looking at you.

Tears spilled over and gathered against his fingers, and he could see the fight leave you just before you curled yourself into his embrace. He welcomed you, relished the familiar feeling, the only person he’s ever allowed so close to him, in more ways than one. Twenty years he’d gone without needing the touch of another person, but somehow you not only wormed your way under his skin, but planted yourself there, making him crave the intimacy.

He wasn’t going to promise you that he would never lie to you again, would not entertain the notion that things would go smoothly or perfectly or on forever, but he wasn’t concerned with the future this time.

Just you, in his arms, for however long he could hold you.

[ofheroesandvillains]

To Catch A Ghost 2 - B.Russo

Words: 2.5k Warnings: None  Summary: You find a way in.

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading and commenting on part 1. It’s a bit of a slow start - bear with me. I did some research for this chapter and it was super underwhelming. Reader is a sniper in this story and the US military doesn't have much info on them so...creative licence and all that. The squad mentioned is not real (to my knowledge).

(Not my gif, credit to the creator!)

“He got any family? Friends?”

“Grew up in the system. Surrogate family was gunned down in broad daylight.”

“The Castles.”

You remembered hearing about that particular tragedy on the news. Your eyes travelled to the black and white photo paperclipped to Russo’s profile. They both looked like hell, covered in dirt and sweat-soaked clothes, but their smiles were blinding. 

“That’s right. Castle’s skipped town until this mess with the CIA dies down, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Alright. Anyone else I should know about?”

“Curtis Hoyle. Former Navy SARC.”

“Connection?”

“They served together. Hoyle runs group therapy sessions at St. John’s for vets - sessions funded by Russo.”

---------

3 months later...

Most assumed that Billy Russo was a man of fine taste - he had enough money, good-looks, and charm to ensure that people swiftly forgot that he was the product of a broken and abusive system. That was Billy Russo the businessman, and while he took his job very seriously, that man would never be who he really was. 

Billy Russo was a soldier. A man who was happy to get his hands dirty if it meant getting the job done. And his hands had been covered in so much blood lately, he could barely recognise them. It was all worth it, of course. He’d do anything for Frank, and if that meant putting his benefactor six feet under, then he’d do it with a smile on his face. And he did. 

Thinking about Rawlins put a bad taste in his mouth. To know that he’d been reliant on the bastard responsible for tearing Frankie’s family apart, his family apart…if he could kill him again, he would.

Unfortunately, killing Rawlins had left ANVIL in a precarious position. The company had been slowly gaining a reputation, but he knew these things took time. 

Not only was his biggest investor gone, but he’d also lost a lot of Rawlins’ contacts and personnel. Recruitment was slow. Though ANVIL was kept out of the papers after all that went down with Rawlins, his employees knew about the investigation and many had jumped off what they believed was a sinking ship. His credibility had gone down and building it back up was costing him money he didn’t have.

Money he wasn’t sure he’d make without that elusive government contract he’d been chasing.  

“Goddamn it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. The numbers in his excel spreadsheet were starting to blur together, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take on two hours of sleep. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to see Frank. He wanted to talk to Curtis.

He wanted to do anything but what he was doing. 

--------- 

“My cover?”

“Will have to be military - Keres Squad. You have the training, and the confidentiality will allow minimal exposure when he inevitably starts snooping. I’ve called in a favour with the DoD, we’re working on making this air-tight.”

“Why does it feel like you’re turning me into a female version of Russo?”

“He’ll be more sympathetic if you share similarities. The more of himself he sees in you, the more likely he’ll be to take you on.”

“Which fortune teller told you that crap? The more we have in common, the more he’ll dig.”

Coulson’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile.

“Yes, and you’re going to let him.”

--------- 

After months of watching him, you’d come to learn that ANVIL was pretty much Billy Russo’s entire life. He worked hard, you’d give him that, but that was pretty much all he did. Some nights he’d go out and find himself a distraction, others would be spent away on a job. But there was one day each fortnight that was untouchable.

Every second Thursday would see him out of ANVIL by midday, cheque in hand, and a small smile on his face. Today was one of those days, and the wait was finally over.    

“You don’t have to do that, Ri.”

You shooed Curtis away when he tried to take the chair off your hands.

“And you don’t have to sit here listening to our crap every week, but you do. ‘Cause you’re a good guy.”

Curtis smiled wide and his eyes narrowed.

“That your roundabout way of complimenting yourself?”

“Hey, you’re the one always preaching about acknowledging the good inside each of us,” you recited with a pointed look. 

He shoved your shoulder in good humour.

“Alright, smartass.”

You smiled. Curtis was a damn good guy, one of the most likeable people you’d met so far. But damn, as soon as he considered someone a friend, or worse, his responsibility, there was no chance of getting out of some serious talking. So when you turned around after stacking the last chair, you weren’t surprised to see him studying you as he so often did. 

“Can I ask you something?” He crossed his arms, that appraising look in his eyes.

Of all the tough nuts he’d had to crack in his life, you’d been one of the toughest. He wasn’t quite sure he’d cracked you at all, to be honest.

“And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re here - hell, I’m proud of you. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

“So do you, Curt.” You huffed a laugh. “What’s the question?”

Curtis shrugged, and you could see his discomfort plain as day - he wasn’t one to hide his feelings. You knew there was a question he was dying to ask, one he never wanted to ask one of his people - why are you here?

Or at least a variation of it...you gave Curtis Hoyle credit, he was sharper than you thought he’d be. That was a problem for another day.

“Do these sessions help you?”

He’d never drive anyone who needed help away, and he knew better than most that some people hid their scars better than others - especially those trained to do so. 

But you were something he’d never be able to understand, not really. 

Soldiers...they were used to an enemy they could see, one they could fire at. Most of your life was spent killing ghosts stuck in the shadows - people like yourself. There came a point where feeling no longer came into question. Desensitisation was a blessing in your line of work.

You couldn’t tell Curtis that, because no matter how much it felt like it, he wasn’t your friend. He was just another person who knew the woman you were pretending to be - Sergeant Riley Jameson, Keres Squad Sniper, doesn’t talk much about what happened over there. And he was absolutely vital to your investigation. 

That didn’t mean there wasn’t truth in your answer, a truth you’d never thought to confront before. On those days you spent alone in the cabin with nothing but time, you refused to admit to yourself that maybe you missed your old life a little more than you let on.

Sometimes you hoped for a knock on the door, a familiar face to try and rope you into a familiar situation.

You might even thank Coulson for this opportunity in the end.

“I just...sometimes I miss it, y’know? I mean, yeah, some of the things I’ve done…” you shook your head. “But there’s that familiarity to it all, that routine that kinda becomes the new normal after a while - a place to belong, a family you become a part of. It never really leaves you.”

He didn’t say a word, and you were grateful. It was the first time you spoke about something like this in the month you’d been attending his sessions. You’d admit that things were easier around Curtis though. They needed to be or you’d get nowhere.

“So maybe I deal with it better, but I think I do need to be here...just to feel that familiarity without itching for a gun in my hand again, y’know?”

A beat passed where he just stared at you, and then he smiled one of the softest smiles you’d seen him wear. It looked a lot like the one Clint had given you when you’d hit your first bullseye. 

“Did that- did that make sense?”

“Absolutely.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Curtis who replied. William Russo, you recalled, had a voice like velvet. And his steps were annoyingly silent. 

Right on time.

“Well, well,” Curtis teased with a grin. “Look who it is.”

They met each other halfway, sharing genuine smiles and a hug for good measure. 

“How you doin’, man?”

“Gettin’ out of bed is a bastard, but I’m still kickin’.”

“Damn right, you are.” Russo smiled.

“Oh,” Curtis shot you an inviting smile and waved you over. “Billy Russo, meet Riley Jameson. Ri, this is that hotshot CEO I was tellin’ you about the other week.”

Billy’s brows arched. His suit was immaculate, his hair and beard groomed to perfection, and not for the first time since you started this assignment did you wonder just how someone got that lucky. 

There was a spark of recognition in his eyes when Curtis introduced you, but ‘Billy the friend’ quickly slipped back into ‘Billy the CEO’. It was one of the reasons you hated espionage - no one was ever themselves. Everyone had a different face to show each person they knew, and you didn’t have the time or patience to figure out which one was real.

Come to think of it, that was why you hated human interaction in general. 

“Well, damn. It is a small world,” Billy said with a smile.

As small as I need it to be, you thought with a smile of your own. Curtis’ gaze darted between you in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“You two know each other?”

“In passing,” you answered. “It’s nice to see you again, Marine.”

Russo laughed, flashing those pearly whites with a contagious smile. 

“Likewise.” His smile died down and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m uh, I’m sorry about that, by the way. Couldn’t help but overhear…” 

You waved him off.

“It’s no problem, Mr Russo.”

“Billy, please.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and there was a sudden intensity in his dark eyes. “Y’know, if you find yourself missing it very often, you’re more than welcome to come by ANVIL and see how things work.”

“Billy,” Curtis warned. 

Billy held his hands up in surrender, lips quirking into a bashful smile. “I’m just sayin’. The offer’s always there.”

You cocked a brow. “ANVIL? That’s the security company, right?”

He seemed to perk up at your interest, and you heard Curtis sigh quietly.

“We focus on reintegrating ex-soldiers like yourself back into the world in an environment more suited to their skill set.”

“Sounds like hard work.”

“It can be,” he nodded. “But it’s worth it.” 

His lithe fingers plucked a card from the inner pocket of his suit.

“Here, feel free to call or swing by sometime. I could give you a tour of the facility.”

You took the sleek card with a nod.

“Thanks, I might take you up on that.” You smiled and looked to an unusually silent Curtis. He wasn’t quick enough to wipe the frown off his face. 

“Well, I should probably head off. I’ll see you next week, Curt.”

“Yeah, of course.” Curtis clapped a hand onto your shoulder. “Thanks again for helping out.”

“No problem. It was nice seeing you, Mr Russo.”

“And you, Miss Jameson.” He smiled politely, the words rolling off his tongue like a purr.

“Riley.” You called out from the doorway, and he responded in kind.

“Billy.”

He watched you disappear for the second time, this time with a satisfied smile. Your first encounter had left him intrigued, and he’d even admit to hoping for a second whenever he went to his little bar after a particularly rough day. It hadn’t happened, and he’d almost forgotten that one night entirely.

“Don’t even think about it, Russo,” Curtis said with an amused shake of his head.

“It’s nothing.”

Curtis rolled his eyes. Billy would have been a lot more convincing if he wasn’t still staring at the doorway. “I’m serious, man. She’d hand you your own ass on a silver platter.”

He turned his stare to Curtis with a devious smirk.

“My kind of girl then?”

Curtis glowered at him, but it only earned him a chuckle. 

“I’m just messing with you, man. After all that shit with Madani...” Billy shook his head and ignored the sympathetic look Curtis shot his way. “What’s her story, anyway?”

“Who, Riley? She doesn’t like talking about it.”

Yeah, no kidding, Billy thought. He couldn’t even get a name out of you, and it was clear that Curtis was going to respect that. 

“Nothin’ at all?”

“Look, I know that thing with Rawlins hit ANVIL hard. You need new recruits, I get that. But I don’t know about this one, man. You have no idea how hard it is to get a read on that woman. The shit she had to do...something tells me I don’t wanna know about it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened and Curtis should have known that that would be the wrong thing to say. 

“Spec Ops?”

He hesitated, and Billy could almost see the conflict play out in his head. The confidentiality between his group pitted against the trust he had in his friends. His friends would always win, and they both knew that. But something else was at play here that Billy didn’t know about.

There was a wariness in his old friend. He didn’t blame Billy for working with Rawlins, he hadn’t known about the man’s role in the death of the Castles, after all. But Billy had always wanted more. As someone who’d grown up with nothing, the prospect of having the best, of earning it and affording it, was something that fueled a lot of his choices. 

He wanted ANVIL to thrive and that meant having the best employees. He’d listened when warned about Lewis, but these were desperate times and Curtis worried about his friend’s judgement. Someone like Riley could be a great asset, but she was far too closed off to be entirely trustworthy. 

His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“Keres Squad.” 

“No shit?” Billy’s brows arched. They’d all heard the rumours: an elite squad of female snipers. The theory was that they were easier to overlook, and physiologically more suited to the position, but the military never seemed to give that much thought. 

Curtis shook his head. “That’s all I’m saying. Just...promise me you’ll be careful.”

A genuine seriousness settled over them both and Billy nodded. “You know I will.”

Between Rawlins and Madani, he had learned a valuable lesson in trust. That was something he wouldn’t be giving away so freely. He was done with those games, the next person that came for him or for his company would be leaving in a body-bag. 

“Enough about that, it’s not why I’m here anyway.”

“If you’re offering me a job again, you can forget about that too!”

Billy laughed.

---------

“You rang?”

“Where were you?”

“Getting that therapy you keep telling me I need. Don't worry, he hasn’t found me out yet.”

“Is it done?”

“Of course. You have any news for me?”

“Stark fundraiser in Manhattan next week. I’ll have Vivian make contact. If he goes for it, it’ll give you time to bug the place.”

“Oh, he’ll go for it. He can’t afford not to.”

“Good. Keep me-”

“Updated, yeah. I got it.”

“And, Nine?”

“Yeah?”

“...be careful.”

---------

Not sure how I feel about this one.

TAGS: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​, @sylphene​, @ariminiria​, @gollyderek​

[bobasheebaby]

Howard Wolowitz Prompts

1 “You know, I'm really glad you decided to learn Mandarin.” “Why?” “Once you're fluent, you'll have a billion more people to annoy instead of me.”

2 “NAME does not cry.” “That's true, you'd rust.”

3 “I invented a game. Want to play?” “Sure.” “It's called NAME or DOG NAME. I give you actual quotes I've heard NAME say, and you guess if he/she was talking to his/her boyfriend/girlfriend or his/her dog.”

4 “Settle this. Those little animated pictures on the Internet, are they called ‘gifs’ or ‘jifs’?” “Well, the G stands for ‘graphics.’ That's a hard G, so I'd say ‘gif.’” “What? The guy who invented it says it's ‘jif.’” “I'm sorry, do you mean the guy or the juy?”

5 “So you can never take it (the sweater) off?” “No.” “Not even to sleep?” “No.” “So you're just an idiot?” “It's called proving a point.” “Is the point you're an idiot?”

6 “We have to go over some ground rules about NAME.” “Like when it turns out he’s/she's made of rubber, I don't say anything?” “He’s/She's very real.” “That's what it says on the box. Right next to dishwasher safe.”

7 “Aren't you gonna come with me?” “While you confront your father:mother about his/her sex life? I'd rather go back to that bar in assless chaps.”

8 “OK, is everyone clear on the plan?” “Yes, NAME 1’s going to wet himself/herself I'm gonna throw up, NAME 2’s gonna run away and you're going to die. Shall we synchronize our watches?”

9 “NAME, let me take this opportunity to point out that you are looking particularly ravishing today.” “Not with a thousand condoms, NAME.” “So there is a number.”

10 “Hey, you want to make sure he/she gets nowhere with NAME without jeopardizing your friendship with either of them?” “I'm listening.” “Just tell him/her to do everything you've done with him/her for the last two years.”

11 “On the potty, what are you five?” “It's a potty, what do you call it?” “A toilet.” “That's a little vulgar for the dinner table, don't you think?” “And potty is okay?” “Potty is innocent. Potty is adorable.” “What do you do on the potty, wee-wee?” “If I don't have to boom-boom.”

12 “Try telling him/her it's a non-optional social convention.” “What?” “Just do it!” “It's a non-optional social convention.” “Oh, fair enough.” “He/She came with a manual.”

13 [NAME smiles in a grotesque way] “Oh crap that's terrifying.”

14 “He/She didn't dump me. We were just in different places in the relationship.” “I fail to see how a relationship can have the qualities of a geographical location.” “It's very simple. NAME was living in a little town called ‘Please don't leave me’, while NAME had just moved to the island of ‘Bye-bye!’”

15 “Are you planning on kidnapping a man/woman?” “Sarcasm?” “Yes, but mixed with genuine concern.”

16 “NAME knows football? I mean Quidditch, sure, but football?”

17 “Puppies, how do you stand on puppies?” “A puppy once bit my face!” “Of course it did.”

18 “NAME, there's no place for truth on the Internet.”

19 “I see. I assume since the rest of you have set the bar so low, you're saving the most impressive contribution for last. Go on NAME, dazzle me.” “Well, my power is the ability to pretend like I give a damn about your piddly-ass problem. And that's 24/7 buddy.”

20 “You can't just throw everything in the closet.” “Hey, you can tell me what to do and how to do it, but not both at the same time. This isn't sex.”

21 “We're looking for NAME, not Marmaduke.”

22 “NAME it's the phone!” “I know it's the phone NAME! I hear the phone!” “Who is calling at this ungodly hour?” “I don't know!” “Well ask them why are they calling at this ungodly hour!” “How can I ask them when I'm talking to you?”

23 “Well no, you're mistaken. You give speeches all the time. What you can't do is shut up.”

24 “The way I see it, I'm halfway to pity sex.”

25 “Why do I even try?” “I'm going to fix this right now.” “Okay, but just make it look like an accident.”

26 “Love is not a sprint, it's a marathon, a relentless pursuit that only ends when he/she falls into your arms — or hits you with the pepper spray.”

27 “Look, if you don't want to go to the party, just don't go. You're a grown man. Act like one. Tell NAME you want to spend the weekend having a sleepover and playing video games with your friends!”

28 “Can we take a moment to discuss that I just lied to the government for you?” “Yeah, I would not have done that for you.”

29 “NAME ruined Raiders of the Lost Ark* for me, so I'm trying to find something beloved of his/hers and ruin that.” “Because his/her life wasn't enough?” *[insert any movie, play or book]

30 “I think you broke the dowels. You're not gonna have time to glue it back on. You'll have to nail it.” “With what?” “Does he/she have any pillows or wine glasses?” “He/She does.”

“Great. Neither of those. Try a hammer!” “Did that feel good? You feel like a big man now?”

31 “Why're you being so quiet? You upset or are you just rebooting?”

32 “Come on, NAME, Star Wars.” “I'm pushing play. I mean it. If we don't start soon, George Lucas is going to change it again.”

33 “Come on, one day this may double in value and be worth half what I paid for it!”

34 [Chuckles] “Look at that. There's finally a man/woman in your life you can talk to.”

35 “I shouldn't be raising a kid. I don't even eat my own vegetables.”

36 “I love you. And I'm not just saying that because your breasts are gonna get bigger.”

37 “First take a picture with me.” “Why?” “Well, NAME and I always talked about learning how to make cocktails like this together, so I taught myself and I'm putting this on Instagram so he/she can see it and feel like a turd. Say cheese!”

38 “Stop hitting on my man/lady or you shall experience my wrath.” “I am not hitting on him/her.” “And I am not your Lady.” “And you have no wrath.”

39 “NAME, relax. I am not interested in your boyfriend/girlfriend.” “I hope not. Because you don't wanna mess with me.” [Gets in NAME’s face] “I'm crazy.”

40 “How did you get so brave all of a sudden?” “It's easy. The spider's crawling up your arm.”

41 “Why are you back from your date so early?” “Well, in romance, as in show business, always leave them wanting more.” “What exactly does that mean?” “He/She struck out.”

42 “Sit, you look like you've had a long day.” “Naw, she always looks like that. ... Because she married an idiot.”

43 “You guys never use that space up there. Why not get a table?” “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?” “How come we never get that option?”

44 “You're a putz. Do you what that means?” “Yeah. Do you?”

45 “Excuse me, I happen to be very comfortable with my masculinity.” “How is that possible?”

46 “Oh, you're saying I don't do anything around here? Look at my chore chart!”

47 “Well don't come crying to me when you don't get your allowance.” “It's not an allowance. It's a stipend! And we said we weren't going to call it an allowance in front of my friends.”

48 “Neither of them will be the actual cake. I'm just using it as a bargaining chip to get NAME to agree to the whole wedding party getting rings and us getting one ring to rule them all.” “I forget, which mental hospital are you guys registered at?”

49 “You know what we should do? We should show the closet to NAME.” “Why?” “Are you kidding? He’s/She’s like a savant at organizing. Everything in his/her apartment/house has a label on it. Including his/her label maker, which has a label that says label maker. And if you look really close at that label maker label, you’ll see a label that says label.”

50 “I was so smooth on that date.” “Dude, I made you smooth. You were an idiot.” “Whatever, dude. He/She kissed me.” “It might have been on your lips, but it was my kiss.” “Oh, fine. Let's agree he/she kissed both of us.” “Okay.”

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 4x06-- The Gang Offends Everyone

Thoughts under the cut. 

Another long episode, yay! But it’s a minute shorter than 3x04, so I feel slightly better about it. 

Lucca bought herself a Birkin bag with a portion of her poker winnings. Clearly she knows it’s a status symbol, but the second she realizes people are noticing it, she’s slightly embarrassed. Or maybe I’m reading this wrong. I think she wanted to impress everyone and show off and then started feeling uncomfortable. I am a little shocked she decided to take it to work.

Tbh I don’t think I would notice if someone carried a Birkin bag into my office.

Marissa knows a lot about Birkins, which tracks. As she says, she was raised around rich people. I would bet ELI knows about Birkins and the types of stitching too. 

Landau is back with an absolutely ridiculous idea: Running Adrian for President in 2024. Landau mentions that this year we started with a diverse field of candidates but “no candidate of color went the distance.” I know what he means but could he maybe phrase it in a way that doesn’t make it sound like it’s the candidate's fault? Also, question, what is running Adrian as a candidate early on going to do other than create more noise in the field and prevent people from unifying behind one candidate? 

(And, surely, there are more qualified people to run than Adrian Boseman, but this is TV and I will be quiet about this.)

As far as I can tell, this plot is about forcing Adrian into a new realm where optics matter more than money, thus forcing Adrian/the audience to confront a lot of the choices Adrian tends to make. 

They want him to stay on the stage until Iowa so black voters can “see themselves up there.” So it’s almost like their plan is to pick a moderately convincing candidate they know will lose in order to appease black voters??? What’s the point, to say they care but not enough to find a candidate who could actually win? Maybe I’m being too cynical. Or maybe it’s because it involves a fictional character that I’m so critical.

That said, the way Landau/the DNC have been written on this show? They CLEARLY are not supposed to actually understand black voters.

Just… don’t turn into season 7 of TGW, show. Peter running for president was such a poorly executed idea. 

I can’t tell if this plan would be to run someone in 2024 no matter what (meaning if Biden doesn’t seek a second term or if we have to deal with 4 more years of 45) or if it’s contingent upon 45 being reelected. If the latter, then that means that Adrian, in his own self-interest, would.... Want 45 to get reelected? Odd thought.

Adrian promises he won’t tell anyone and shakes on it. He immediately tells Liz.

I love how Diane’s name is on the letterhead but she is almost never looped into conversations like this. This is more personal than professional so it obviously makes sense that Liz would be the one he confides in, but it happens more generally too. 

Liz kind of mocks the idea of Adrian being the future of the party, and Adrian accuses her of being jealous. “What are your positions?” Liz wants to know. Good question. Adrian jokes that Liz could be his policy adviser, and Liz reminds him she brought the DNC in to begin with, used to work in government, and knows how to pronounce Kamala Harris’ name. All fair points. Adrian is definitely the more charismatic of the two (and he’s been on Cable News-- he went viral in the universe of the show AND in the real world for it!) but charisma is the kind of thing that matters far more than it should in politics. 

“Are you saying former prosecutors are unelectable, or just black female former prosecutors?” Liz attacks. IMO Adrian hasn’t really thought about it and is just parroting what the DNC said. And this is why Liz would be better at the job than Adrian, but it will never matter because no one is ever going to ask someone like Liz when they could ask someone like Adrian. Which is, I think, Liz’s point: she’s not jealous so much as she is incredulous at how this opportunity just appeared out of nowhere for Adrian when he has no experience, no policies, and no stances. Liz has all three (maybe not policies, but I bet she knows where she would stand if she needed to make policies) but no one is asking her to run.

“Would it kill them to recruit a woman every once in a while?” Liz wonders after Adrian’s gone. Precisely. I don’t think Liz wants this for herself-- but when she sees it go to Adrian, she sees how it’s not going to any of the other qualified black women who want it more than Adrian. 

Adrian goes to see his client, a swimmer, and says they’re changing strategies because of the politics. This may very well have been his plan for a while, but putting this scene right after the other two definitely makes it feel like Adrian is doing this for his own image.

I feel like most TGF characters are motivated by some combination of power and stability. Diane and Adrian want to have power, so they compromise on their principles to get ahead or make their position as prestigious as possible. Liz (who is actually a bit like her former rival Alicia in this!) compromises on her principles when it means not getting into fights that aren’t worth it or jeopardizing job security; Lucca is usually the same way and doesn’t wade into controversies. I have lots of thoughts on this I will probably come back to as the episode goes on and we see more from Liz.

This is one of the more case heavy TGF episodes, and it’s one of the more interesting, layered cases they’ve done. An aspiring Olympic swimmer has just missed the mark for going to the Olympics. As far as I can tell the underlying issue is that the meet was rescheduled from 2019 (normal timeline) to 2020 to let another swimmer have more time to prepare. I can’t tell if the timing ceases to matter once they switch strategies (right now they’re arguing it’s racial descrimination) or if it’s just forgotten as the episode progresses. Seems to me like that’s where their case is the best-- if they moved the date to advantage one swimmer, for any reason, that’s a pretty bad look.

How is it possible that this dude who played Bree’s sex addict boyfriend on Desperate Housewives and was on The Americans and a few other NYC filmed shows is only just now showing up on TGW/F!?!? 

Memo 618 leads Diane and Julius to compare what they know. Julius explains what spooked him; Diane explains the Visitor. In the middle of all this, Marissa interrupts to share the news of Lucca’s new bag-- heh. 

I assume the middle 3 numbers of Visitor’s phone number are blank because the writers wanted to use the fact they couldn’t print an actual number to add MYSTERY! Citing the bible, Julius decides to call Visitor to get more information.

Marissa brings Liz around to see the Birkin. Something weird about the name partner coming in to admire something one of her employees owns, no? Lucca’s hidden the bag but shows it off. Liz is mesmerized by the bag (my guess is even if she had the money she’d never consider buying one-- she says it’s a good investment but idk how much she means that) and Lucca’s really embarrassed to keep explaining why she spent 20k on a bag.

Marissa wonders if Bianca bought it for Lucca. “Jesus, you are a one woman surveillance state,” Lucca says to Marissa after Marissa confesses she’s looked up the price of the bag. She is a natural investigator, yes.

Lucca explains she bought it with the poker winnings, and Marissa calculates that Lucca must have won a lot if she was willing to spend 20k on something inessential. Marissa starts her guess low-- 200k. She finally gets the number out of Lucca (or at least the range it’s in) and tells Lucca she needs to talk to David Lee about taxes and accounting. 

On the one hand, very glad to see Marissa is knowledgeable about this. On the other hand, Lucca and David Lee are both family law department heads, so the implication that David Lee knows the ins and outs of gambling laws as pertain to St. Lucia while Lucca doesn’t know that winnings are taxable. I’m fine with David Lee being better at this than Lucca-- he’s a slimeball and has more experience-- but Lucca shouldn’t have to be told this. And this is the second time this season we’ve seen something similar happen.

(Another reason I’m fine with David Lee being better at the job than Lucca in general: we have seen time and time again that DLee isn’t just good, he is worth compromising the mission of your firm to have on board. So as great as Lucca is, not sure we’ve seen any evidence she is THAT good at this point in her career!)

The racism angle doesn’t work in court because the opposition brings in the argument Adrian was going to go with originally: the swimmer who beat Adrian’s client’s time is trans. Now if he wants to represent his client, Adrian has to be on record saying someone trans shouldn’t be able to compete as the gender they identify with. 

This is one of the more interesting approaches TGF could’ve taken to deal with trans rights, so it’s also one of the more interesting cases they’ve done in a while. This is one of very very few places where there could be a compelling case to look at sex assigned at birth instead of identity. So the writers focus on that, all the while acknowledging that even raising this question is pretty fraught. 

“Okay. From race to trans. Let’s go,” the judge says as we head into the credits. P sure that is not the right language to use but also VERY certain this judge has not fully wrapped his head around the concept of people being trans yet. 

Awww, using a Fountains of Wayne song over the credits is a really nice Adam Schlesinger tribute.The song doesn’t go super well with the credits but this is such a nice gesture I don’t care. 

Something else I like about this tribute is that it dates this episode. The reference might not be as easy to get in a few years, but since the characters can’t address COVID-19 (since all this was filmed pre-pandemic), this is going to be one of the only in-show ways to contextualize these episodes. (I would not be surprised if there is some sort of reference next week, and I am holding out hope for some sort of animated video or epilogue song (like the end of BrainDead))

This episode was written and directed by women! 

Adrian for some reason demands Liz-- and not any of the other black female lawyers at his firm-- join his case. This makes sense if we assume that the default state of RBL name partners is “doing what they please when they please because actual work is for associates and bigger cases are for STRL”. Otherwise it seems like a huge waste of resources. 

Liz immediately understands the optics are important in the case but also to the DNC. 

Adrian goes to talk to Charlotte about the DNC, and his timing is awkward… she wants to move in with him! (I didn’t realize his secret gf was that serious!) But Adrian is worried that since Charlotte is corrupt, she’ll be an issue for his campaign. Here is a thought: don’t take an opportunity that will invite scrutiny into your life but ultimately not lead to any type of lasting success unless literally all you care about is power? Adrian can say no! Of course, if he doesn’t want to say no… there’s his answer to all the dilemmas.

Charlotte understands this better than Adrian does. He promises her “issues” won’t impact his campaign, but he’s gotta know that’s complete bullshit, right? Her issues would absolutely disqualify him. He swears there will be no impact but… LOL. I don’t think he gets to be the one to swear there will be no impact. 

Lucca and David Lee’s meeting, in which David Lee is the right mix of professional and scheming, reminds me so heavily of the great scenes where he handles Alicia’s inquiries about divorce. David Lee was overused in late season TGW but this is reminiscent of him at his best. I’m glad that TGF is using him appropriately.

Here’s something stupid: Lucca spent $20k of the money BEFORE SHE HAD THE MONEY IN HER POSESSION. David Lee realizes the problem immediately. Lucca, astonishingly, doesn’t. Lucca is not an idiot. 

Adrian successfully gets Liz to join him on the case. Case stuff happens.

Julius and Visitor have lunch. Visitor tries to get Julius to play along. Julius continues to resist, then Diane appears. Visitor isn’t scared and threatens Julius and Diane. How else was this going to go? 

Marissa and Jay tail Visitor (this is slightly less ridiculous than the 5x10 Kalinda car chase, but only slightly) and lose him… but find Rachel Dratch, who was also trailing Visitor! Interesting.

Adrian asks Landau about his relationship with Charlotte, without any specifics. Landau gives the obvious response: “Get rid of her. Do it now.” Adrian is like, why? And Landau says “You said there was corruption there.” Yes. This is pretty damn obvious. Also this ends one of two ways: Adrian dumps her and the DNC thing proceeds, or he doesn’t dump her and then the DNC dumps him the second they do some investigative research. 

Alicia is in Lucca’s phone contacts!!!!!! (Maia’s ex, Amy, and Barbara Kolstad are too BUT LET ME HAVE THIS AND PRETEND IT’S SPECIAL.). 

Bianca calls, or maybe Lucca calls (this makes no sense because Lucca says hello first and it says incoming call from Bianca, but we see Lucca scroll through her contacts and Bianca asks what’s up). Bianca wants to do a celebration dinner, on Lucca. Lucca, knowing the power differential, can’t say no. 

Case stuff happens! Liz hates being on the wrong side and refuses to do a redirect!

Ugh the judge misgenders the swimmer. Ugh. 

A bunch of associates present Adrian and Liz with a petition to drop the case because they are on the wrong side. Good for them! 

Adrian says they’re not being hateful, it’s just a strategy. Sure. A strategy that, if successful, will set dangerous precedents. 

Adrian explains he’s actually just defending their client. As always, I don’t find this excuse satisfactory. Do you really need the business of this one swimmer? Is it worth being the one to essentially fight against trans rights? I feel like the answer to that is pretty clear. 

This case may be one of the more interesting ways to discuss if/when sex assigned at birth matters, but when it comes to whether or not Adrian/Liz have to be the ones fighting to count a trans woman as a man… that answer is way, way more clear cut. They absolutely do not need to take part in this. 

I appreciate that Liz is unhappy with this strategy and wants no part of it and admits that the associates/assistants are right. Liz also understands that this is generational and Adrian is like “Liz, I’ve won awards from covering every one of the letters LGBT” in his condescending tone. Liz, correctly, calls him out on basically trotting out the equivalent of “I have a black friend”.

Liz suggests reframing the case and leaving out the “anti-trans tone”. Adrian says “Not if we lose, Liz. Now this is not about politics. This is about rules. Are the Olympic rules fair, or are they not? That’s all.” Man, his tone is so insufferable sometimes. He always seems like he’s belittling whoever he’s talking to. He is also completely wrong here. And, as Liz points out, that’s never all.

Lucca and Bianca have dinner and Lucca still says nothing and still gets stuck with the $3,000 bill. I feel like the firm could probably pay for that as client maintenance? 

Charlotte lists out all the things she’s received as payouts. Some are small-- tickets to the bulls after an endorsement, a friends and family discount at Neiman Marcus after a zoning issue (seems pretty illegal), a speaking engagement for a judge after a favorable ruling… got a Mercedes with no money down… and she fucking bought shares in a tech stock before the IPO was announced. Well those last two seem like trouble. Any of these are potential problems, something involving stock and tech and IPOs? ANYTHING involving her getting nice things like Neiman Marcus discounts and a Mercedes? Those may be smaller scale but people would LOVE to hate on that. So she’s corrupt as fuck. No way out of this. OH ALSO SHE WAS TIPPED OFF ON WHEN TO SELL THE STOCK. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. And this is just what she admits to Adrian.

I wonder if this would trouble Adrian if he weren’t in the running for the presidency.

Adrian asks about 618. Charlotte says it won’t be a problem “because it’s the solution”. ?????? 

I have never understood this relationship and I continue to not understand this relationship.

Case stuff happens.

I’m not sure how Liz’s new strategy is any less anti-trans. She isn’t either, so she gives up mid sentence and sits down, telling Adrian “You want this, you do it.” That’s kind of like taking a stand? I know Liz isn’t going to rock the boat that much, not in the middle of court, but like, how much does standing up for what you believe in matter if all you’re doing is saying you won’t personally do something without fighting further? Liz gets as much of a say here as Adrian and the third person who would get a say is Diane (well, and STRL but shhh) and Diane would 100% take Liz’s side. So how much credit can I really give Liz? 

Does anyone really think someone would just decide to be trans to get a competitive advantage?!?!?! Jesus. That’s wild. 

Diane goes to talk to Rachel Dratch (Linda, here). Even though Jay and Marissa found Linda’s address they didn’t bother to look at her occupation?? She’s a court stenographer and she recognizes Diane.

She knows all about Memo 618 and shares her knowledge with Diane. 

Who is behind it? The Office of Legal Counsel.

How does she know this? Well, there’s a handy TGF short (YAY!!!!!!) to explain.

I love the little joke about how they won’t ever mention censorship in China in the song. Haaaaah.

The Secret Law in the song is so friggin’ cute. I love it. 

The explainer songs that explain largely unfamiliar, complicated topics are the best. And it’s perfect to deploy one here, since this is one of the most crucial concepts of the season and something that most viewers are going to WANT an explanation of. Like, I don’t need an explanation of Downton Abbey or whatever some of the lesser songs of last year were-- but I do want answers about Memo 618.

Is there a good article about some of the real cases of this happening? I assume in most cases Memo 618 is just a stand-in for whatever legal-sounding bullshit was in real memos that secretly shaped the US, but I’d be curious to read more about how this works. 

Linda gives Diane a few examples, like one about FDR and the Japanese internment camps (I did find an article from The Atlantic about an OLC memo from the same time, but not sure if it’s the one being referenced.) I am just going to assume that “M. 618” close up they show is faked. As I said, Memo 618 is more about putting a name to the idea that powerful people can author documents that shape the world but go unquestioned. I don’t think the point is that it was literally this same memo… just the same sort of bullshit.

The “Torture Memos” are another example. I appreciate the show telling me where to look for more information. There’s a ton of info around this.

I don’t believe this lip reader stuff but also don’t care.

And finally this circles back to the claim in 2019 that a president can’t be indicted. Is it a law? Nope, a memo from 1973. This is real and fascinating. 

I think the show’s approach is REALLY working here. It trusts that I can separate fiction (the lip reading, Memo 618) from fact (the spirit of Memo 618, what it means to have an entity that can make its own rules without oversight) and gives me the reference points I need if I want to dig further. It’s a satisfying way to pay off their mystery, and very much in keeping with the spirit of the show.

Linda basically explains Memo 618 as a placeholder for a law. Justify now, create the law later. Yikes.

Case stuff happens! There is a very odd last minute twist here in which the RBL client loses (yay!) but then another teammate is intersex so they try to disqualify her instead??? Wtf? Did we need this?

David Lee has sushi with Bianca and pushes Bianca to get Lucca her money. Bianca had no idea her friends never paid up (did Bianca not pay her share?) and Bianca, who CAN hassle her friends about this, gets on the phone immediately. There’s a funny montage of David Lee being confused by sushi while Bianca gets Lucca her money. 

Bianca asks Lucca why she didn’t tell her she hadn’t been paid! I’m glad to see Bianca cares, but I totally get Lucca’s hesitation. She explains she’s uncomfortable talking about her own money because it feels wrong. Huh, wasn’t she literally always talking about money on TGW? 

Lucca says she’s not sure she can get over this and be friends with Bianca. Because it’s not just money to people who don’t have it. I fully understand this discomfort. I haven’t ever befriended a billionaire, but I get it. I do want Lucca to have a friend though! I think if they’re just candid about this and don’t always do expensive things (and they sever the fact that Lucca is an employee…) they could still be friends! 

OOOH this Piper Vega looks familiar bc her sister is Alexandra Daddario. They have the same eyes.

The RBL client gets to go to the Olympics. Yay? Why did we get this instead of follow-up on the associates’ petition.

Lucca thanks David Lee and he reminds her that he gets money for managing her money. Fair point. But I think he’s got more of a soft spot for her than he cares to admit. Is managing a million and a half really going to help him that much? I imagine he deals with far bigger fortunes on a daily basis. 

Adrian says he took care of his issue, which hopefully means he broke up with Charlotte? He’s all in on the DNC.

Like, I want Adrian to be happy but Charlotte has seemed like a corrupt sexy plot device in every episode??? She makes me actively uncomfortable bc she comes across as a sex object AND ALSO a bad person?? So if they break up… good? 

Lucca arrives home to find a gift on her bed… lots of money. Is this how this arc ends or is there more (/was there going to be more without a pandemic?)

I do NOT like the zoomed out shot of Lucca that ends the episode. She is in such an awkward position on the bed???? It looks like a crime scene??? 

Season finale is up next. I’m sure it’s gonna be weird. And what a title it has.

[nie7027]

"And then what happened?" Hatori asked completely invested in the story

"Minegishi dragged me all around the building knocking on every godamn door" Shimazaki simply said

"Was he able to convince them?" Hatori asked unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. Then again Shibata was equally eager to know.

Shimazaki shrugged

"He made me wait in the hall outside while he was inside"

It was 2 days after they have played the prank on Shimazaki and he was telling them about Minegishi's landlord's apparent outburst the previous day while they were in one of their now usual dog sightseeing walks.

Shibata hummed "At least now we know why Minegishi suddenly decided to work the afternoon shift"

"And why we ended up having to babysit this bastard" Hatori couldnt stop himself from adding.

Shibata rolled his eyes ignoring Shimazakis subsequent replies and muttering a quiet 'Here we go again' to himself

Even if he was already used to Hatoris and Shimazakis continous bickering that didnt mean he couldnt get tired from it.

He let them keep going at it while he did some quick maths in his head and intervened once they were in the middle of a who-flipped-the-bird-more-at-the-other contest.

"Guys this isnt the time for fighting. " he said forcing down both Shimazakis and Hatoris hands "Minegishi needs our help"

"And how are we supossed to help him? We arent exactly rich and some of us have future expenses like buying a new phone" Hatori complained fighting off Shibatas hold to show Shimazaki his middle finger one last time

"If you didnt want me to break it you shouldnt have used it to attack me" Shimazaki retorted not bothering to acknowledge Hatoris antics.

"FOR THE LAST TIME WE WERENT-"

"GUYS" Shibata snapped "Hatori you knew very well how risky it was to use your own phone"

"You used yours as well!" Hatori whined while Shimazaki mockingly laughed at him.

"AND SHIMAZAKI" To Shibatas surprise said man actually shutted up and turned to him "Violence shouldn't be your first response. No if you want to be a respectable member of society"

"Whatever" the man huffed stuffing his hands in his jackets pockets and quickening his pace to walk ahead of them.

Shibata shaked his head.

He wanted to believe there was hope for their friend, specially after Hatori told him what him and Minegishi had seen while he was unconcious, but the point of the matter was... it had been Shimazaki who had knocked him unconcious in the first place.

He was still too prone to violence.

"So...what are we doing with Minegishi? How are we going to help him?" Hatori whispered at his side

"I honestly don't know. We could lend him some money to alleviate some of the load" Shibata proposed "I did some quick calculations and I dont think he was sued. If he was he would have taken the night shift too. The pay is better."

"He starts it tomorrow" Shimazaki interjected effectively killing any of Shibatas hope for Minegishis financial future.

"Fuck. At this pace he is going to work himself to the bone" Hatori lamented "Why do a flower shop even needs a night shift?"

"Funerals" Shibata and Shimazaki responded at the same time.

"Oh yeah. I forgot those...Aw man Minegishis landlord sucks."

Shibata shrugged "I dont even think he had the right to demand all of that from Minegishi"

"Why does he even keep living there? That jerk doesnt even do the mandated buildings maintenance!" Hatori grumbled "Now he is going to blame everything on Minegishi"

"You know very well why" Shibata sighed tiredly.

"Why?"

It was Shimazaki. He had stopped walking and stood in front of them, waiting for them catch up and give him an answer.

"Uuuh..." Hatori eloquently said. "Because he was part of a terrorist organization that wanted to take over Japan?"

"So?"

"People dont let that pass so easily" Shibata slowly explained "it was televised"

Shimazaki shaked his head "You were there too and you dont have funny men screaming at you"

"Oh" Hatori exclaimed happy for the opportunity to make fun of Shibata "Big boy here was unconcious in a dumpster for most of the whole ordeal thanks to some 14 year old"

It was Shibatas turn to make fun of Hatori.

"Yeahb and this nerd here" he said pointing at Hatori with his thumb "Nobody recognizes his lanky ass as one of the feared terrorists even when he was the one who hijacked their signals"

"Perks of being a good looking beanpole" Hatori said grinning. And it was true, aside from governments officials, nobody ever thought of him something more than a weakass guy.

"But Minegishi...he was at the front of our forces taking control of the city so he was captured in footage several times"

"It doesnt help that he was present at the other incident too...or that he is eaisly recognizable, you know, with his lack of eyebrows"

"Minegishi doesnt have eyebrows?" Shimazaki asked genuinely surprised making Shibata and Hator burst out laughing.

Of all the things they said that was what Shimazaki had decided to latch on.

"No he doesnt" Shibata finally answered after taking a deep breath to recover "But basically thanks to all of that it was harder for him to get his own place. Not many people wanted to rent him and he couldnt afford most of those who did"

"Yeah, except for Seri most of us couldnt immediately get a job." Hatori said and Shibata could notice the way Shimazaki perked up at the mention of Serizawa but didmt have time to dwell on that because Hatori sudenly exclaimed

"WHAT ABOUT SERI?"

"What about him?" Shibata carefully asked.

"He started working before us. He should have more money saved!" Hatori simply answered as if that was the answer to all their problems

"You know Serizawas income is more err- variable than us. And besides he also has to pay for school"

"Serizawa goes to school?" Shimazaki asked confused "Why?"

Hatori shrugged "He considered that was the the best way to better himself? Personally I think that decision was whack"

"You say that because you actually have a college degree"

"A college degree that has been useless so far. I mean, look at this!" Hatori stopped pointing at a poster that was glued to the wall. It was a lost dog poster "They are paying more money for finding this dog than what they pay me in a week!"

"Holy shit" Shibata exclaimed after examining the poster. They were in fact paying a big sum of money to whoever returned the dog "They really must miss him a lot"

"Or maybe they are just filthy rich"

"My point still stands. Even if they are rich they still went and put up posters-"

"Is it a lot of money?" Shimazaki suddenly asked.

"i just said its more than my salary" Hatori deadpanned

Shimazaki made a face "That doesnt tell me anything"

"You little-"

"Yes, it is a lot of money" Shibata intervened before they could start fighting again

Shimazaki smirked "It says where?"

Shibata was confused "Where what?"

"Where did it get lost?" Shimazaki asked frowming as if that was the most obvious answer in the world

"Here says it was lost at" Hatori picked the poster to read the name of the district written in smaller letters "Ha! See? I told you they were rich. They probably-"

Hatori couldnt finish his jab. Out of nowhere Shimazaki grabbed both his and Shibatas shoulder and the old familiar and nauseating sensation of teletransportation engulfed them.

Hatori stumbled forward the moment he felt his feet made contact with earth again.

"Oh god...I had forgotten how much I hated that" he said sitting on the floor squeezing his sides

Shibata wasnt in a better shape leaning agains the wall that thankfully had materialized behind him "Buddy...a warning would have been nice"

"Crybabies" Shimazki huffed. Even that brat had held it together better than them.

Hatori, still on the floor hunched over, glared at him "You are used to it!"

Shimazaki waved him off and started to walk out the alley they had been telatransported to "You are just a weak-"

"Shimazaki..." Shibata called out taking a step away from the wall and offering his hand to help Hatori stand up. His stomach was almost settled and he could breathe better "Why did you brought us here?"

"Where are we even?" Hatori asked taking Shibatas hand and letting himself be pulled by the bigger man.

Shimazaki turned to look over his shoulder at the two of them "Didnt you say Minegishi needs money? We better find it before someone else does it. Besides there must be more lost dogs with owners willing to pay us- "

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" Hatori exclaimed 

Shibata and Hatori both turned to look at eachother gasping. None of them could believe what they were hearing.

"Shimazaki..." Shibata breathed out in disbelief while the corned of his mouth were strating to pull into a big grin "You really are becoming a better-"

"Are you going to help or not?!" Shimazaki yelled exasperated before Shibata could continue with his corny speach. He really really didnt want to hear it and was willing to abandon them there if they tried to force him.

Luckily they didnt.

"Of course well help you" Shibata happily replied walking towards the end of the alley where Shimazaki was, dragging Hatori with him. "Thats what friends are for!"

"What the big guy here said" Hatori grinned adjusting his skewed glasses "Except how are we even going to search for it?"

Shimazaki turned to look to Hatoris left hand where he was still holding the lost dog poster "Does it says something about the dogs size?"

"What? Why do you-" Shibata asked confused when realization dawned on him "Of course! Mental eye!"

"Duh!"

Hatori quickly turned the paper around and scanned it for a description letting out a Bingo once he found it

"Here. Medium sized Golden Retriever dog..."

He kept reading, Both him and Shibata explaining as best as they could how it looked like while Shimazaki nodded. Once it seemed like he understood he closed his eyes and focused for 1 minute until a smirk appeared on his face.

“I got 27 in the zone.”

Hatori and Shibata pumped their fists on the air”

“Ok. So well stay here lookin around  while you go with them. Go! And make sure they are stray dogs and not inside houses!” Shibata cheered as Shimazaki teletransported away.

It didnt take more than 5 minutes for him to return carrying a happy dog in his arms. It turned to be the wrong breed but it didnt matter because as soon as Shimazaki went he returned to the place he found it and immediately went to look for another one.

That’s how the three of them spend their night with Shimazaki going and coming carrying a different dog each time. They eventually had to move another neighbourhood but it the end they found the correct dog matching the posters description and quickly made their way to the address on the poster.

When Minegishi came home late at night all he wanted to do was to drop dead on his bed and never wake up again.

But he couldnt.

There was a big pile of dishes waiting for him at the kitchens sink and it wasnt going to be long before the smell became unbearable.

Even with Shimazaki staying at Shibatas and Hatoris place dishes, that Minegishi hadnt been able to wash what with him working at least 2 shifts most days, had kept accumulating to the point the stink was becoming unbearable.

He considered using his powers to do the dirty work but god he was so tired he didnt even have enough energy in him to lift a single leaf much less manipulate the necessary amount of vines to do that chore.

Who would have thought working a double shift at the flower shop could be so tiring? Not him even though he already worked there.

He clearly had understimated the strain customer service would put on him after 10 hours of dealing with it. Not to mention the physical extenuation from hauling all those dirt sacks.

Minegishi was too tired but he couldnt go to sleep yet.

Still.

That didnt mean he couldnt take a small break and sit down for a moment.

He had been on his feet all day. He deserved this.

Those were Minegishi last thoughts because the moment he sat down on hia couch in the living room and his head felt the support of the headrest he fell sound asleep.

He woke up to the feeling of something being dropped on his lap.

When he opened his eyes the room was dark and he couldnt see a thing but he could feel the strong presence of someone else in the room and with quick practiced motions he stood up ready to fight at the same he commanded his planta to turn on the light switch.

Light came and with it the sight of a very amused Shimazaki staring back at him.

"You are finally goinfmg to fight me?" the blind man asked with a smirk on his face.

"Keep wishing" Minegishi huffed dragging a hand along his face. "Ugggh. What time is it?"

He wasnt really expecting an answer from Shimazaki so he was suprised when the man replied.

"3am"

"Huh? That late?" Minegishi said rubbing his eyes. "Must have fallen asleep" he muttered. He remembered cheking his phone when he arrived home and it had only been 10 pm.

"Werent you supposed to work the night shift today?" Shimazaki asked surprising Minegishi for the second time that night. He hadnt thought Shimazaki cared enough to remember his schedule. Lucky guees, perhaps?

"Yeah...but I was sent home." Minegishi simply said. He didnt feel like explaining the concern his boss had expressed at Minegishis apparently terrible state.

Shimazaki then made a face Minegishi had never seen on him making him a little wary of the man. His sides still hurt from prank they had pulled on him.

[rhetoricandlogic]

How did I never see this? The Emperor’s Soul, Deleted Scene

The Emperor’s Soul Deleted Prologue: Imperial Fool

The Emperor’s Soul

Note: It’s best if you have read The Emperor’s Soul before you read this deleted prologue.

Shai pressed her fingernail into one of the stone blocks of her prison cell. The stone gave way slightly. She rubbed the dust between her fingers, frowning. “Limestone?” she asked softly. “Who makes a cell out of limestone?”

Of course, the whole cell wasn’t of limestone, merely that single block. Shai had counted twenty-seven different kinds of stone so far, including several she didn’t know the names of. That would make escape tough. Very tough.

This was a cell that had been designed to hold a Forger. She knelt down beside her bunk, using a fork—she’d bent back all of the tines but one—to carve notes into the wood of one leg. She’d engraved a crosswork pattern on another side, with numbers representing the stones of the back wall of her cell. Without her spectacles, she had to squint to see what she’d carved there.

She wrote out, with some difficulty, the word limestone in the key representing the stone block she’d just identified. “Honestly,” she growled as she worked. “They sentence a girl to death. They could at least give her a sheet of paper.”

“A sheet of paper?” The amused voice came from outside the cell. “You actually asked for one?”

Shai jumped at the voice, standing and tucking her hand behind her back to hide the fork. Stealing that had been unpleasant. If she lost it . . .

But it was only the court fool. The man’s hawkish face was capped by a three-pointed jester’s crown, though his was of simple white and black, not the traditional brazen colors. He wore a black coat, long and flowing, almost like one of the Grands. He shouldn’t have been able to get away with such deviations; the Grands liked their fools on the silly side of ridiculous.

“Come to mock me?” Shai snapped, turning back to her carving.

“I don’t mock the condemned,” the Fool said from beyond the cell bars. “Did you really ask them for paper, Shai?”

“I’ve been sentenced to death. They’re supposed to meet my requests during my last week of life. It’s traditional.”

“You’re a master Forger,” he replied. “Giving you paper would be like handing a sword to a captive soldier who asked for one politely.”

She snorted, counting up blocks on the wall, then carving out a few more notes. “I can’t do much with only paper.”

If she had soulstone, now . . .

“It’s the principle of the thing, I suspect,” the Fool said, still sounding amused. How wonderful that her life, and its impending end, could bring pleasure to the Imperial Fool.

“There are forty-four kinds of stone in the wall, you know,” he said.

She spun. “You know them?”

He’d taken to leaning back against the wall, arms folded, cleaning out one fingernail with another. “Top left, the one you’ve been trying so long to figure out, that’s grindstone from a quarry in Laio.”

“Tell me the others,” Shai said, dropping the fork and pressing up against the bars. “Fool, tell me what they are.”

“I could,” he said. “But would that really help? Assuming you knew all forty-four, assuming you knew their histories and the quarries they came from, what would you do? Create a seal for the wall in just two days? Carve yourself a soulstamp out of . . .what? Wood? Even if you had the proper stone, you’d use a fork to etch it?”

Shai looked down at the fork, dropped behind on the ground.

“The wall is a challenge, Shai,” the Fool said.

She closed her eyes. She’d known it, deep down. A wall of patchwork stones? It was a puzzle meant to occupy a Forger. Something to make them spend their time, and make them forget, for a little while, about the noose . . .

But what else was she to do? Give up? Try to Forge the bars instead? They’d been made with ralkalest, the unForgeable element. She’d get nowhere trying that.

“I am sorry about this,” the Fool said.

“You? You’re just the court fool. Why should I care if you . . .” She trailed off. “You!” she said, pointing. “You’re the one who turned me in!”

“Yes.”

“Nights! Why?”

“I couldn’t let you steal the scepter.”

“What? Suddenly you’re a loyal subject? Nights, Fool! You should have come to me. I’d have offered you gold to keep my secret.”

“I couldn’t let you steal it,” the Fool continued, “because I had to steal it myself.”

Shai froze.

“Your duplicate, I might add,” the Fool said, hands clasped behind his back, “was quite useful. Thank you.”

Shai was a Forger. She had spent her life studying the way people thought and the best ways to fool them. She knew to spot another fake when she saw one. Usually.

All this time . . . The pieces twisted, fitting into place with one another. He had duped her. He had duped them all, the Grands, the empire itself.

Shai’s anger melted away like cold spring runoff, and she found herself raising two curled fingers to her forehead: a salute. If he had pulled this off . . . Nights, she was in the presence of a master.

The Fool smiled. “A chance is coming your way, Shai,” he said.

“A chance?”

“A sign of respect, from one liar to another. It is not much—I must leave this place, and my time to arrange an opportunity for you was narrow. But you are clever; it might be enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Keep your wits sharpened,” the Fool said, turning to go. “Be careful, be keen. It has been an interesting dance, sparring with you.”

“Fool? I have money.” A lie. “I can offer—”

He turned toward her, meeting her eyes. In that moment, the Imperial Fool changed. His face grew somber, became steel, and his eyes . . .

In his eyes lay an eternity, an age.

She knew people. She had studied people. This man cared nothing for bribes. This man was not just a master. He was something far beyond that.

A shiver ran through her. “Nights, what are you?”

“Why must people always ask it that way?” A faint smile rose on his lips. “You will not see me again. Farewell.”

He slipped up the steps on near-silent feet. Shai watched him go, feeling thoroughly trounced. How long had it been since someone had gotten the better of her so soundly?

She sank down, looking at her bent fork, the notes on the bed, the wooden handle of the fork that she’d removed and begun carving—crudely—as a soulstamp. It was far too imprecise to be effective.

A chance. What did he mean?

The door to the dungeons opened above. She half thought it would be the Fool returning. How like him that would be, to claim that she would not see him again, then reappear seconds later laughing.

Heavy boots sounded on the steps leading out of the dungeon, and she squinted at the newcomers. Guards, guiding a man with long features and fingers. A Grand, the race who led the empire, but he was not high ranked. That robe of blue and green indicated a minor functionary who had passed the tests for government service, but not risen high in its ranks.

A chance . . . An opportunity . . .

Shai composed herself. She had been bested, but her Uncle Won had taught her that being bested was a rule of life. No matter how good you were, someone was better. Live according to that knowledge, and you would never grow so confident that you became sloppy.

And she had not been sloppy. She’d almost had the prize. She had run across someone better. That happened.

This time, she would win. Whatever the opportunity, she would seize it and thrive. For now, she played not for riches, but for her life.

The Grand stepped up to the bars. He paused for just a moment, then waved for the guards to unlock the door. “The arbiters wish to interrogate you, Forger.”

Editor’s note: When Brandon first wrote this novella and sent it around for alpha reads, it included the scene above. Brandon replaced it with the current prologue featuring Gaotona due to feedback from Mary Robinette Kowal.

[innuendostudios]

New episode of The Alt-Right Playbook called Always a Bigger Fish. Here we dissect the core ideology of conservatism, which is somewhat different from what conservatives claim it’s about, and get into why fascists keep getting footholds in conservative parties.

Shout-out to Steve Shives for playing Your Conservative Friend.

If you like this series, consider helping it keep coming out on the regular by backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you’ve got this friend. You know, that one friend? You were buddies in high school but don’t really see each other anymore except online? And you used to argue about politics for fun when you were teenagers, but, as you’ve gotten older, you’ve drifted further left and he’s gone sharply right, and your arguments don’t feel so frivolous anymore. And maybe you’ve agreed that it’s better for your friendship to stop getting into it with each other, but you’ve just posted on Facebook about how college in America should be free and all student loans forgiven, and your friend has left a comment he’s not supposed to leave, and you’re not supposed to respond but you really wanna respond, so, after a moment’s hesitation, you shoot him a DM.

“Why do you care how we’d afford free tuition? Wars are a lot more expensive than education, but you never seem to care how we pay for those. We just go into debt and you’re fine with it. Anyway, aren’t you the party that says deficits don’t matter?”

“Yeah, but you’re Democrats. You’re not going to run a deficit, you’re going to raise taxes, aren’t you?”

“Taxes are generally how governments pay for things.”

“Spoken like a proper socialist.”

“No socialist would call that socialism. Only you, and only when we pay for things you don’t like. But when we build roads, or subsidize corn, then then you just call it government.”

“Those are things we can’t pay for without governments! But we can pay for college ourselves. We’ve been doing it since forever.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not the 1950’s anymore! Time was, you didn’t need a degree to get a good job. Now you do. And you could pay for college waiting tables, but now you can’t. Nowadays college is a necessity, and people can’t afford it.”

“Why do liberals make excuses for people? If you want to go to college and don’t have the money, then you study and work hard and get a scholarship. You earn it instead of complaining until somebody gives it to you.”

“Do you think people aren’t doing that? Do you think there’s millions of unclaimed scholarships just lying around waiting for someone to apply for them? There is nowhere near enough financial aid to get everyone to college who needs to go.”

“That’s not my problem! They can crowdfund. Or get a loan. Or, whatever, go on Oprah. The government doesn’t owe you an education on my dime.”

“It’s not gonna be your dime! You don’t make that much. No one’s talking about raising your taxes. If some billionaire you’ll never meet gets taxed to put some kid you’ll never meet through school, why should you even care?”

“If somebody robs a bank that isn’t my bank, I’m still opposed to robbery. I have a problem with taking money someone earned to give someone a degree they aren’t owed.”

“Why is what happens to poor people ‘not your problem,’ but what happens to rich people is? You think you’re gonna be rich someday?”

“Oh please. You’re the one the one who thinks they’re gonna be rich.”

“I assure you I do not.”

But then he says something that blows your mind a little bit. Something that makes you think you’ve been going about this the wrong way. Something that makes all the seeming contradictions of Republican thought maybe make some kinda sense.

He says, “Yes you do. Democrats think they’re going to take the money from billionaires and spread it around. Give it to a bunch of poor people so they can go to college. And everyone gets a degree, and everyone gets a good job, and healthcare is free, and minimum wage is 80 bucks and hour. And everyone’s saving lots of money, so what then? Everyone’s rich. Everyone works in tech. Everyone moves to New York and California. And nobody’s a billionaire, and nobody’s broke, and everyone’s great at their job because all they needed was the right opportunity, and no one’s better than anyone at anything. It’s a fantasy, and we shouldn’t have to pay you to LARP it. You think you can make everyone the same, but you can’t. There’s always a bigger fish.”

[beat]

You say, “Did you just quote The Fantom Phucking Menace at me?”

And he says, “I guess I did, lol.”

And that’s as good a time as any to drop it.

But the conversation sticks with you. See, when you talk to your conservative friend, you operate as though you have the same base assumptions: belief in democracy, “do unto others,” etc. etc. If you didn’t believe your friend shared these assumptions, you’d basically be calling him a fascist or a sadist. And you conclude that, if you believe in democracy, you must believe in equality, and, if you believe in equality, you must believe in equal access to education, and must conclude that governments should help pay tuition. And so you give your friend the benefit of the doubt that, if he doesn’t understand this very simple logical progression, he either hasn’t had it properly explained to him, or has, at some point, been lied to. Because no one could believe in “all citizens are equal” and “always a bigger fish” at the same time.

But, by this thinking, you’re treating most conservatives as people who want, in their hearts, to be liberals, but have so far failed. And maybe that’s why they think liberals are condescending?

What if he doesn’t have the same base assumptions as you? Or what if he does, but he has other assumptions you aren’t aware of, that lead him to different conclusions? He is often misinformed, but what if that isn’t the problem? What if he… actually believes something else?

We’ve been circling around this one for a while. We’ve talked about what liberals believe, we’ve talked about what fascists believe, we’ve talked about what nihilists believe, or rather what they don’t believe, or rather why they aren’t actually nihilists. But this is a tough one: What do conservatives believe?

(o god I’m going to get yelled at so much for this one)

The United States, like much of the Western world, is a capitalist democracy. That’s what we’re raised in, that’s what seems normal to us. And, in our normal lives, democracy and capitalism seem to coexist easily: voting doesn’t feel like a violation of capitalism, buying a bagel doesn’t feel like a violation of democracy. But sometimes they come into tension with one another. And, speaking really broadly, when a choice between them has to be made, a liberal is someone who tends to think democratically, and a conservative is someone who tends to think like a capitalist.

THE OPERATIVE WORD HERE IS “TEND.” Liberals are still capitalists and conservatives still stan for democracy, and the preference for one or the other may be very slight. Nevertheless, which way a person leans reveals their priorities.

The democratic framework - or, at least, a democratic framework - is “one citizen, one vote.” No matter who you are, you are born with certain in- or possibly unalienable rights, and any system that doesn’t guarantee you those rights is a tyranny. Freedom, agency, and a hand in the strictures that govern you; everyone is entitled to these things. It’s an egalitarian mindset; people gain power by electoral process, i.e. when it is granted to them by the masses, with whom the true power resides, and whom the Constitution guarantees the right to take that power away from an electee. Rather than powerful, the elected official is, in a sense, an employee with millions of bosses, all of whom have equal authority. This is the idea of democracy, with the history of democracy being riddled with failures to live up to this ideal, but part of the project of liberalism has been about making the government more closely resemble its ideology.

The capitalist framework, by contrast, is that of businesses and markets, where “big fish eat the little ones.” If two people start businesses in the same field, and one makes more profit than the other, that person can make more investments, open more locations, undercut their competitor’s prices. The more money you have, the more money you can make. So advantage compounds, where even small failures often mean getting muscled out of the field. Now, with some creativity - a novel cost-saving practice or a new delivery method - the underdog can still thrive, and this is part of what conservatives like about the market: that it demands this creativity in a live-ammo environment. But most will not beat the odds; that’s how odds work. Since there will always be more failures than successes, the general trajectory of unregulated capitalism is money pooling into fewer and fewer hands. Things naturally sort themselves into a hierarchy with sharks at top, a million minnows at the bottom.

Since we all live with both of these frameworks in our minds, and most of the things we do in our day-to-day lives can be justified by either one, we don’t often notice the contradictions between them, and it’s easy to imagine whichever one tends to be our default is everyone else’s default as well. But issues like poverty, taxation, and education are areas where the contradictions matter, and we are sometimes shocked by how different the world looks to our conservative friends.

In conservative thinking, this hierarchy is humanity’s natural state. The American Dream is “here, anyone can make it.” No matter who you are or what you start with, you can become a billionaire. But a necessary component of this is: anyone can, but everyone can’t. We’re not all gonna be billionaires, there’s a finite amount of money in this country. For any one person to have so, so, so much more than they need, there must - mathematically - be thousands of people with less. Your conservative friend is often baffled as to what you’re even trying to say when you point out there’s not enough high-paying jobs or affordable health plans for everyone; there’s not supposed to be. The system requires an underclass. Someone’s gotta clean the toilets.

Capitalism, then, is a proving ground. It’s how you demonstrate where in the hierarchy you deserve to be. Do you have more than you need, or less? Anything you’ve got, you beat someone else to it. How resourceful were you? How well did you play? The field is, by no means, level, but any disadvantage just means you have to work harder. We know people who start with nothing can win big; if you are a shark, you will make your way to the top, because that’s where you belong. Anyone complaining about how stacked the deck is against them is making excuses for not being better at the game.

Disadvantage itself is not a problem, so long as it is (quote-unquote) “natural.” What’s necessary is that advantage and disadvantage not be imposed from without. Free tuition, a high minimum wage, taxes on the wealthy, or any other kind of government meddling, these things must be opposed, because, with them, people would end up in the wrong places. Power has to be earned; if it isn’t earned, it won’t be properly wielded, and then society ends up a mess. Conservatives generally feel what’s wrong with the world today can be chalked up to people not being where they should be in the social order. They used to be where they belonged, but then liberals gummed everything up with their government handouts and forced representation. (When, exactly, things were the way they should be is a bit of a moving target: nowadays, they act like it was the 80’s, in the 80’s it was the 50’s, and in the 50’s it was some time before the New Deal. So, following the nostalgia cycle, it’s usually “about thirty years ago.”)

Conservatives are distrustful of any effort to make society more equal because, deep down, they don’t believe equal societies are real. Obviously, “all citizens created equal” needs to be the government’s position, because you can’t trust the government to know where to put people, so it has to treat everyone the same. But this is a legal fiction, like corporate personhood. It just means “the government leaves the market alone so the hierarchy can reveal itself.” You’re not supposed to believe in an equal distribution of power. What are you, seven? This is just the way the world is. Look at alpha wolves, silverbacks; consider the lobster.

You are one, single individual within a system, and it is your job to rise or fall within it on the sweat of your own back. You don’t change the system. Society’s problems come from the rules being too weakly enforced. The answer is always more discipline. Your conservative friend thinks you’re naive for thinking the system even can be changed, and his is the charitable interpretation! Many conservatives assume liberals - at least, the smart liberals - know that the hierarchy is eternal, that there will always be people at the top and people at the bottom, so any claim towards making things equal must be a Trojan horse for something that benefits them. (Why would they assume that? Because that’s what they do.) The real liberal agenda is to put people in the wrong places on purpose. Boost liberal allies, hold back liberal opposition. You don’t want to break up the pyramid, you’re just trying to sneak someone else to the top.

A lot of conservative contradictions start to make sense through this lens. Of any issue, simply ask: does this distribute power, or consolidate it? If power flows up the hierarchy, they’re for it, if it flows down, they’re against it. How can conservatives say $15 an hour is too much for flipping burgers but somehow $11.5 million an hour isn’t too much to run Amazon? Because, if you’re flipping burgers, you’re a minnow, and you don’t need $15 an hour to be a minnow. But sharks, they deserve all they can get because they know what to do with it. They use it to give us Amazon. Don’t you want Amazon?

We keep assuming conservatives defend the rich because they think they’ll be rich someday, and, sure, they would love to be. But it’s more nuanced than that: they defend the rich because they believe the rest of us need the rich. We’d be lost without them. There should be no shame in being beneath the rich, not if the right people are rich; no shame in being a cog in the machine so long as the machine produces something beautiful. There is a real fear that everyone filling their proscribed role is the only thing keeping us from complete and total not-the-fun-kind-of anarchy. There is honor in being in your place and doing your best with it. Most especially if your place isn’t at the very bottom.

The thing about hierarchies is that they’re self-similar on many scales. If you’re in the middle, then you serve the king. Valar dohaeris. But, to everyone beneath you, you are the king. You’ve got a good job and a good wage, that gives you some power over people who don’t. And getting pissed at those above implies that those below have a right to be pissed at you. There’s a real anxiety that liberals want to make room for those people in the middle by putting conservatives at the bottom, and that those people will then treat conservatives the way conservatives treated them. Freedom, respect, and empathy are looked on as finite resources in a competitive marketplace just like jobs and scholarships.

Also, most conservatives are white men, and so are most billionaires. So, but for the wealth, they actually have a lot in common, which makes it easy to empathize with billionaires, and to feel empowered by seeing people like oneself do so well. And white men at the top influence policy in ways that serve people like them them, which materially benefits white men in the middle. The wellbeing of white billionaires becomes a metonym for the wellbeing of all white men. A slight on them is a slight on all of us. White men want to believe that these billionaires earned their station, and not that their gender or race got them preferential treatment, because that would imply their own treatment may have also been biased in their favor, and maybe it’s not the liberals giving people power they don’t deserve.

No matter how much a conservative believes in “earning” one’s place, they have, always in the back of their mind, an image of what society should look like, and any discrepancy between imagination and observation must mean foul play. This feminist is too respected, this Black superhero is too popular, it can’t be because they’re worthy; someone must have put their hand on the scales. Someone got a freebie or played the race card or faked a scandal. This means, even though they claim the hierarchy is natural, what they will or won’t accept as legitimate is a gut feeling. If they like what they see, they take credit for it; if they don’t, it’s the Left’s fault. And what does it say about them that they see a bunch of white, male sharks and think, “Yeah, that’s authentic”?

The innate authenticity of wealth and power is the starting point. Like, OK, you know when they open the door to Kingdom Hearts, and on the other side there’s Mickey with his shirt off, and you’re like, “Why would Mickey with his shirt off be on the other side of that door?” and the answer is “I dunno, we’ll figure it out in like seven games”? Rich people believing “it’s good for everyone that I’m rich” is the starting assumption - that’s Mickey with his shirt off - and conservatism is the pile of games where they make up reasons why that might be true after the fact. It’s a retcon. This hierarchy is not democratic; it’s Birth by Sleep: A Fragmentary Passage.

Savvy viewers may be remembering another political philosophy that is hierarchical, undemocratic, built on nostalgia, and that likes to cloak its policies in progressive camouflage, and that’s the one from two videos ago: fascism. (ooooooohhhhhh golly) Now: I am not calling conservatives fascists. There are distinctions: Under fascism, the hierarchy is much, much less meritocratic, and the nostalgia is much, much older. However: conservative thinking is, at the very least, one that fascism maps more cleanly onto. Fascists appeal to this hierarchical mindset by portraying all of history as struggles between ethnic groups over who gets to be where. “Someone's got to be at the bottom, white man. We'll make sure it isn't you.” You’ll find, throughout history, that fascist movements, though they often pick up dissidents from all over the political spectrum (the “Third Position,” for instance, is fascism for anti-capitalists), when they find purchase in a political party, it’s pretty much always the conservative party. Look at France, look at Brazil, look at here. Whether you want to interpret that as conservatives being uniquely susceptible to fascists, or diet fascism being another name for conservatism, I leave that up to you.

Fascism - and, to an extent, libertarianism - are… ‘roided up extrapolations of the hierarchical mindset, in the same way socialism and anarchy are extrapolations of the egalitarian one. We can see conservatism as a kind of compromise between fascism and democracy, and liberalism as a compromise between capitalism and socialism. They are two different attempts to solve the tensions between these ways of thinking without giving either one up. You could just as easily claim that liberalism is watered-down, ineffectual socialism. A lot of the Left would balk at that, but not me, pinko scum that I am.

The most important thing to understand is that you cannot communicate with nor anticipate the behaviors of a conservative if you don’t understand what they believe. Which is hard, because they’re often in denial. You will never convince them to compromise on any attempt to break up the hierarchy, because even incremental change strikes them as revolutionary and they feel they’ve made too many concessions already. You will never get them, of their own free will, to agree to government regulation, because the government, as a democratic institution, is inherently unnatural. If you don’t like what a business is doing, you don’t regulate it, you take your money elsewhere. You should favor the capitalist solution, not the democratic one. (Also, when you vote with your dollar, people with more dollars get more votes.) They will never be onboard with aiding the poor in any systemic way, and will, instead, champion charity and crowdfunding, because minnows getting to eat should always be framed as a gift rather than a right. You may get individual conservatives to come around on some of these, but, as a body, they will never consent to any of it unless they can work it to their advantage or if you have leverage over them. They will sign on when denying progressivism costs them something, because few things terrify them more than slipping down the hierarchy.

And what’s insidious is that most of us have this thinking ingrained in our own minds as well, myself included. We’re all raised in the same culture. This is why they’re able to control the conversation, because they can, with some priming, get us thinking in their terms. A nice upshot is our thinking is also ingrained in their minds, though they’re a little bit better at fighting it.

But as long as you are trying to meet this mentality in the middle, you are leaving the door open for fascists. Conservatism is and always will be vulnerable to them. A good defense against fascism is to consciously, intentionally, think and act in democratic terms, because newsflash: we’re not actually lobsters. Neither of these systems is natural. They are choices we can make. I recommend this one, because egalitarian thinking is one thing Nazis are bad at infiltrating.

If you want to fight fascism, move left.