#I felt the Gen comparison was appropriate

[tsarisfanfiction]

Discordant

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Austin, Apollo The string quartet didn't match the vibe of the battle at all. Pop Goes The Weasel fit so much better. TOApril day 10 - This Isn't Goodbye. This was not my original plan for this prompt - my initial thoughts rolled somewhere around the end of TON when Apollo leaves camp after dropping by as a god again - but I like this a lot better. Austin needs more content, anyway.

His dad certainly looked like he’d seen better days, although from what little Will had been persuaded to tell them of their time with the trogs, Austin wasn’t surprised that Apollo looked rough.  That wasn’t to say he was happy about it, but this wasn’t his first time in battle.

There would be time for cleaning up later, once it was over, if they all made it through.

Normally, Austin didn’t have much time for ifs and buts, especially not ones of those nature.  He’d made it through two wars, and this was practically a skirmish in comparison, and his dad had been through far, far more during his godly lifespan.  From the stories they’d received from Camp Jupiter, Apollo had been through plenty of skirmishes even as a mortal, so there was no reason for him not to get through this one, either.

But something felt wrong.  It was probably the music, a string quartet emitting from hidden speakers in the elevator and so painfully at odds with the vibe of the tower.  Discordance was unsettling at the best of times, designed to raise hairs on the backs of necks and send shivers down spines, and while there were times when that was good, the unpleasantness a pleasantness of its own, there were other times when it was very, very bad.

This felt like the latter, and he couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting on the keys of his combat saxophone – not enough to make them clack with the movement, but enough to put pressure on the pads of his fingers as he tried to imagine a counter-melody that would harmonise the gentle, self-assured strings with the chaotic fighting below and behind them.

Next to him, Apollo clearly hated the music, too, or at least its timing and lack of appropriateness for the setting.  Austin somehow doubted there was any music that his father hated, given the whole god of music thing.  He thrived on terribly composed poetry, so there was no reason he wouldn’t do the same for music.

Situational appropriateness, though, was a different thing altogether.

Just fingering out a solution silently on his saxophone wasn’t enough, not even close, and with some effort he stilled his fingers.

“Wish it was Miles Davis,” he commented, mostly to interrupt the strings, although it also wasn’t a lie.  He would much rather be listening to some jazz trumpeting over the classical strings right then.  For one thing, it would be a much more battle-oriented vibe, rather than the unsettling nothing is wrong vibe the elevator music was trying to brainwash them with.

“That would be nice,” Apollo replied immediately, and Austin wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing already, or if his agreement was instinct.  It was difficult to tell, sometimes, although after spending some time with his father recently – even if it was because said father was temporarily mortal – Austin thought he could hazard an accurate guess towards the former.  Of course Apollo would have been thinking about more appropriate music.

Unfortunately, the soft strings were getting to Austin, prickling under his skin with subtle silkiness, and he didn’t mean to start talking about the future, but the words came out before he could think them through.  “Hey, if we don’t get through this-”

Apollo cut him off instantly, all sharp and jagged edges, discordant with the elevator music the same way the elevator music was discordant with the battle vibes.  “None of that talk.”

Austin appreciated it, but if he was opening that can of worms then he was going to open it all the way, no hesitation in sight.  Hesitation was not one of Austin’s preferred traits and he wasn’t going to fall into it now.

Besides, he had things that he did want to say to his dad.  It was difficult getting alone time with a mortal god, because everyone wanted to talk to him, and Austin did have several siblings to share with, to say nothing of Meg and Mr D back at camp.

He couldn’t completely blame his unease that this would be the end of his time with his dad on the strings, as much as he would love to.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, catching Apollo’s attention and holding it, thriving on being in the spotlight of his father’s attention, the same way any other spotlight had him thriving.  Austin was a performer, after all.  “But I wanted to tell you, I’m glad we had some time together.  Like… time time.”

Duets by campfires, jokes and laughter at the dinner table, hugs in all sort of situations.  Time with his dad the same way he spent time with his mom, with his siblings.  Time that felt real, not fleeting and fading like a note that could only last as long as the player’s lungs.

Apollo didn’t say anything back, but Austin felt him squeeze his shoulder, and that was more than enough.  A physical reaction, contact that they’d lose again, when Apollo got his godhood back and visits went back to nighttime, during dreams he always prayed he’d remember when he woke up.  The body of Lester ran warm, warm enough for the heat to radiate through Austin’s shoulder with ease, but not so hot it felt dangerous.

He didn’t let go until the elevator came to a stop, the doors rolling open silently and more smoothly than the smoothest sax in existence, and Austin wished he could keep holding on forever.  The string music hadn’t felt so wrong, had been almost right as a background to fatherly affection, but stepping out onto the mosaiced floor, the discordance came back to him.

Battles were not fun.

They needed some atmospheric music as they padded down the hall, something to echo the tension building in their bodies and disperse it.  Or perhaps something energetic and upbeat, defying and reducing the tension until it disappeared entirely.  Unfortunately, being the source of any sort of music would bring Nero’s army down on their heads, and Apollo was in rough enough shape that Austin couldn’t risk that, so a silent advance it was.

Of course, spending time with his dad was always too good to be true, and despite his intentions when he’d taken over from Kayla in escorting Apollo further up the tower, the moment his mirror caught sight of a crowd of Nero’s minions directly between his father and his father’s destination, he knew exactly what was going to happen.

He also knew his dad wasn’t going to like it, because Apollo had never been subtle about trying to keep them safe, even when he was a god, and as a mortal he was so blatant about it, Austin wondered how anyone could ever forget that one of his domains was the protection of youth.

But Apollo couldn’t stop him, not as a mortal, and not with Meg’s safety on the line, and this was something that Austin, double-war veteran, knew he could do.

Fifty or sixty of Nero’s goons?  Not a problem.

He gave his dad a reassuring grin, trust me, I’ve got this, as Apollo protested his plan, and didn’t give him a chance to try and stop him.  “You hang back until I draw them out. Then go find our girl. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Apollo was still going to try and stop him, so Austin didn’t waste any time.  The violins still had him on edge and he needed something far more battle-appropriate to settle his bones, so really this was killing two birds with one stone with all the accuracy of an Apollo kid.

Clear a path for Apollo to get to Meg, and reset the musical vibes of the tower.

“Hey, idiots!” he yelled, darting out from the cover of the corner and settling into his performance, nice and simple.  He loved performing live.  “You’re all gonna die!”

Pop Goes the Weasel was a classic, and it did exactly what it was supposed to as it reset the vibes from discordant to chaotic in an instant.

Some people would probably call it working a little too well as it instantly gained him a following of fifty plus angry guys with weapons they knew how to use, but Austin wasn’t settling for anything less than being the centre of attention, so he was calling it perfect, instead, as he put his musician’s lungs to the test and ran, saxophone still in his mouth.

He didn’t get the chance to look back at where Apollo was hiding, to make sure Apollo was hiding, that no-one had caught sight of him, but that was okay.  He’d meant what he said.

He was going to see Apollo on the other side.  Not just of this manoeuvre, with Meg retrieved and back where she belonged, but of the whole battle, with Nero and Python taken down and his dad a god once more.

No matter what some strings tried to make them believe.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

A Tale of Two Hannya: Art Imitates Life

These are always kind of a trickier beast to write because by design the comparison casts a more negative light on a popular character. But they tend to be well received. Living near the path of peak totality for the big US eclipse, had me wanting to finish this one sitting in my drafts because well...we have both sun & moon themes as well as a dynamic of "upstaging" each other. Which is kinda cool. I really do think, when taken together, Kiku & Yamato give you one of the most interesting dynamics in this massive series despite the two faces almost never appearing together.

Let's step back a little though. Why? Why would our author structure so much of Luffy's story in Wano through the top two new faces for the arc? Almost splitting Luffy's story in half with mirror opposites; humble and helpful followed by flashy yet flawed. Pitting organic bonding against the spotlight. A very straightforward and earnest trans woman foiled by a deliberately inconsistent and ambiguous character falling somewhere you'd call transmasculine. Our Crane Wife and our Dragon's King's Daughter, forget the plot of One Piece for a moment...what's the reflection of our world they mirror?

As gross as it is to compare oneself to Doflamingo, I promise I'm going somewhere with this. And, to be fair I can think of a few specific people who'd make that type of comparison about me. I like to think I use my powers for good, but anyone with them would say that. Touched on it a little with the Otohime side story but over the 2010s I had my little strings in just about every corner of LGBT activism throughout a region that's now a solid gay haven in a conservative state. For the first half of that decade, it was thrust upon me because people saw how solid a representative a young, cute, well-spoken lady would be at diffusing old stereotypes. An MA in Political Science helped too.

Because it's currently Ramadan still, I'd like to share one story I feel was a high watermark and how it rippled in a way that is gonna shape my outlook here. When I noticed there was a shift. One I felt trepidation about aspects of initially and today feel vindicated seeing how Gen Z views their elders. It was Ramadan a fair few years ago now, while part of a board for something I got to know a local Muslim leader and his wife. They were used to inviting other community leaders to join them for Iftar, the fast-breaking meal. They wanted to show their young progressive members they were listening and respectfully invite someone trans, remember these are often very sex-segregated places. Even if there were some livid hardliners most of the women really liked me and you could tell it meant a lot to some of the older teen girls who really wanted to square more progressive beliefs with their faith.

Late 2010s, so if I told you there was backlash in queer circles guess who. More or less entirely people who'd fit that college radfem to transmasc mold. "I'd have gone to the women's side in solidarity and liberated those oppressed women being soo radical." "Don't you think what Rhea did was you know, kinda problematic? If I have to explain to you how it's low-key cultural appropriation I don't even..." "They only picked her because she acts like a little Barbie doll." Yes, that last one is peak feminism. They can call me wicked if they want; at least I was called to serve while they were all just rabble-rousers who decided they were the only morally pure enough ones to be local leaders. That's what this was all about, politics.

If you ask me personally about the current state of trans movements? It kinda comes down to that. Most Milennials, trans women, men, & even nonbinary folk, tend to use the community as a temporary safe haven but acceptance has come far enough it tends to stay temporary. Gender is but one aspect of our identity, the hugbox and group chats about pronouns only really feel like they're giving you something for so long. The holdout? In my experience that tends to be trans men or transmasc enbies who took a half-step before coming out in the relative privilege of radical feminist spaces offering a little space within. I don't have a whole lot of animosity towards these guys...it just feels like sometimes it becomes all of our problem when that radfem space pumped you full of a distorted vision of "male privilege" and you feel jilted you didn't get that by waking up one day and saying you are now man.

Was Eiichiro Oda going for all that? Fuck no. I was a longtime leader of a local movement, he's a cis author on the outside looking in. Better way these two make sense is more an author being aware enough (Japan had a similar trajectory over the last decade) these two serve well as standins for the extremes of what a teen today sees about this transgender community. Okama type caricatures just don't work anymore. Transmasc nearing 30 who feels like they don't even know what they want? Playing word games that feel like you never stopped and thought how they'd sound to other people? Chasing an idealized version of masculinity? It's not exactly an uncommon sentiment. It's a side-effect of finally getting that long sought visibility...scrutiny goes hand in hand.

It's a Tale of Two Hannya because it's weaving in the story of one community experiencing a Tale of Two Movements. Two movements that are at times diametrically opposed (foes). That's where the upstaging or "eclipse" aspect comes in. The way beats for one influence the other even without trying. Why Yamato's the one trying to find a place and Kiku's already dealing with average pressures of being a woman. Regardless of how you feel about that personally, you have to at least acknowledge this is the general impression teens today seem to have. Hypothetically, you could get the same effect between a more clear-cut trans man and someone kinda like Kamatari.

Ultimately, Wano is about who we are vs the roles we play. We see other places where themes of just saying you fill a role doesn't mean you are. I've said Yamato's a gentle critique of the extreme "you are what you say your are" side of trans movements. I understand why people would want to see things that way, but gender is a social phenomenon. For the record, I do think it low-key radiates dude energy to not care about shit like cannonballing tits out into the main bath, no one should have to act a certain way and all that. But it's a good pair for demonstrating where we're at in general. The emotions they evoke out of readers are a good reflection of where young men are kinda at on all this trans stuff. And both are still portrayed as cool, friendly people. But I do see where it's coming from when Oda shifts that classic immaturity element from Kiku more to Yamato.

[ash-rabbit]

Reading Recs for Each Entity

When Magnus ended, I thought back on different media that I've enjoyed, some of them fit very neatly into the dread powers, unsettlingly so in some cases, others not so much. If you enjoyed the show for it's horror, and want more of that, then I've got a list for you.

Assume everything here is rated M and has some gore, death, and general dark themes.

Beneath the cut, because there's 15 of these fears. Feel free to add on if you like. By the way, I'm citing writers, not directors when there's a movie.

Beholding

1984 - by George Orwell: Classic surveillance society. Very boring to start off with classical lit, but it was and still is a relevant commentary on society.

Psycho-Pass - by Gen Urobuchi: Has anyone read Hobbes' 'Leviathan'? It's like if that met psychological horror. This anime engages in what it means to live in a world where crimes can be stopped before their ever committed due to the Psycho-Pass system. This system allows authorities to monitor ones emotional state and likelihood of turning violent. I think there's a brief mention of sexual violence, but it's been a hot minute since I've watched.

Panopticon Theory - by Michel Foucault: Yes, political theory. I've read it multiple times (not by choice) and it offers some interesting insights into the world of the Magnus Archives. It's greatly influenced how I regard the dread powers, that being that Smirke's 14 is incredibly limiting.

Buried

Nutty Putty Caving Incident - A real life news story. The only time I can say I've felt properly horrified and deeply unsettled. If 'Lost John's Cave' was the statement that gave you nightmares, avoid this. It's true and it's tragic.

Corruption

Fate/Zero - by Gen Urobuchi: Another anime by the Urobutcher. If you thought Jane Prentiss was excellent this is the show for you. It's excellent for all sorts of reasons, and engages with other avenues of horror but when I heard the Prentiss statement, I was brought back here. Living hives, magical evil wasp larvae writhing beneath someone's skin, it happens. Your warning is that anything bad that can happen to a child, will happen to children here. I mean it.

The Picture of Dorian Gray - by Oscar Wilde: Moral decay, and it's just a damn good read. It's not conventional Corruption material, but the corruption of one's soul in the pursuit of beauty and pleasure is somewhat fitting I should think. I like it, so it's here. Also Jonah Magnus vibes.

Dark

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - by a bunch of people: it's a movie. Not an orthodox choice but I feel the dark deals better in ignorance then the literal. Err, no spoilers, but nothing particularly bad happens, it just sort of tugs.

The Flowers - Alice Walker: A short story about innocence and ignorance. Not particularly spooky, but it hits you at the end.

Allegory of the Cave - Plato: Just a good preliminary reading that provides an alternate lens. It's not spooky, I just like it.

Desolation

All is Quiet on the Western Front - by Erich Maria Remarque: The effects of war on the youth, child soldiers, and the death of innocence. It's bleak, and miserable, but it's honest and Remarque and his family were persecuted by Nazi-Germany because the book carried 'anti-german' (anti-war) sentiments. There's a movie as well.

Pan's Labyrinth - by Guillermo del Toro: Also anti-war, with bad things happening to good people and children. A bit heavy handed with it's symbolism, but hey it's a two hour movie. Also be prepared to read subtitles. It's very good, and if you haven't seen it, I don't want to say too much.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - by Ken Kesey: There's a more popular movie version as well. Corrupt systems, cutting people down until they fit into a socially appropriate mold. It's fairly dark, and has lobotomies since that was what, the 60s? I watched this in my catholic high schools film studies class, so I don't think there's anything overly egregious. But an interesting lens for the Desolation.

The Count of Monte Cristo - by Alexandre Dumas: For a fun revenge romp. The titular count gets his revenge after everything he's ever loved has been stolen from him and looks to do the same to his betrayers. Err sexual violence happens here as well. A bit of background that might inform the reader: Dumas' father was half black and affected by the 1802 discrimination laws, causing him- a high ranking military officer to be dismissed. The precursor to Monte Cristo, 'Georges' deals more heavily in themes of colonialism and racial discrimination.

End

Masque of the Red Death - by Edgar Allen Poe: You know why this is here. Warning for plague allegories and people not properly social distancing.

Nothing in the Dark - (Twilight Zone): No words needed, it's the Twilight Zone.

Death Parade - by Yuzuru Tachikawa: This is your fun suggestion. It's light for the most part, but there are scenes and moments that will absolutely hit you.

Extinction

Godzilla - A whole bunch of people: Atomic bomb fear during a time of censorship. Everything is an allegory.

Flesh

Tokyo Ghoul - by Sui Ishida: It's the most Magnus-y out of all my suggestions and I desperately want to see a crossover between them. The manga is better as the anime tends to brutalise plot points and water down the horror. Deals with becoming a cannibal, the nature of humanity, and other things. Warning for mentions of child abuse. Kaneki has a sort of - if Martin was the Archivist vibes. Not 1-1 of course, but if I had to make a comparison, that's the one.

Lamb to the Slaughter - by Roald Dahl: Arguably more slaughter, but hey I'm not giving you any warnings. I read this short story for ninth grade english, so I'm sure you can survive this one.

Hunt

Se7en - by Andrew Kevin Walker: A movie about a detective hunting serial killer. It's excellent, there's gruesome murder scenes. It's from the 90s go watch it.

Frankenstein - by Mary Shelley: From the perspective of Mr. Frankenstein it's the terror of being hunted, from the monster's perspective it's the horror of being alone. It's good, a pillar of sci-fi written by a teenager, don't snub this because it's classical lit.

The Bone Collector - by Jeremy Iacone: Another detective hunting a murderer. Also from the 90s and also excellent. Look, the 90s don't pull their punches, it's got blood and lots of it. A favourite film of mine.

Lonely

The Metamorphosis - by Franz Kafka: Turning into a big bug does not a corruption/flesh story make.

Passengers (2016)- by Jon Spaihts: I hate this movie, it's clearly a horror, but they try to pass it as a romance. Anyway, for psychological lonely horror and manipulation, this is a movie for you.

Slaughter

Go watch a classic slasher film. I don't care for senseless violence, so I don't like most of this sort of media.

Read up on a war or a riot. Learn how your nation's government discriminates and persecutes minorities historically and today.

Sweeney Todd - by Hugh Wheeler: The musical is the better known version. Some flesh horror here as well. It's not really senseless, as I think the Slaughter should be, but hey, we need substance here.

Spiral

The Giver - by Lois Lowry: A utopia that is not quite right. Read for school when I was nine, I'm sure you can all live without a warning list.

The Matrix - by the Wachowskis: Reality is an illusion, and the Universe is a hologram.

Truman Show - by Andrew Niccol: You know why this is here.

Stranger

Coraline - by Neil Gaiman: The scariest children's book. Other!Mother and all that jazz are so very Strange.

The Landlady - by Roald Dahl: Taxidermy.

Vast

Lovecraft: I'm sorry, I can only think of him. No one else is so ignorant as to be able to capture the horror of things beyond their ken.

Web

Medea - by Euripides: The God's suck, it's a Greek tragedy, bad things happen to everyone without discrimination. Children are harmed, Medea is dosed by Aphrodite, Jason is literally the worst.

Animal Farm - by George Orwell: It's anti-authoritarian and deals with the mutability of laws and how uneducated masses are sheep. . . literally. You will feel horrified, it's a short read.

There's also some children's story about a spider/snake(?) and gluttony that I've been looking for, for the past year. It's pretty similar to Mr. Spider, but the villain consumes so many victims that he becomes too large to leave his den and is blockaded in by those he terrorized, and it's heavily implied that he starves to death. For the life of me I can't remember a title, but then, it's been 15 or so years.

[hopetofantasy]

Why is everyone so pissed about the old gen making an appearance?

I digged that they made a clip or two with them, it was fun. Like Emma and her sarcastic cool, Arthur being comfy with using FSL, references to cool Alexia and her bestie Noée, Yann being all chill in the corner. It felt as a nice breeze coming through.

Also, why so pressed that they showed a party? They showed parties in other remakes too during the pandemic? Sometimes it's nice not to think about the big C and just go into the moment? Like I missed partying and I could live through them for a couple of minutes?

If you like to be mad at something, maybe focus on the portrayal of POC in general or the cultural appropriation? I mean... In comparison, that's still problematic as f?

[spiritclusters]

Fic Review -2-

This is an ongoing series where I read, review, and generally fan about SPN fics that I've read. Because it's one of the deepest desires of my soul to discuss fics in detail with people, and fan and generally just be a nerd, like you would with a original story Unfortunally, I really, really want to do this with the authors, but I'm shy and reclusive, and don't feel comfortable doing so. So instead, I'm going to make a giant tumblr post to describe how much I love their work.

So, no crit in these reviews, just love

*If you have a recommendation for a SPN fic (gen, preferably), your own or someone else's that you want me to read and "review", please leave and ask or DM me with ( less than 20k for now), thanks! :D

Today's victim: Tetelestai

Requested by: @choppedcoploverfarm

Set: S14

Parings: gen

Length: 2.9k

Main character: Sam

READ THE TAGS!^^

^^please take care of yourself. This fic delves heavily into torture and if you aren't comfortable with that, you are under no obligation to read it.

Summary:

Written for the Sam Winchester Prompt-a-Thon - the prompt is "crucifixion".

The boy with the demon blood must be cleansed.

(EVERYTHING BELOW THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS!)

Reasons You Should Read This:

Sam!Whump

Protective!Dean

Sam and Dean being bros

Michael's treated as a frightening villain

Beautiful descriptions of pain

Dean breaks free of Michaels control because Sam is in pain

It's just, in general, lovely <3

+++ My Analysis of the fic: +++

Writing style and why it works:

The writing style is very pain based, which I think is appropriate given the circumstances. Sam is literally hanging there and dying, what else is he going to focus on? The focus on pain and how descriptively ugly it is is just beautiful.

The humor is also fairly dark and gallows-based, but again, very appropriate given the circumstances.

Also--the author making Sam's thoughts more slurred and less focused as time passes in the fic was such a wonderful detail. We can see Sam slipping further away as he says his goodbyes to people he knows and assures himself that Cas will look after Jack, etc. It's just. Sad and warming all at once.

Character portrayal:

Michael is absolutely disturbing, and I like that. He feels distinct from Dean, but the speech patterns are close enough that I can sort of hear it in his voice. I appreciate that. There's also something just so...cold about him, but he's not just Lucifer in a coat. Again, he felt distinct.

Sam's portrayal here was wonderful. I like that he's just, sitting there, sassing Michael in his head even though he's dying. It's like, if he can't do it by mouth, it doesn't matter. You won't cripple him of his tongue. But on a more serious note, I do, deeply appreciate that Sam...isn't really fighting back. It makes so much sense with his history in the Cage, that when extreme pain like this comes, Sam doesn't even really try. He knows that the best thing he can do is grit his teeth and bare through it, and I think that the author has a good understanding of that. I thought that was a great detail. <3

Small details that make me go "mm.":

Again with Sam not really fighting back because he knows he can't

Sam in too much pain to fight back. Authors have a habit of making characters a little OP when it comes to pain (I am unintentionally guilty of this *sheepish face*)

Michael just. Sitting there, watching Sam slowly die, breaking the "leave the hero to die while the villain goes and does the thing" trope. It also seems weirdly in-character of Michael to do this

Dean breaking out of Michael's "Happy place" because he heard Sam in pain

Dean reacting to Michael's speech with fury and pain for Michael. It's just *chef's kiss*

Dean breaks free of Michael's control because Sam is in pain, which mirrors Swan Song (5.22)

Favorite scene and why:

As this is a fairly short one-shot (at least in comparison to my, like, always 10k+ ones) , it's all one scene. That said, I really think that I enjoy the first part of this fic the most, where you're slowly becoming aware of what happened. I think that the author deciding to just jump into the prompt instead of do a whole world build and background was a good choice. Instead of lagging with that, we just get to the point. I like learning about what happened before, and I like the tension of Sam and Michael talking at the beginning. It was just. Mm.

Favorite quotes:

“You must remember, Sam, that this is not personal.”

Now he can’t remember what it’s like to inhale and not feel like his lungs are falling to pieces in his chest.

“I constructed a whole world for him, in here.” He taps at his temple. “He was happy. But something made him break out of it. I think it was you.”

“You know, it’s better for you if you remain still,” Michael says, condescending, as if Sam’s being difficult just to spite him.

Chuck’s not here anymore. Sam wouldn’t pray to him even if he was.

Sam lets himself fall

link once more

If you do read, please be sure to leave a comment or a kudos to let the author know you liked their work! :D Support goes a long way, my fellos.

Author tag or link: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy

*if you know if this author has a tumblr, please let me know so that way I can tag them. :) <3

[pop-goes-the-sneasel]

Also requesting my favourite pokemon, Lucario!

Oh DANG, it’s Lucario!!!!!!

Lucario’s HUGE. Literally the second-most-beloved pokemon in the franchise according to the Pokemon of the Year poll, Lucario represents a perfect storm of factors all coming together to result in an ASTOUNDING degree of popularity. It’s…..rly big. For comparison, Pikachu got 19th in that same poll.

It all started with a movie, Lucario and the Mystery of Mew, released about a year before Gen IV’s Diamond and Pearl did, with Lucario being one of the first looks at the upcoming generation. Because Pokemon movies up to this point had featured legendaries, people had assumed Lucario, too, was a legendary, and the movie did little to disconfirm this. It could talk, it had a unique anthropomorphic design unlike most other pokemon seen thus far, and it had special powers that seemed unaffiliated with any particular type, dubbed “aura”. Already a recipe for hype!

Once Gen IV came out, it became apparent that Lucario was actually just a normal pokemon, a Fighting/Steel-type (for….some reason), even having a pre-evolution in Riolu. But it still felt special: neither it nor Riolu could be found in the wild, with a Riolu egg instead being obtained through an optional sidequest trekking through a cave on Iron Island. You would be accompanied by someone named Riley, whose design harkened to a movie character named Sir Aaron, and who himself used a Lucario. As a reward for your help, he would bestow you with an egg, that would then hatch into Riolu and you could then evolve into Lucario after raising its friendship level.

Lucario’s popularity was practically sealed. It had a massive amount of marketing through the movie and other media that built up to DP’s eventual release, and when DP finally did come out, Lucario had a perfect balance of difficulty to obtain it with how likely a player was to actually encounter it. It just felt SPECIAL, in a way no other pokemon ever quite has, before or since.

As a design, I respect Lucario. It’s certainly got some peculiar quirks to it: the anime mouth doesn’t sit right on the face with respect to the snout, the oddly-bent tail feels kinda haphazardly glued on, the aesthetic of wearing parachute shorts is kinda weird, and the only allusion to it being Steel-type seems to be its rather nonsensical spikes. But an anthropomorphic blue jackal with a clear Anubis-inspired silhouette is undeniably cool, and I feel positively toward it overall despite some odd decisions. And I actually like the dreads!

Naturally, it would later be a recipient of a Mega Evolution in XY, and a pretty alright one overall. However, one result of its popularity led to it missing part of what made it so popular in the first place: all players would receive one from a gym leader as a natural part of XY’s story. Appropriate for such an iconic pokemon to introduce Mega Evolution, sure, but it made it apparent how much of that “special” aspect Lucario had since lost. Being gifted one for free just didn’t hit right. As a design, Mega Lucario’s red markings feel a bit excessive, and I’m not as into it as I am the base design. It’s not bad, though, and the floofy tail’s an improvement.

Lucario’s shiny swaps the blue and yellow, albeit with the yellow now a more unnatural citrus tone. Suitably distinct from the base form, but not really an improvement. Mega Lucario keeps the general colour scheme, but shifted darker into a rather unpleasant olive shade.

Overall, I like Lucario. It’s got some weird aesthetic choices, but on the whole it’s pretty neat and VERY iconic. I don’t particularly vibe with it myself these days, but I definitely understand those who do, and I find its immense popularity both justified and unsurprising.

Also same Eng VA as Goku/10.

[defiantdreemurrs]

Pokemon: Gold and Silver - Review

In 2000, Nintendo released the long anticipated sequels to its smash hits, Pokemon Red and Blue. Boasting an entirely new region to explore, a whole new set of over a hundred Pokemon to catch alongside the previous 151, and almost an entire second game unlocked after beating the main game, Pokemon Gold and Silver were an almost immediate success. These games are often mentioned as being “the best in the series” by fans across the globe and represented Game Freak’s most ambitious project to date. After years of only having vague memories of the games from childhood, we decided to finally make an attempt at completing Silver version, after which we plan to play through as much of the main series as possible. We’ve always felt the Game Boy and Game Boy Color era of Pokemon games paled in comparison to some of the later games like Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire and we figured after a disappointing playthrough of Blue a couple years ago, Silver would just be more of the same, but this time in color. We were shortly proven very wrong.

Pokemon Gold and Silver take us into the world of Johto. Johto is a neighbor region to Kanto from the Gen 1 games, a place we’ve heard described as “Kanto’s Backyard”. The region is based on a real region of Japan just like how Kanto was, this time the Kansai region. Where Kanto is centered around a metropolitan area in the form of Tokyo, Kansai is a much more ancient and rural area home to smaller cities such as Osaka and Kyoto. As a result, Johto feels much older than Kanto. Kanto felt like a collection of small yet relatively modern (as of the mid 90s) towns and cities surrounding Saffron and Celadon cities, whereas Johto’s even smaller towns feel much older and rich with history.

Take Ecruteak for example. Ecruteak is home to an ancient pair of towers said to be home to Legendary Pokemon. From these towers designs in the game, to the general atmosphere of Ecruteak, to the fact that a total of four Legendary Pokemon can actually be initially found within these two towers (though three of them roam around after your first meeting), even the limited display of the Game Boy Color gets across that this city has thousands of years of history surrounding it. Playing the game we felt like we were traversing around this rural, ancient region in the heart of Japan soaking in all of its beauty rather than just wandering around a world like our own. For a game series that aimed to transplant the mechanics of Dragon Quest into a more modern world, Johto brings a nice sense of that less modern, almost fantastical element back to the setting.

Not only does it feel like a beautiful region to traverse, it’s also a very relaxing region to traverse. Sure, there’s a lot of deep grass, and later on there are a lot of trainers around that can slow you down, but for the most part those slowdowns just result in having more time to appreciate the world of Gold and Silver. It wasn’t difficult to imagine wandering through the woods in place of the player character, a team of Pokemon at our side, exploring and battling, stumbling across ancient landmarks and historical buildings. All of this on a Game Boy Color game, mind you. Such a simple display and limited hardware and Game Freak still managed to hit it out of the park with such an immersive game. We easily spent hours just wandering around from town to town, not wanting to put the game down because of how sucked into it we were.

There’s a lot more than just Johto to progress through, though. Victory Road and the Indigo Plateau are back, because the game needed somewhere to put the Elite Four and the Pokemon League Champion, and since Johto and Kanto are practically next door to each other it made the most sense to just have the player travel back to Kanto after completing all eight gyms rather than design an entirely new area that’s just next door. The more eagle-eyed of players who attempt to fly away from the Indigo Plateau for training or other reasons might notice that they can’t do so, because when they pull up the Fly map, it shows they’re in Kanto as opposed to Johto. This is kind of an excellent teaser for the game’s post-game content: the entire region of Kanto.

Shortly after his passing, an anecdote about Satoru Iwata’s work on Gold and Silver went around in Nintendo fan circles. He was credited with developing a method of compression that allowed the developers at Game Freak to get both Johto and Kanto’s assets small enough to fit on a single cartridge, allowing the player the opportunity to, after completing the Pokemon League challenge, revisit the home of the previous games’ player character and see what’s changed since the player was last in Kanto. Given that Gold and Silver take place three years after Red and Blue, you can imagine a lot has changed. Cinnabar Island’s volcano has erupted, forcing the inhabitants to flee elsewhere and destroying Blaine’s gym, leaving him with nothing but a cave in the Seafoam Islands, that has become the new Cinnabar Gym. Lavender Town’s giant Tower has been turned into a new Radio Tower for Kanto, with the Pokemon graves within being moved to a new mausoleum building just south of it. A speedy bullet train has been built in Saffron City, allowing quick passage back to Johto. The player’s old rival Blue has become the new Gym Leader of Viridian City.

But while all of this provides an interesting and content-rich post-game for the player to explore and sink even more time into, we feel it comes at the cost of making the game’s main region suffer somewhat. In order to fit an entire second game into the back of the main game, the main game had to be smaller as a result. It’s nice to traverse two entire regions in one game but it’s not quite as nice when the game’s main region ends up being much faster to progress through as a result. While we did spend our time wandering around and didn’t focus too much on speed (though we were playing a little quickly since we do have a lot of games to get through), the end of the game hit us a lot sooner than we expected. In just a few short hours of playing we made it all the way up to the third gym, and the very next day blazed through four more. 

What makes this relatively fast pace even more annoying is that the levels themselves are paced really weirdly. We didn’t fight every single trainer we came across, but we did fight a good amount of them and made sure to fight every trainer in every gym, and we still had to grind somewhat when we came across the Elite Four. The game’s gyms are balanced to where you end up roughly in the mid 30s after completing all eight of them, with Clair’s team in the Blackthorn Gym having a single level 40 leading a team of mid 30s. The pacing then jumps wildly out of control as the Elite Four range from low 40s to low 50s, and then again even more so at the end of the post-game, where after facing mostly 30s, 40s, and even some 50s, you face a challenging team composed of mid 70s and even a level 80. I’m assuming the game intends you to grind out your team in the Victory Road in order to reach a more appropriate level for the Elite Four, but this was somewhat difficult since it’s full of rock- and ground-types, one of which we had on our team.. In the end we just repeatedly challenged the Elite Four and didn’t bother to heal as a way to grind some more levels out more easily as well as to form strategies against them, which I would argue is actually a great way to go about it if your team is well equipped for the fights otherwise.

This is, of course, assuming you even have the team you want in the first place. After picking our starter and catching a few other Pokemon to get us through the first gym, we started thinking about the Elite Four and the eventual challenge at the end of Kanto, and decided to plan out a team instead of our usual method of just using what we catch. We had a solid team put together of Pokemon that we liked first and foremost but would also be able to tackle these challenges more easily thanks to type matchups. Getting a few hours into the game though and doing more research on where to find them, we realized a lot of the team we were building would take far too long to put together, with half of them not even being available until arriving in Kanto (despite being brand new Johto Pokemon!). Almost none of the new Dark-types are available in Johto, the only one being Umbreon, and the only Fire-types available that aren’t your starter are Magmar and Entei (and Ho-oh for those playing Gold). Since we had no interest in waiting that long for the Pokemon we actually wanted and because we wanted our full, final team embedded forever in the Hall of Fame after beating the Elite Four, we ended up having to use two Legendary Pokemon, in the form of Lugia and Entei.

Personally, we don’t feel like including Legendaries on your team makes a whole lot of sense anyways, and we usually try to restrict to no more than one because realistically who expects an 11 year old child to have even just one? But the game restricting so many of the newly introduced Johto Pokemon to the post-game and even keeping the ones it does allow you to catch in Johto itself restricted to a smaller handful of types meant we had to break our own rule if we wanted to take advantage of certain type matchups. Considering how many Pokemon throughout the game are weak to Fire-types, we had to pick Entei just to capitalize on that because otherwise we were pretty heavily limiting ourself and making the game harder.

Personal issues with the availability of certain Pokemon aside, these games present a rich experience through an immersive world, an experience that is a bit marred by its own ambition. Ambition is something we can respect though. It took a lot of effort to fit Kanto into the game and we imagine a lot of players were thrilled to go back to the land they spent so many hours exploring and playing through in Red and Blue (though, being born too late to play those games, we didn’t have that experience). Even if we didn’t have that experience in Kanto already, it’s still really impressive and almost as fun to sink time into. It’s like a whole entire second game that you unlock after beating the main game, with an even more difficult final challenge. We respect the developers at Game Freak a lot for attempting this, and in the end we’re really looking forward to returning to Johto later on in Pokemon Crystal as well as the remakes, HeartGold and SoulSilver.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Maybe a request on taking Arthur to buy new clothes since he wouldn’t do it himself

I’ve had some requests for platonic Arthur so there’s no mention of anything romantic in this; you’re just a dear friend helping him out.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird@mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft@help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes@onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman

Platonic! Defense Squad @softheartedsnake

Word count: 1, 192.

You could only watch Arthur pick at a new hole in his oldest and most frayed jumper for so long before you made an impulsive decision that settled low in your gut. It seemed right to do this. Mentally did you work out when your next pay day was - yeah, it would be really tight, but you could probably make it work. “Come on. Let’s go buy you some clothes.”

“What? No,” Arthur spoke gently, a confused look on his face. His thick, dark brows were furrowed, his green eyes watching you intently. “I don’t need new clothes.”

You looked pointedly at the hole in his baggy, threadbare jumper. “Yes, you do.”

“No, Y/N, I - “

“Come with me and pick some stuff or I’ll just grab whatever I think you’d like.”

“I haven’t got any cash, how can I pay you back?”

Something in you wasn’t happy with the way the look in his eyes darkened. He looked like he was expecting to be treated badly, or maybe even that you would hold this over his head in the future when you wanted something from him. He had only ever known people to hurt him so when you extended genuine kindness, not expecting anything in return, he didn’t know what to say or do. “I don’t want to be paid back.” You could see that he didn’t believe you, so used was he to being ill used. 

“I’ll come with you but I won’t - but I won’t get anything. I don’t need to.” It was the best you would get from him and you accepted it, all the while thinking about how you could change his mind. 

Some time later, when you had commuted into the main part of Gotham where all the best shops were, Arthur trailed behind you, his hands clasped behind his back. His green eyes were roaming about the wide aisles, and occasionally would he reach out to touch a shirt, or a jumper, or to feel the material of some trousers. He liked soft clothes, and you suspected it was because the world treated him so roughly that he liked to be comforted from the outside in with soft materials. Would anything about this man not break your heart? You doubted it; you knew him too well and intimate knowledge of Arthur Fleck was a double edged blade.

He would admire a piece, reach out to touch it gently, and then he would shake his head or his slender hand would seek out the price tag. Not once he did ever pick something up to really look at it. He just kept his eyes on the racks and kept walking. He was in front of you, and with every single article he touched did you pluck one in his size off the racks, folding it in half over your arm. You had sneakily looked in the laundry basket this morning and you had written down the sizes he took in everything so it was easy for you to make decisions.

He didn’t know that you were taking things along the way - you had invited him clothes shopping and he had accepted. You had told him that you would be buying things for him, but despite his protests, you ignored him. He did so much for you and he sacrificed so much of himself for other people; always handing out more than he would ever receive in return. Taking him clothes shopping seemed like such a small act of kindness in comparison.

When at last all the racks in the sections he was interested in had been exhausted, Arthur stopped and turned to look at you with feigned apathy. Immediately did his eyes fall upon the huge pile of clothes on your arm. You wanted to get to the checkouts as soon as you could - the bundle of material was getting heavy and your arm was starting to go numb from the elbow down.

His eyes widened almost comically wide. “Y/N, what - “

“Don’t even start with me, Fleck.” You grinned to take the bite out of your words, and set everything down on the counter in front of an equally bemused cashier. “Could you bag these for me, please?”

The cashier nodded, already working on scanning and folding everything, removing hangers and tags as appropriate. They looked bored shitless and you had the feeling they still had several hours before they could go home. Everyone was always so overworked, underpaid, mistreated and exhausted in Gotham city. It was truly the place people moved to when they were already dead inside. They stayed because they had no choice. Living paycheck to paycheck didn’t exactly allow for full savings accounts. 

Over the cashier’s shoulder did a bright red suit catch your attention. You had already grabbed Arthur a green work shirt and a yellow waistcoat; you could probably convince him to try the three out together… you had a feeling that he would be able to make it work, somehow. Only Arthur could pull off such a strange colour combination. Your best friend was really quite eccentric, and you loved him for it.

“I’ll take that red suit, too. You got it in a small?”

Someone else behind the counter hurriedly grabbed the suit, which was conveniently a small, scanned and bagged it without looking at you. There was a queue forming behind you and you felt a little bad about how much you were buying Arthur. But screw it. He was worth it.

Arthur, for his part, stood silently beside you, his head hung low and he twisted his hands and wrists around again and again as he struggled to keep himself composed. You knew his knees would be shaking, and quickly did you realise that there was a laughing fit coming his way. 

“Go wait outside for me, Arthur.” You murmured, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

His green eyes shot to yours, gratitude written all over his face - you really did know him well - and he left without another word. There was a conversation somewhere in the rest of the day in which the two of you would have to talk about whatever was bothering him, though you already knew. You would give him the time and the space to talk to you, though, and you would quietly assuage his fears and worries one at a time. You had done it before and you would do it again and again until he realised that there were no strings attached in your friendship. Just complete freedom to be yourselves, with acceptance to follow.

Just as he reached the exit to the shop, loud and maniacal laughter broke free from his lips, which had been tightly pressed together, and you sighed, handing over the total to the slightly impatient, panicked cashier. Ouch. The next month or so was going to be tighter than you would have liked, but you had already made your decision and accepted the consequences as they came. 

You would do anything for the man who did everything for other people but nothing for himself.

[meetthetank]

Monstie Shots 1: A2′s New Best Friend

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandoms: NieR: Automata (Video Game), Monster Hunter (Video Games) Characters: A2 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Dodogama (Monster Hunter) Additional Tags: Crossover, Humor, Emil the Palico, A2 the Hunter, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Monster Hunter: World

Summary:  A small collection of oneshots for a dumb, fun, NieR: Automata and Monster Hunter World. Most of these will be very silly and based around the stupid jokes me and my buddies make while playing MHW or MHGU. This is entirely self indulgent and fun for me to write.

The Elders Recess, although recently discovered, is something that A2 has taken a liking to. It’s secluded, too dangerous to build a new village like Astera, and filled to the brim with dangerous Monsters. Azure Rathalos, Bazelguese, Uragaan, and more Elder Dragons than she could count. It was a hunter’s paradise. Especially when said hunter is one of those melancholic loner types.

Despite preferring solitude, A2’s trusty Palico, Emil, is always by her side. The little grey Feylne pads behind her, his armor of repurposed Deviljho hide (he insisted on having armor that matched his Meowster’s Vangis Mail set) rattling with each step. The pair walk a short route between each of the Research Commission camps. Part of the deal A2 struck with the Commission for being left alone out here was that she take care of their stuff. That’s fine with her, it’s even relaxing in a weird way. It’s like cleaning a Kelbi carcass.

Just as she takes in the twinkling lights of the crystalline caverns, Emil’s thin grey fur stands on end, making him look twice as big. Though A2 immediately goes on the defensive as well, drawing her Greatsword, she can’t help but snicker at her partner. He looks like an angry little Palumu.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” A2 asks. Her scoutflies were green and passive, idly flying between a herb plant and some crystalbursts.

“I smell something…” he hisses.

“A monster?”

“Yeah. Smells like a….” Emil puts his little nose in the air, “Dodogama.”

Dodogama. A goober of a monster in comparison to everything else that lives here. It’s the Great Jagras of the Elder’s Recess, with only Lavasioth sharing its place in the hierarchy of large monsters. It’s practically docile, only eats rocks and minerals, and is bullied by every other monster that comes across it. But it’s still a large monster and it’s still a threat to those who aren’t prepared. They throw their weight around with more skill than a Jagras, and their diet of the explosive volcanic rocks allowed them to spit up bombs at will.

So why aren’t her scoutflies acting up?

“Emil...We talked about these kinds of pranks…” A2 growls.

His ears fold flat against his head, “I’m not! I really do smell one!”

“You sure it’s not a dead one?” she snaps, “Because my scoutflies aren’t-”

Sure enough, a rotund, blue reptile trundles around a crystal. It’s beady yellow eyes unfocused and vacant as it scans for a meal across the ground. The light refracting from the crystalline cave makes the monster look more regal than its doofy expression suggests. It bangs the heavy plates of its enlarged jaw against a small section of rocks near a massive crystal spire, using the unique shape of its chin to scoop the broken rock into its mouth and happily gulp it down.

A2 always found the behavior of the Dodogama to be endearing, like that of a child or a particularly stupid Moofa. But that wasn’t why A2 found herself staring at this empty-headed beast as it gleefully swallows rocks. This individual is….incredibly small, no bigger than Emil. In fact, if he wanted to, Emil could sit on its head and ride comfortably on the lumbering idiot.

She approaches the runty Dodogama, making sure to strap the Consummate Blade to her back and quell it’s crackling dragonic energy so as not to spook the little guy. It looks up at her briefly, its eyes locking onto hers. If it were any other monster, A2 might have thought it was assessing her, seeing if she was a threat or not. But there’s something about it that makes it seem like there isn’t a single thought in its little blue head. Maybe it was the pale yellow eyes that veer off in different directions, or the disproportionate size of its fat little body to its head, or its stumpy legs and tail.

It’s all...too much for A2 to resist.

The Dodogama makes an adorable honk as A2 pats it on the head.

“Ah! What are you doing?!” Emil yowls.

A2 shoots her partner a glare, “What? I’m just giving it a pat.”

“Thats-...It could-...” Emil stammers, “It’s a meownster!”

“But it’s…” A2 is fully aware of how dumb this is, but the little Dodogama grunts impatiently when she withdraws her hand, “Oh shut up Emil, it’s just a little guy. He’s not hurting anyone.”

The Dodogama saunters over to Emil, who hisses and bounds behind A2’s legs. He clutches his appropriately sized Savage Deviljho hammer and eyes the Dodogama with suspicion.

A2 chuckles quietly, “Okay, we gotta get moving. See ya, little guy.”

She gives Emil a reassuring pet on the head before starting on the path back to the upper Camp. Emil’s quiet padding across the gravel ground echos through the cavern, as well as A2’s own footsteps and the quiet tinkling of crystals falling from the ceiling. There’s also the sound of something heavy dragging across the ground not too far behind them.

Spinning around, A2 finds the Dodogama runt right on her heels. It stares up at her with those beady, vacant eyes as if expecting something. It’s hard to tell with it since, well...it’s stupid. Maybe it just wants a friend.

“Go on, shoo!” Emil meows, waving his white paws at it. The Dodogama just tilts its fat head to the side. A2 swears she hears something rattle around in its empty skull.

A2 and the little monster stare at each other for a long moment. She wants to think she sees something in its eyes, but just as before, she can’t see any semblance of intelligence. Or thought. Or anything besides hot air. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. There’s nothing but air and love in this runt of a creature’s head. She can’t recall the last time she felt this attached to something. Even her possessions are a means of an end to A2, she can’t claim to be enamored to anything she owns or anyone she knows (except Emil of course). But this brainless beast is just….so stupid. It eats rocks for crying out loud.

“...He’s coming with us.” A2 announces.

“What!?” Emil meows, “You gotta be kidding me!”

“Nope, it’s stupid and I love it.”

[princess-of-luxure]

Masquerade [1]

Next >>

You moved to the capital city, Altadellys, in search of job opportunities. You had anticipated several significant changes in your life, but nothing could have prepared you for almost getting robbed in an alley, only to be saved by a mysterious masked vigilante. Their mysterious appearance throws your life into chaos, and you soon find yourself swept up in the high-stakes underground operations of a group of... supervillains?!

You didn't ask for any of this, but there's just as much excitement amongst the potentially lethal drama. As secrets hundreds of years olds begin to unfold before you, can you be the missing link in solving a dangerous mystery, or will you bring everything to ruin?

Fandom: Reigning Passions (Visual Novel) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Gen (so far) Characters: Lyris (Reigning Passions), Main Character (Reigning Passions), Amara (Reigning Passions), Piama (Reigning Passions), Hazel (Reigning Passions) Content Warnings: Attempted Robbery, Knives

Welcome to Masquerade! This is a reader-interactive story putting the characters of Reigning Passions into the setting of Villainous Nights. There will be choices for you guys, as the audience, to vote on, which can influence the direction of the story's plot (including the potential deaths of characters!) and also can influence who gets together with who. It's assumed that everyone is poly so don't worry if MC doesn't get together with your favourite LI - you've still got a shot! Plus, any characters with compatible sexualities can get together if you nudge them in that direction, so if you're a fan of, say, Amara and Xenia? Depending on the choices made, they can totally get together.

This is cross-posted on my AO3, which you can find here! You can cast your vote in the comment section there, or send me an ask/DM me here on tumblr! You can also vote in the replies of the appropriate tumblr post for each chapter.

Chapter below the read more.

Altadellys, you were finding, was bigger than you had ever imagined. Prior to moving to the capital city of Lysende, you had lived in a small town so remote it didn’t even have a name. Everybody knew everybody in your little community, but looking around the big city, you only saw the faces of strangers, not a single one sparing you a glance as they rushed to where they were going.

It was also far warmer in Altadellys than in your hometown, you noted as you shucked off your coat and tied it around your waist. The climate where you’d come from was so frigid that it was practically winter year-round, and you were eager to learn what a true spring or fall felt like, let alone a true summer.

“Alright, all you’ve gotta do is make it to Hazel’s place, and then she’ll walk you to your apartment,” you muttered to yourself, fishing around blindly in your bag. “She said it’s near Central Park, which shouldn’t be too hard to find, just follow the map.” Your fingers closed around the object you were looking for, and you pulled out your phone, attitude bright and chipper. “You’ve got this!”

These turned out to be famous last words, as you went to turn on your phone and found that the battery had died on the car ride here. “Shit,” you muttered, because, well, it was an appropriate word for the situation. Chewing your lip, you tossed your phone back into your bag and glanced around. To a local, you were sure finding Central Park would be no problem, but you weren’t a local.

Wait, a local! That’s it! Approaching a man in his late twenties walking a dog, you gave your friendliest smile. “Excuse me, could you—”

“Get lost, lady,” the man growled, and you flinched, drawing back. No one in your hometown behaved so aggressively, their voices dripping with venom as they bared their teeth in a snarl.

Swallowing your fear, you clutched onto the strap of your bag, trying to appear more confident than you felt. Maybe you had just gotten off on the wrong foot. “Sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to ask—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” The man jabbed a finger at you, and you stumbled back a few paces, squeaking. “I said, get. Lost.”

You hid your burning cheeks and frightened expression in the curtain of your hair, mumbling out apology after apology. After several minutes of this, you realized the man had left and was nowhere to be seen, so you lifted your head and took another look around. Every intersection was plastered with signs, but none of them seemed to point towards Central Park, and given your last interaction, the idea of asking a local suddenly seemed a lot less viable.

You fiddled with your hair as you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Rather than being a beautiful new wonder, Altadellys now just seemed like a living nightmare. “It’s okay, you’ve got this,” you mumbled, your half-assed attempt at a pep talk doing little to restore your confidence. “It’s a big park in the middle of the city. If you just keep walking, you’re sure to find it eventually.”

After what felt like an hour of walking with no change in scenery, your faith in that assumption was beginning to waver. You wrestled with your steadily increasing anxiety as you stopped at the corner of an intersection. Warmth and mouth-watering scents seeped out from underneath the door of the cafe you were stood by, and your stomach rumbled as you found yourself wishing you were inside. God, what I wouldn’t give to be sharing a cup of coffee with Hazel right now.

“Hey there little girl, are you lost?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as you whirled to face the person who had spoken. Most of their face was obscured by their black hoodie, but you could still make out the leer that painted itself across their features.

You swallowed, taking a step back. The stranger took a step forward, and as you continued to try and put space between the two of you, you became hyper aware that they were backing you into a dark alley, out of sight from the rest of the world. “U-Um, no, not lost at all! Just… enjoying the scenery!” Why did my phone have to die now?!

“The scenery, huh?” You were pressed up against a wall now, the stranger’s hand pinning you up against the stone. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breathing verging on hyperventilation as you stared up at your assailant with wide eyes. “It would be a shame if that was cut short.”

Those last words were a whisper, as cold and smooth as the metal blade now pressed against your throat. You couldn’t even squeak, fear stealing the sound from your lungs. You began praying to every deity you could think of, even ones you weren’t even sure were actually from real pantheons, anything to get out of this mess.

“Robbing pretty girls in dark alleys?” A new voice made your heart jump—whether it was in relief or further fear, you didn’t know. It evidently startled your attacker just as much, the surprised flinch of their hand just barely nicking your skin. A single bead of blood welled to the surface, but you didn’t have time to process it before your assailant was being pulled away from you. You remained frozen in place, too shaken to fully comprehend what was unfolding before you.

When you finally came out of your shock, the first thing that occurred to you was holy hell was your savior attractive. His face was partially obscured by a blue-green mask, trimmed with gold and decorated with what were, as far as you could tell, real peacock feathers, but you could still see the steely glint in his mismatched eyes. One was purple, the other gold, and you would’ve probably wondered how in the world he got lucky enough to end up with that genetic combination if you weren’t so busy taking in the rest of him. He was certainly a striking figure, with long golden-brown and green hair, a simple but somehow still shockingly elegant suit to match his mask, and fingerless gloves revealing blue and pink nails (toxic masculinity who?).

All of this paled in comparison to the wings that emerged from the slit on the back of his suit. The shining green plumage made him look like some kind of majestic angel, or bird. Actually, considering the look of his mask, you were pretty sure he was going for the latter.

Your savior said something to the would-be robber that you didn’t quite catch, still feeling in a somewhat faraway daze. Whatever it was, it sent them running, the masked vigilante folding his arms and watching them go with a look of utmost contempt. When they disappeared from sight, he turned to you, approaching with slow, gentle footsteps, the concerned look in his eyes at odds with the easy smile that curled his lips.

“That was a pretty nasty experience. I wouldn’t want to be in your position,” he commented, his tone casual as though he was discussing the weather, and not the fact he’d probably just saved your life. His expression shifted as he came to pause in front of you, gaze flickering to your neck. “Are you okay?”

Numbly, you placed two fingers to where you’d been cut. They came away wet with blood, but even so, you could tell that the injury was shallow—you’d gotten incredibly lucky. “I’ll—I’ll be fine. It’s not serious.” Your voice quavered, barely able to force the words out.

Your savior didn’t seem entirely convinced. “May I see anyway?” he requested, and moving on autopilot, you tilted your head to show him the cut. He stepped closer, fingers brushing against your throat as he inspected your injury, and you tried to ignore how the simple contact sent shivers down your spine. After a moment that lasted both eternity and no time at all, he drew back, humming in satisfaction. “You’re right. It’s not that bad, you’ll survive.” Apparently content with your health, you saw a teasing gleam enter his gaze. “I’d do more, but my power isn’t exactly to do with healing.” He fluttered his wings once to prove his point, and that’s when the reality of the situation came crashing down onto you.

“Your power. You have powers.” The words came out in a breathless rush, and you were completely helpless to stop them. You clapped your hands to your mouth, but too late; you felt the heat rising to your cheeks already. Leave it to you to make an absolute fool of yourself in front of an attractive guy.

He didn’t seem to mind though, evidently amused as he folded his arms, shifting his weight to one leg. “Well, I sure hope so. If I didn’t, my entire life would be a lie.” With the danger gone, he bantered with you in the way one might banter with a best friend, nevermind that you’d never seen him before.

You had enough grace to not try to continue that thread of conversation. “What’s your name?” you blurted out, and as your question processed, you felt your blush darken. You know what? No more talking without permission from my brain, mouth.

Your savior chuckled, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. “My name is a secret I’m going to take to my grave,” he replied, and yeah, fair. What else were you expecting? “However…” He leaned forward to whisper in your ear, close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your neck. “You may call me Peacock.”

In a single breath, he had drawn back, leaving you struggling to collect your scattered thoughts and calm your racing heartbeat. First things first. His alias was Peacock—unsurprisingly so, given his general aesthetic and the prideful smirk that curled his lips. He was evidently playing things up for the drama, and you couldn’t honestly say you minded.

“I’m…” You took a deep breath to try and scrape together at least some of your composure. Once you felt like you weren’t about to faint from the situation, you finally offered Peacock your name.

He repeated your name back to you, humming in curiosity as you nodded. “A lovely name indeed,” he complimented, and you felt your cheeks burn. So much for composure, but then again, he probably said that to all the girls he rescued. Seeing the intensity of his gaze, though, you weren’t so sure.

You almost missed when he started speaking again, too wrapped up in your flustered thoughts. “...you going, little lady?”

You were going to have to ask the pretty peacock vigilante to repeat himself. God, today just wasn’t your day, wasn’t it? “Sorry, could you repeat that?” you mumbled, burying your face in your hair and doing anything not to look Peacock in the eye. Even if he had very beautiful eyes. Goddammit, you were too bi for this.

Peacock laughed, the sound just as charming as everything else about him. Fuck. “I know I’m handsome, but you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted,” he reprimanded lightly, a teasing smile quirking his lips, and yup, you were going to die. You may as well just go dig a hole and lay down in it. “I asked where you were going.”

Okay, focus. If you manage to screw this up you may as well move back to your town because your pride will be completely gone. “Central Park,” you replied, finally lifting your face from your curtain of hair and clutching the strap of your bag. “I’m supposed to meet my friend at her place, but my phone died, but her house is near there so I thought if I just found my way there…”

You trailed off as you saw Peacock already shaking his head. “Altadellys is a big city,” he explained. “Bigger than you think. I could direct you to Central Park, but you’d still get lost trying to find your way to your friend’s place, and I can’t always be around to save you.” He paused, but before you had time to begin to panic, he was already asking another question. “Do you know where you’re staying?”

“Yes!” You turned your eyes to the sky, eyebrows creasing as you tried to remember the name of the building. “Spring Apartments.”

You’re sure you didn’t imagine the shock that briefly flickered across what you can see of Peacock’s expression, the way he was caught off guard if only for a moment. “Spring Apartments? You’re sure?”

You cocked your head to the side, uncertain as to what about your place of residence would elicit this kind of reaction. “Yes? Is there a problem with that?”

If Peacock’s gaze on you had been intense before, it didn’t come close to comparing to now. You had to fight the urge to hide yourself away from his scrutiny, unable to help but feel like he was committing every detail of your visage to memory. “Not at all.” His easy smile was back as quickly as it had vanished, leaving you feeling out of the loop. “I can take you there.”

“That would be nice, thank you—” You paused, blinking owlishly as his words fully processed. “Wait. Take me there?”

“Let’s just say that helping you will help me as well,” Peacock replied cryptically, as if that clarified things at all. Still, it was hard to be frustrated at his vagueness as long as that unbearably attractive smile remained. “Of course, that’s only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it, but how—ah!” Your words dissolved into a yelp as you found yourself unexpectedly scooped into Peacock’s arms. His almost ethereal nature belied how strong he truly was, you realized as he held you securely against his chest, hoping desperately that he couldn’t hear the thudding of your heart. That really would be the icing on your embarrassed cake; the final nail in your flustered coffin.

“Sorry,” Peacock apologized, and this close to him, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, his warm breath tickling your neck with each exhale. “I’ve never been one to walk in the front door.”

You didn’t have time to even begin to process that before Peacock took to the air. You let out a decidedly undignified shriek, burying your face against his suit and clinging to him like your life depended on it (which it technically did, but you were trying not to think about that).

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Peacock murmured, and between his soft voice and assured grip, you realized he wasn’t saying that just to comfort you. You really were safe in his arms, even as buildings and people blurred past beneath you. It was a surreal feeling, to be truthful, but one that once you got used to it, you couldn’t honestly say you minded.

It was over all too quickly, Peacock placing you down on the roof of the apartment building within minutes. “This is where I leave you,” he explained, flashing you another one of those damned smiles. “I trust you can handle things from here?”

“Well, unless the apartment building is as difficult to navigate as the rest of Altadellys, I should be fine,” you replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Pride swelled within your chest as Peacock laughed at your joke.

“You’re quite the witty one, aren’t you? I like that,” he complimented, winking, and by some miracle you didn’t fall over then and there. “Keep me in mind? Who knows, maybe we’ll meet again.” He leaned forward slightly, and you stared up at him. Wow, his eyes are even more enchanting up close…

Your name fell from his lips, and this time you nearly did fall over. For a second, you wondered if he was going to kiss you, but instead he took a step back, leaving your heart thudding and your chest filled with a strange sense of disappointment.

There was silence for a brief second, before you took a deep breath. “Thank you for saving me,” you murmured, figuring you at least owed him that.

Peacock paused, tilting his head as he regarded you, a smile curling across his lips. It was different to the others, somehow—more real. “The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he replied, giving a mock bow before walking to the edge of the roof. Before you could get another word in, he spread his wings and jumped, disappearing before you had a chance to call after him.

It took a minute to recover from the excitement you had just experienced, but you made your way inside from the roof stairwell, finding your apartment with blessed ease. I deserve this much mercy after the day I’ve had, you mused as you knocked on the door.

The door opened quickly, revealing a small and delicate-looking woman. Her most striking feature was the floral tattoos that swirled across her whole body, though the gorgeous flowers pinned in her white, yellow-tipped hair came a close second. Her white and pale yellow dress was deceptively simple, the flowers stitched into the opaque overskirt being the most complicated detail of the design.

“Hey.” You introduced yourself, putting on your friendliest smile. “Is this your apartment? If so, I’m your new roommate.”

“That’s today?” The woman huffed slightly, glancing around. “Damn it, Lyris…” She muttered a bit more to herself, leaving you feeling more and more confused, before she finally addressed you. “Oh, but where are my manners? I’m Piama.”

She extended a hand for you to shake, and you reached down to take it. “Nice to meet you, Piama,” you offered, uncertain what to make of your new roommate.

Piama cast an appraising eye over you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

You blushed, not exactly embarrassed but still shy about being so easily placed by a beautiful woman. “Yeah. My hometown’s pretty far away.”

“That much speaks for itself.” Piama pressed her lips together, resting her chin on her hand as she considered you. “Your clothes are so last season, we’re going to have to do something about that.”

You had no idea how to respond to that. Initially, her words came off as rude, but the context implied she was only trying to help. “Um.”

Before you had a chance to come up with a more intelligent response, there was a melodic chime from Piama’s pocket. Pulling out a phone that looked more expensive that all your past phones put together, Piama scanned what was presumably a text before letting out a huff. “About time!” she complained as her fingers flashed across the screen. “I was supposed to go out with Lyris an hour ago! I called him four times and texted him like, fifty, and he just got back to me!” Putting her phone back away, she rolled her eyes. “This has been happening more and more lately. I’m starting to think he’s gotten a partner and hasn’t told me about it.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help a small laugh. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I can settle in by myself.”

Piama let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. Lyris and I have been planning this for weeks, and I would die if I waited a second longer.” She paused, looking like a realization had just struck her. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, of course. You seem like a lovely girl, it just seems impossible to spend any quality time with him lately.”

You waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, no offense taken.”

Piama flashed you a small smile, wishing you a quick goodbye before sweeping past you. You wasted no time entering the apartment, quickly finding an outlet to plug your phone into. With that done, you fixed yourself a cup of coffee before flopping on the couch, sighing deeply as you finally began to process the day’s events.

You’d arrived in Altadellys, only to find your phone was dead. Asking a local for directions had proven useless, and soon after that, you had gotten yourself hopelessly lost. You’d nearly been robbed in an alley, only to be saved by an attractive masked vigilante calling himself Peacock. He’d taken you to your new residence and then disappeared. You’d found your apartment and met your roommate, an extremely pretty woman named Piama, and had a brief conversation with her before she’d had to leave. Now, you were here, relaxing in your new home while waiting for your phone to charge.

A distinctive chime alerted you to the fact your phone was now alive again. Carefully grabbing it, you switched it on, seeing that you had five unread texts from Hazel. You wasted no time in unlocking your phone and swiping over to your messenger, finding that the first of the texts was from around two hours ago.

Hazel: Hey did you make it to the city safely?

The next message was about half an hour later, around about when your phone had died.

Hazel: Freckles?

Hazel: You’re starting to worry me

The next two messages were from around half an hour ago, and you can tell Hazel’s increasing worry from the fact they were typed with perfect grammar.

Hazel: Okay, this is totally weird for you.

Hazel: If you don’t message me within the next hour, I’m calling the police.

Guilt and affection mingled in your gut. Guilt that you’d made her worry so much, and affection over the fact that she cared that much for you. Placing your mug down, you quickly typed out a reply.

You: I’m fine Hazey dw

You: My phone died on the way here

Hazel’s response was immediate, and you wondered if she’d been waiting for your message for the past half hour or so.

Hazel: Holy hell don’t scare me like that Freckles

Hazel: Ppl are saying crime rates in Altadellys are higher than they’ve ever been

Hazel: I was worried you’d gotten murdered or smthin

You couldn’t fight back a chuckle, smiling as you responded.

You: Not dead yet, amazingly

You: I’m at my apartment now but getting here was a nightmare

You hesitated as you went to type your next message. You definitely wanted to tell Hazel about your encounter with the mysterious Peacock, but would she believe you? ...of course she would, she was your best friend! She’d definitely heard far weirder stories from you.

You: Hey I’ve got a kinda crazy story to tell you

Hazel: [eyes emoji] [eyes emoji] [eyes emoji] 

Hazel: You know crazy’s my middle name hmu

You: It might be too much to put in a text

Hazel: Np we can meet up in person

Hazel: I’ve been dying to see u again anyway it’s been way too long

You: Agreed

You: Text me your address and I’ll be there ASAP

Plugging the address Hazel sent you into your GPS app, you discovered that her place was only a ten-minute walk away. That was a small miracle; you didn’t feel like tangling with a taxi right now. Draining the rest of your coffee, you got up to place your cup into the sink and write a note for Piama explaining where you were going. Once your phone had charged enough to the point where it wouldn’t die again while you were out, you grabbed your bag and made your way out of the building.

Finding Hazel’s house proved to be blessedly simple now that you had directions, and soon you found yourself standing in front of it. It was modest only in comparison to the other houses along the street, one story with a moderate backyard rather than two stories at least with sprawling acres of land.

“Looks like just the kind of place Hazel would love,” you mused to yourself as you moved to ring the doorbell. As you waited, you noticed that the door also had a knocker in the shape of a lioness’ maw. Interesting—had it been there before Hazel moved in? You couldn’t imagine why she’d have both a doorbell and a knocker.

The door opened shortly, a wide grin breaking across Hazel’s face. “Freckles! It’s so good to see you again!” She wasted no time pulling you into a giant bear hug that nearly crushed your bones.

“Good to see you too, Hazey,” you gasped, hugging her back as best you could. “Uh, you’re kinda crushing me.”

“Whoops.” Hazel quickly let go of you, though she didn’t move back far. “Sorry. Kinda forget my own strength sometimes.”

You smiled, but before you could respond, a new figure appearing over Hazel’s shoulder stole your attention. Blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, her golden eyes shining with a gentle warmth. She wore a simple red and white tunic that looked like it could have dated back to medieval times (and here you thought your fashion was out of date). “Hazel, who’s this?”

“Oh, this is my best friend from my hometown!” Hazel quickly introduced you to the unknown woman and—holy mother of God she was ripped. Lean muscles rippled beneath her clothes, and you were so distracted staring you nearly didn’t catch Hazel adding, “And this is Amara; she recently moved in with me.”

Callout to myself: too bi to function. You tried to push down the thoughts of how attractive Amara was to extend a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Amara.”

Amara accepted your proffered handshake, her grip deceptively light. “You as well. Hazel has spoken highly of you.”

You felt your cheeks turn red as Hazel laughed. “‘Course I have! Gotta make sure everyone knows how amazing my best friend is.”

“Hazel!” you exclaimed, trying desperately to cover your darkening blush. First Peacock, then Piama, and now Amara. Were you the protagonist of a romance visual novel or something? If you met one more attractive person you were going to die—which was a problem because Altadellys seemed to be full of them.

“Hey, you never know, Amara might find you just as amazing.” Hazel winked conspiratorially and yup, this was how you died. There was no way Amara wouldn’t notice the obvious wingwomaning—

“Well, I wouldn’t know, but any friend of Hazel’s is a friend of mine.” —or not. Was Amara seriously oblivious to your evident fluster and Hazel’s teasing? Whatever, you would take what you could get. Your poor bi heart still hadn’t recovered from your earlier encounter with Peacock, anyway.

You took a deep breath, praying your voice wouldn’t wobble. “Likewise,” you agreed, shifting your weight awkwardly and flicking your gaze to Hazel. “Also uh, Hazey? Can I come inside or am I going to be standing on your front porch for this entire conversation?”

“Is something wrong with my porch?” Hazel teased. Amara’s brow creased with concern and she quickly added, “I’m joking, Amara, don’t worry. We’ve teased each like this since we were kids.” She stepped back from the door and disappeared into the corridor, calling behind her, “I’m gonna make drinks. You two get to know each other!”

Amara offered you a polite smile. “I apologize for this. Hazel is a dear friend of mine, but I remain bemused by her antics.”

She really was oblivious to Hazel’s wingwomaning. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, chuckling nervously. “Yeah, she’s always been something of an enigma, but you know how best friends are.”

Amara didn’t respond, and you began to worry you’d said something wrong by the completely blank look on her face. “Amara?”

Amara shook herself, her expression taking on the polite, friendly smile again. It didn’t reach her eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel you’d touched on a sensitive subject, though you had no idea what it was. “My apologies, I was lost in thought. Allow me to show you to the living room.”

As you followed Amara, you couldn’t help but note she carried herself with the posture of a soldier, complete with the famous Murder Walk™ that tumblr loved to talk about. That sent alarm bells ringing in your head and your heart panging with concern—what had happened to her to cause her to always be on her guard?

You knew better than to ask, settling into the cushions of one of the simple white couches in the living room. Amara sat across from you, studying you with a curious expression. “You are not from Altadellys?”

Somehow, the question made you feel less self-conscious than when Piama had commented on it earlier. “Yeah, I’m from Hazel’s hometown. What about you?”

“I’m not from Altadellys either,” Amara replied, confirming a growing suspicion. “I moved here many years ago.”

“Didn’t exactly embrace the lifestyle?” you guessed, gesturing to her clothes and praying your inquiry wouldn’t be considered rude.

To your relief, a genuine smile lit up Amara’s features, a soft glimmer in her eyes. “Not exactly,” she agreed. “I have never been able to immerse myself in the glitz and glam of the city, though I have nothing against those who do.”

“My roommate’s the complete opposite of you,” you mused, trying to latch onto this thread of conversation. “She’s stunningly beautiful, but in a way I feel like I’ll never compare to, you know?”

Amara considered you thoughtfully. “Sometimes simpler is better,” she remarked. “If it is of any comfort to you, I think you look wonderful just the way you are.”

You were saved from spontaneous combustion by Hazel reappearing, carefully holding three mugs full of hot, steaming liquid. If it were anyone else, you might’ve been worried about her spilling or dropping them, but you had complete faith in Hazel. “Coffee for me and Freckles, and tea for Amara!” she hummed, placing down two of the mugs before flopping onto the couch next to you.

“Thank you, Hazel,” Amara responded politely, carefully picking up her drink, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. You echoed the sentiment, retrieving your coffee and nursing it as your thoughts wandered in the direction of gay again.

“So Freckles,” Hazel interrupted, and you nearly spilled your drink as you were jolted out of your thoughts. “You said you had a crazy story to tell?”

“Oh! Yeah, I did, but…” Your gaze flickered hesitantly to Amara.

She caught the look and smiled, gesturing for you to continue. “I assure you, I have heard many extraordinary stories in my time. I promise I will not judge.”

Amara was so open and kind that you found yourself believing her without a second thought. You nodded and took a deep breath. “So like I said in my texts, my phone died getting here. I thought I’d just go to Central Park and find this place from here, but I uh…” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, averting your eyes. “I kinda got lost.”

“Understandably so,” Amara said, and you glanced over at her, surprised at her input. “Altadellys is a city of enormous proportions. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, things could’ve gone seriously wrong,” Hazel agreed, concern painted across her features. “Seems like you hear about more and more robberies and people going missing everyday.”

You figured that was as good of a leadup to the ‘crazy’ part of your story as you were going to get. “I’m alright, but it was a close call. Someone tried to rob me in an alley.” You tilted your head to expose the faint scar on your neck.

“What?!” Hazel gasped. “Did you see what they looked like, Freckles? I’ll give them a piece of my mind for daring to lay a hand on you—”

“You should calm down, Hazel,” Amara interrupted gently, but you could see the concern and fury shining behind her golden eyes. “How did you get away?”

“I was saved by a masked guy with wings. He called himself Peacock,” you explained, scanning the pair’s faces for reactions. Hazel’s eyes were wide, her surprise evident, whereas Amara remained more composed, shock passing over her expression for only a moment before she closed her eyes, presumably lost in thought.

“Peacock, you’re sure?” Hazel checked, before shaking her head. “Who am I kidding, you said he had wings, that can’t be anyone else.”

“Yes?” You couldn’t help but feel surprise of your own at Hazel’s reaction. If she recognized his name—and knew about his powers—then just who was Peacock? “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” Hazel replied. The look of awe on her face almost felt surreal. “After Fox disappeared, he took over as Altadellys’s protector of the night!” She struck a pose, then paused. “Okay, so I’m pretty sure he’s more active during the day, but details.” She chuckled to herself. “Seriously though, you’re super lucky, Freckles. Getting saved by Peacock is almost every girl’s dream at the moment.”

You picked up on the phrasing, unable to help quirking your lips at the subtle quip. “But not you?”

“Nah, I’m too much of a lesbian for that.” Hazel grinned, obviously amused by her own joke, before leaning in. “But what about you? Is he as dreamy as they say?” She waggled her eyebrows.

You knew she was only teasing you, but you couldn’t stop the heat that flooded your cheeks as you thought back to your interaction with the masked vigilante. Visions of those beautiful eyes and that breathtaking smile filled your mind. “Um…”

You were hardly subtle. Hazel caught on immediately, and she burst out laughing. “Oh my God! Freckles, you have a crush!”

“I do not!” you immediately defended yourself, already knowing it fell on deaf ears. “He’s as attractive as they say, okay? But that doesn’t mean I like him!”

Hazel wiped a couple tears from her eyes. “Sure, sure, you keep telling yourself that, Freckles. But man, you had one hell of a first day in Altadellys, didn’t ya?”

You really couldn’t disagree with that, though you were just glad Hazel seemed to have dropped the teasing about your non-existent crush on Peacock. Absently, your gaze slid over to Amara, who had yet to rejoin the conversation. You found her staring off at a black-and-white photo hanging on the wall—looking closely, you were pretty sure it was of her, along with a man you’d never seen before. A family member or best friend? I’d consider that it could be her boyfriend, but I get the idea she’s not into guys. But why is it in black and white?

“Freckles? Were you listening?” You jumped, embarrassed at having been caught zoning out. 

I’m really off my game today. “Uh, not really,” you admitted sheepishly. “Mind repeating that?”

Hazel rolled her eyes affectionately. “I asked how the job search was going.” Her tone was filled with the fond exasperation only a best friend could capture.

“Oh, that.” You sighed, wishing you had better news on that front. “Not well, honestly. None of the places I’ve applied to have even called me in for an interview.”

Hazel winced sympathetically. “Yikes, that sucks. I’d offer to help ya, Freckles, but I don’t think my line of work is exactly for you.” She gave a meaningful look at your less-than-impressive physique and you laughed.

“Probably not, but thanks anyway.” You ran your fingers through your hair, thinking. “It’s a problem, though. Rent isn’t cheap here—I’ll get kicked out pretty fast if I don’t find a job soon.”

Hazel gave a thoughtful hum. “Well, why don’t you apply for an internship at Optimus? Seems like your kind of place.”

“Optimus? Are you sure?” Amara’s sudden interruption startled you, and you glanced over at her. Her expression was completely closed off, betraying nothing about how she felt. You had to fight the urge to swallow, somehow feeling like you’d just stepped into a social minefield.

“I don’t really know anything about Optimus,” you confessed hesitantly. “Should I?”

“They’re the world’s foremost authority on powers,” Amara explained, still completely neutral. “They help connect people with places that need their powers the most.”

“They donate to a bunch of charities too, and help with a bunch of other stuff,” Hazel added. “It’s like, the dream job for everyone living in Altadellys, and the pay’s incredible.”

You exhaled softly, considering your options. Hazel was right—it did sound like a dream job. You’d been interested in powers since you were little, always wishing you’d been one of the lucky ones, but nobody with powers had been born in your hometown for generations. “That does sound amazing Hazey, but there’s no way I’m qualified for that sort of thing.”

“If it’s just an internship, I have a friend who may be able to help.” You gave Amara a curious look. “I can let him know. He’s a private man, but he’s reliable.”

You were burning with questions you wanted to ask about Amara’s friend, but given that she still had that blank look on her face, completely devoid of any emotion at all, you didn’t want to push your luck and risk her rescinding the offer. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Thanks, Amara.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, but gave no other response. Suddenly, Hazel gasped, bolting to her feet. “Oh shoot, I totally forgot! I was supposed to meet with a client like, ten minutes ago!” She turned to you apologetically. “Sorry Freckles, I gotta run. If you want, though, we can meet up in like an hour or so? There’s a cafe right around the block, Sweet Enchantments, it’s the best cafe this side of Altadellys.”

You chuckled, unable to pass up the prospect of hanging out with Hazel again after all these years. “Sure thing Hazey, sounds great.”

“Awesome, catch you later!” Hazel darted from the room. Amara stood as well, brushing off her clothes.

“I’m afraid I have places to be as well,” she apologized, and even though it didn’t compare to earlier, you were relieved to see a hint of genuine regret in her eyes. “Before I leave, however, perhaps we should exchange phone numbers.”

“Oh!” You were going to get a pretty woman’s phone number. Yeah, this was a first. “That’s probably a good idea, yeah.”

Amara didn’t stick around long after giving you her number, and you headed back to your apartment, feeling awkward hanging around Hazel’s house while neither of its occupants were home. To your surprise, you found Piama perched on the couch, deeply engrossed in some kind of nature documentary and sipping at a cup of tea.

“Hi Piama,” you greeted, gaining her attention. “Weren’t you hanging out with Lyris?”

Piama waved a dismissive hand. “We just went out to a nearby cafe,” she explained, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one Hazel had mentioned. “Besides, he needs to get his stuff out of your room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Piama sighed, as though the reason Lyris’s stuff was apparently in your room was of great disdain to her. “He’s been half-living here for years,” she replied, turning her attention back to the TV. “He would have moved in, but he has a cat, and if his fur ball wasn’t the most annoying creature on that planet, I might’ve considered putting up with my allergies for him, but as it is, ‘Madame Whiskers’ has it out for me. Of course, I’m not going to ask my best friend to give up his cat for me, so now he lives on the floor above me while dumping half his stuff here.”

“Piama, who are you talking to? Is your roommate home?” a very familiar voice called from the hallway. You couldn’t quite place it until he stepped into the living room, and your jaw dropped as realization dawned on you. You wasted no time in appraising his physical appearance; his hair, his build, his general aesthetic, even his nails—everything matched up to Peacock. Even so, you might’ve chalked it up to a coincidence if not for his eyes. His damned eyes. His damned, beautiful eyes. Deep purple and breathtaking gold; even if your mind didn’t recognize them, your heart would’ve.

Peacock—Lyris?—was staring at you just as openly, and you could see the recognition and shock blooming across his expression as well. If Piama replied, you didn’t hear it, too swept up in the feeling of holy shit I’m meeting Peacock as a civilian and he’s my roommate’s best friend.

Your phone chimed, shattering the moment. You coughed to cover the awkwardness, quickly pulling it out and glancing down at the texts you’d just received.

Hazel: Client cancelled [rolling eyes emoji]

Hazel: U still wanna hang out at the cafe tho?

Oh, was all you could think as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, having literally no idea how to reply. Glancing up didn’t help, as you saw Lyris staring at you with the same shocked expression he’d had moments ago, Piama looking between the two of you in confusion.

Oh shit.

CHAPTER CHOICE

You're in a bit of a tricky spot here. You did say you were going to hang out with Hazel, but if you do that, the situation with Lyris is going to get... awkward. To say the least. Do you: A) Commit to going to the cafe with Hazel B) Stay to try and diffuse the situation with Lyris and Piama, and hopefully get some answers

[reading-while-queer]

Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston

Rating: Great Read Genre: Romance, Coming Out Representation: -Bi main character -Gay love interest -Mexican American/Mixed race main character -Other LGBTQ side characters Note: Characters have explicit sex; this is not YA and definitely not appropriate for younger teens Trigger warnings: Sex under the influence of alcohol (not in a predatory context, but still), forced outing, attempted rape (talked about, not in scene), drug abuse (not in scene), parent death, rare instances of homophobia, racism, xenophobia.

Red, White, and Royal Blue is the story of Alex Claremont-Diaz, a 21 year old student with political dreams: to climb the rungs as intern, staffer, and finally Senator by 30.  And his mother just happens to be the President of the United States.  Alex likes politics, but he can’t stand the fakeness of it all - and his frustrations come to be centralized around one man, Prince Henry of Wales.  Henry is only two years older than Alex, but while they play similar roles in life, and occasionally collide at international events, Henry is cold and aloof, never stooping to befriend his American counterpart.

This is where the novel begins: a rivalry come to a head at the royal wedding of Henry’s older brother, Phillip.  After a PR nightmare, Alex and Henry are forced by their respective handlers to play nice, or else.  And so a romance begins.

I really enjoyed Red, White, and Royal Blue.  Underneath its fun trope-y beginning, it becomes a drama that addresses queer sexuality on a more thoughtful level.  It deals with coming out in an interesting way, since the stakes are global.  If Alex comes out, what does that mean for his mom’s bid for re-election?  And for Henry, who doesn’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye after another four years, is coming out too costly?  This isn’t your average coming out story, but one of celebrity (especially unasked-for celebrity).  And, in fact, it isn’t entirely a coming out story at all.  “Coming out” is hardly the most pressing issue when Alex and Henry struggle to have a private relationship in the first place, both of them plagued by paparazzi and all their movements tracked.  Henry needs a political excuse to be in the same country as Alex at all, and vice versa.  This was such an interesting, high stakes spin, that Red, White, and Royal Blue really felt like a new, fresh story.

McQuiston’s writing definitely does her story justice - the characters feel like real 20-somethings, despite the display of artifice they give the cameras.  The writing is timely, too - Alex’s speech patterns are very 2019 Gen Z.  This book will age well, not because it could be imagined as taking place at some future point (the 2020 presidential campaign features strongly, after all), but because it is so unapologetically of its time.  McQuiston may be writing an alternate reality where Alex’s mom, Ellen Claremont (not Hilary Clinton), made the bid for president in 2016 - and won - but McQuiston still addresses the issues we are dealing with today, just in different ways.  A Trump-like character is Claremont’s challenger for 2020, for example, and an email leak winkingly brings to mind the nightmare of 2016.  But apart from these nods to root us in a familiar world, this is an alternate presidency where nothing seems to be happening at all - perhaps the greatest fantasy of LGBTQ readers today.  No war, no oil pipelines, no mention of policy whatsoever.

That isn’t to say that McQuiston entirely turns a blind eye.  As a fuck-you to current administration, McQuiston has Alex notice, almost with wonder, how he, a Mexican-American, can put his feet up on a White House railing where racist presidents have stood.  He’s aware of how plenty of White Americans today would be frothing at the mouth at the thought.  In this great escapist fantasy, all is calm, though the tempest is beating at the door.

I thought that Alex’s Mexican identity was handled gracefully in the novel - he’s half White, parents divorced, with his White mother the President, his Mexican American father a Senator.  His race isn’t something that’s mentioned once and never again, or worse, a “romantic” descriptor to sexualize and exotify.  It’s something Alex has to think about and mediate as a public figure - he has learned that he doesn’t necessarily poll well with White “family values” America.  His White mom being divorced, having non-White children living in the White House, this is all part of her “image.”  Alex has worked overtime to become popular anyway - he charms the camera as easily as he charms congressional representatives.  He manipulates his image purposefully, playing up his friendship with his ex-girlfriend Nora in order to tease the press that they might be back together.  America eats it up.

But McQuiston makes sure that being Mexican-American isn’t something that Alex is working past, or overcoming.  While racism is something he thinks about and must navigate, Alex loves himself.  He loves getting together with “Los Bastardos,” his dad and family friend/congressman Rafael Luna, to have a couple beers and talk shit in Spanish and English.  He loves making Mexican food with his dad.  He is especially passionate about Texas, his home state, and fixing harmful policy there.

This is only the stage on which the romance stands, but suffice it to say that McQuiston has spared no detail to make Alex’s life real outside of his relationship with Prince Henry.  When the reader is so invested in the reality of the characters’s lives, it only makes the romance more cutting, more true.  The emotional climax of their relationship was so heartbreaking I cried through a good ten pages.  McQuiston knows how to write emotion with lightning strike power and accuracy (which serves her well when writing sex scenes, too), and it is through emotion that McQuiston accomplishes her most crucial goal as a novelist: Red, White, and Royal Blue is a page-turner, at once cathartic, steamy, star-crossed, honest, and dramatic.  Reading this novel just feels good.  Red, White, and Royal Blue is a step above the rest, and should be a staple for LGBTQ romance fans.

Despite McQuiston’s resounding success with this novel, the arc of Alex and Henry’s romance did ring a little odd.  Not bad, just odd.  McQuiston starts off holding the railing, so to speak.  The romance begins with Alex hating Henry, so much so that he tells him to his face, despite being charged, as the President’s son, with grace and diplomacy.  The characters themselves compare their dynamic to Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, a comparison that was perhaps more a window into the author’s taste than strictly in-character.  Then, after a brief weekend of faking being friends for the camera… they become friends for real, texting each other about their lives.  Their supposed “hatred” becomes teasing ribbing and name-calling, which you can’t read as anything else but flirting.  This is a 400 page book, and already in the first 70 pages the blurb is out of date.  Red, White, and Royal Blue isn’t really about a couple who start out hating each other and gradually come to realize each other’s qualities, though it starts off on that path.  McQuiston could have packed a lot more character development into that “fake friends” weekend and a lot less in the texts and emails that came later, for a smoother transition from the narrative as advertised to the story she ends up telling - an even better romance, in my mind.

The better romance happens after the rather rushed arc of the first romance - McQuiston lets go of the railing, so to speak.  And though I won’t spoil it, this later arc deals with themes of sex versus love, the unique quandary of the forbiddenness of their relationship, and the fact that neither Henry nor Alex want to be in love with each other, because the consequences of taking their relationship seriously are global, public, and terrifying.  Where McQuiston starts in slapstick, trope-y romance, she ends up in something heart-wrenching and real.  The tonal dissonance between the two is a little awkward, and the former is less developed than the latter, leading to an imbalanced feeling to the novel as a whole.  However, where the novel ends up going is such good writing that I can’t fault the book - I think it’s an excellent read, beginning to end, its imbalances only visible once you reach the other side and look back.

There is so much to talk about in this 400-page book, a book I stayed up until 3 in the morning to finish, that it won’t all fit into one review.  It’s tempting to derail for another three paragraphs so I can talk about the explicit discussion of colonialism, a powerful metaphor behind both Alex and Henry’s identities.  I could go on about how Alex’s safe place is his father’s lake house, where he can be explicitly Mexican and connected to culture, food, and family.  In contrast, Henry’s safe place is a British museum of stolen statues, cold and nonliving, but still the only tie between himself, a royal descended from the royals who stole them, and the distant artists and ancient cultural figures depicted, whom Henry identifies as explicitly gay, even if that knowledge is purposefully forgotten.  It is a biting comment on the cultural black holes that are White imperialist nations, attempting to fill the emptiness themselves with culture pillaged elsewhere.  Henry is aware of it, and critical of it, but he is still a descendant of it.

Red, White, and Royal Blue will leave you with a lot to pick apart.  It earns some criticism, perhaps, from its overly sunny faith in definitely-not-Hilary President Claremont.  And, if you care about such things, there is the occasional moment of tonal dissonance where McQuiston’s realistic style butts heads with cartoon tropes (characters throwing food at one another to punctuate a point, for example) versus styles of speech recognizable from The West Wing (which come off as rather uncalled for and startling when no one else in the room is threatening over the top bodily harm).  But as much as one with an overactive mind might give pause over just how realistic it is for the sheltered Prince of Wales to have leftist ideas about dismantling British imperialism (now THAT is a dreamy fantasy), McQuiston also delivers a depth and breadth of material that is resoundingly good, and will have you walking away not only feeling good, but recommending Red, White, and Royal Blue to anyone who will listen.  This is a book to take a chance on.

For more from Casey McQuiston, check out her website here.

[kondo-hijikata]

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata Rating: M Summary: It’s simple. Peddle medicine and find purpose. But after Hijikata is caught in a downpour that leads him right into Kondo’s arms, he realizes things are a little more complicated than he’d like to believe. [AO3]

<< Chapter 3

.*After the Rain*. Chapter 4

Tendrils of honeysuckle twisted fragrant blooms over the outer stone wall, bringing embellishment and vitality to a modest silver nameplate that bore the words Sato Residence. The habitant butterflies and hummingbirds were unfazed when Kondo hurried by their earthly paradise of flora, still impassively flitting about even when he swept beneath the bough that had grown over the main entryway.

That wasn’t to say a proper welcome wasn’t in order, however.

“Kat-chan!”

Kondo unclasped his hat and pulled it free with a shake of the head, his chin immediately lifting to the woman who stood up on the porch before him. At her side were a young girl and boy, each flailing and cheering while jumping about in delight. “Uncle came to visit! Uncle, uncle!”

“Shh!” she hissed, swatting at the space around them. “Not so loud!”

“Nao-chan, Gen-chan! Hello!” Kondo offered a wave to help placate their excitement and then turned back to Nobu, his voice falling as serious as his expression. “I’m real sorry for showing up like this without notice, but I rushed over the moment I got your letter.”

“Oh, Kat-chan, please. Do you not see these kids right now? You’re always welcome here.” She guided the children a few steps back to give him room. “Come on up!”

With a nod, Kondo placed his hat and the cloth-covered box he’d carried on the wooden floorboards, before pivoting to toe off his sandals. “Sorry for the trouble,” he said out of polite habit (and over little voices now chanting, “Big feet! Big feet!”), while bounding up to join them on the porch. Within seconds, tiny arms were tossed around his legs to deliver enthusiastic hugs. Kondo’s shoulders dipped forward so he could place one hand atop each child’s head and he greeted them with warmth. “Hey, you guys.” However, worry was written across his features when he looked to Nobu again. “How is he?”

“Besides his usual stubborn self?” The words alone were harsh but they’d been delivered with the same fondness Nobu always used when talking of her brother. She crossed her arms and one hip leisurely swung out to the side. “Doing better, thankfully. He’s still feverish but at least he’s finally in bed.”

Kondo exhaled with relief, his lashes falling as he nodded once. In the background, he was vaguely aware of teeny toes stepping on his, their owners continuing to yap about the extraordinary size of his shoes.

“Ugh, the strings I had to pull to get him to rest, Kat-chan…” Blowing out a breath, Nobu’s brow creased and she tilted her head. “You should’ve seen him this morning. Flushed! Sweating! Exhausted and grumpy, and completely unreasonable. But he was so insistent on getting dressed, no matter what.”

Connecting the dots, Kondo felt color rush to his own cheeks then and his eyes parted a little wider. “Oh no…”

“I felt so bad that it came to sending a courier and worrying you like this. But with Hiko-chan out giving lessons like the good husband he is…” Nobu closed one eye and raised her shoulders a touch. “Honestly, that letter was the only way I could convince Toshi to get himself back in bed this morning. Even then, he was up and about soon after, pacing.” A beat. “He was really looking forward to seeing you today.”

Raising his palm to his cheek, Kondo huffed as his features softened and he peered off to the side. Soon after, his focus crept back up to her with a shy apology. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, Nobu-san.”

“What are you sorry for? You know best of all that obstinacy and flair for drama are traits around these parts!”

In response to that bit of truth, Kondo could do nothing except stifle the laugh which demanded escape from his tongue. So, the pot was calling the kettle black again… His hand fell and he absently pulled at the hem of his hakamashita to keep himself in line; the last thing he needed was another Hijikata on his case for something minor, especially when Nobu could be just as irascible as Toshi—if the mood was right. “Hardly,” he finally replied, not daring to agree with her assessment, no matter how accurate. “Anyway, I’m just glad he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine. And speaking of the other dramatics in this family.” Nobu’s gaze appropriately fell to her children then. “All right, you two, that’s it! Let’s give him some space.” The girl of seven, Nao, pouted before releasing Kondo as her mother insisted but her younger brother, Gennosuke, made no such move; he clung even tighter, then lifted his chin. “Is Souji-niichan coming?”

“Souji, huh,” Kondo exhaled. “Afraid not. He stayed home today since Uncle Toshi caught a cold.”

“Aww…”

Kondo grinned and ruffled Gennosuke’s hair. “Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing him soon.” It was a promise he’d have to make good on, for as much as this boy wanted to see Souji, Souji had wanted to accompany Kondo on his visit here; the deadpan look and manner with which his brow had twitched upon hearing the remainder of his day would be spent with Gen-san were almost comical. Alas, though, Kondo had known war tales and tea would pale in comparison to the potential thrill of antagonizing Hijikata when he was already contentious and moody. His decision to come alone had been made in the best interests of all.

In all honestly, he’d felt awful about breaking the plans which occupied Souji’s excitement for the last few days, and even sought his permission to do so; unimpressed green eyes had fallen half-lidded with a sigh. “Hijikata-san is ruining my life as usual, I see.” Despite the warranted complaint, Souji had turned on his feet afterward and wandered in the direction of the sitting room, all as Kondo’s palms met in appreciation before taking off, himself.

He’d make the blunder up soon enough. For now…

Upon hearing Nao call his name, Gennosuke let go of the leg he’d wrapped himself around, instead favoring to chase his sister across the porch and through open shoji. Kondo used this opportunity of newly granted freedom to retrieve the elegant box he’d set down earlier. Picking it up, he offered it to Nobu once she finished gently scolding the children again for their noisiness.

“Nobu-san, it’s not much, but…”

“Kat-chan!” she admonished. “You never have to bring anything.”

“I know, I know. But I ran into a fruit vendor and couldn’t pass this up though, look.” Reaching for the tied ends of fabric, Kondo loosened them slightly and fragrance drifted up from inside.

“Ara?! Peaches?!” Nobu exclaimed. “They smell so good!” She inhaled again and a large smile graced her lips. “Oh, Kat-chan, Toshi’s gonna be so happy, you don’t even know. Between you visiting and bringing these? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cured in a split second.”

Kondo smiled widely at that, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?”

“Only one way to find out! C’mon,” she said with a wink and toss of her head, “let’s go see how bad of a mood he’s in.”

~

Companionable silence descended as Nobu led Kondo down a long stretch of porch and then around the corner, leaving them both standing at the threshold of a closed door.

“Toshi,” Nobu called softly while placing her palm against the entrance. When no reply came she tried again. However, upon being greeted with quiet for a second time, she carefully slid the shoji aside and peered in with Kondo leaning over her to do the same.

“Ah…” he whispered, lingering a moment more before righting himself. Nobu looked up at him with questioning eyes and Kondo nodded once to offer his agreement. And just like that, the door was closed as quietly as it had been opened.

“You know, Kat-chan…” When Kondo offered to carry the box for her as they began walking again, Nobu only hugged it closer. “I’ve known my brother for almost twenty years at this point and it’s still hard to believe that that…innocent face he makes while sleeping belongs to him.”

“Mm?” Kondo chuckled.

“Almost makes me believe in those ridiculous stories about shapeshifters…those scary ones that really do terrify the hell out of you when you’re younger but you never want to admit it.”

“Are you admitting it now?”

“I guess I am!”

Suppressing what would have been a hearty, resounding laugh, Kondo managed to control the volume of his amusement and then agreed. “You have a point, though. Angry Toshi is certainly scary Toshi.” A beat. “And it’s always a good idea to stay on his good side…unless you’re brave.” Upon arriving back at the front of the house, he cast a glance toward the main gate and his lower eyelids lifted just a touch. “Souji is brave.”

“Oh, that kid is a master of getting under my brother’s skin for sure. But make no mistake about it!” Nobu stamped one foot to drive her point home. “Toshi cares deeply for him. I know, if just from seeing how he interacts with my own.”

“Heh, I know it, too!” Kondo crossed his arms with a grin pulling far into his cheeks. “Those two may be like oil and water, but in some cases, oil and water can actually work together, you know. I can’t imagine my life without either. Everything just feels…” Affection swelled in his chest and perhaps had him speaking a bit too openly. “…so complete.”

“That’s good,” came the matter-of-fact voice at his side. “Because I can’t imagine Toshi’s life without you in it, either.”

With a blink, the contented expression fell from Kondo’s face and when his attention turned back to Nobu, he found her studying him with an inkling of pensiveness. “Oh…um—”

“Ne.” She cocked her head toward the kitchen. “You comin’ in?”

“Ah, Nobu-san, I don’t wanna put you out or anything. I just came to make sure—”

“Here, then. Since you’ve been insisting on carrying them.” Nobu thrust the peaches into Kondo’s arms. “Now you’re useful. Follow me.”

“I—” Kondo pursed his lips when he received a very familiar piercing gaze over her shoulder and the sight of it had him immediately relenting. “Mm, right. Yes, on my way.”

Tiny crimson baubles dangling from Nobu’s hair pin danced with a laugh just as animated. “That’s more like it! My last name may be Sato but never doubt I’m a Hijikata through and through!”

“Believe me.” Kondo stepped into sandals (small and uncomfortable, but they would do) waiting on the finished stone floor of the kitchen and set the box on a counter. “I’m smart enough to never dream of doing that.” His gaze drifted around the space and he watched while Nobu approached the pot that had been set over a small flame. The air smelled of comfort—of burning wood and appetizing rice porridge.

“I want to talk with you about some things, but I need to take care a few odds and ends in here first.” She picked up a hand towel to protect herself from the heat and then slid the cover off just enough to look inside. A billow of steam rose from within and the lid was immediately replaced. “Am I right to assume you’re gonna fight me if I tell you to go relax in the sitting room?”

“Who could possibly just sit around when there’s porridge to garnish and other things around here to do?”

Nobu huffed out of her nose. “You’re a good man, Kat-chan.” She opened a nearby cabinet and procured a jar. “Impossibly humble, but certainly good.”

“So, those scallions over there…which knife can I use?”

“Taku.” However, Nobu was grinning softly as she nodded toward a drawer. “Any one you want.”

“Got it.” With that, Kondo plucked the light green stalks from the vegetable basket, brought them to a free area of countertop, and began dicing. Across the way, Nobu removed handfuls of pickled plums from the jar and began extracting the pits.

“You know,” she started, while nimble fingers worked at their task with quickness and efficiency. “I’ve known you for a pretty long time too, but I don’t know if I ever thanked you. Have I?”

“Thanked me?” Kondo asked, his tone gentle and rising with curiosity. “For what?”

“Toshi’s my brother, but…well, I suppose it sounds a little silly since we’re so close in age, but I also think of him as my first son. After our parents died, someone had to step up and I guess it was just in my instinct to be the one who would.”

“It’s not silly at all. That explains why Toshi is so strong.” Chop, chop, chop. “Because Nobu-san is.”

“Cht…please.” Her voice fell, but Kondo could hear the smile she tried to conceal. “Anyway, he was our family’s little prince and I just wanted him to have a good life, especially after all that happened. And I still do.” Kondo finished his task then and peered over at Nobu; she stood still, her digits paused in mid-action of pitting with her chin raised and eyes focused on the wall before her. “It’s tough, though, the balance of having my own kids and everything.” Her shoulders shrugged and she went back to her work.

“I can only imagine…”

“That’s why we tried sending Toshi for that apprenticeship. Everyone here was so adamant on turning him into a successful merchant.” Nobu cocked her head. “But we all know how that turned out.” A beat. “…Bowl’s over there if you wanna put those scallions in something.”

“Well, I’m not following…didn’t it turn out for the best?” Kondo asked, while doing as he was told. “I mean, sure, the textile business didn’t work out but now he’s so good at selling your family’s medicine, so…” He drifted off when Nobu quietly chuckled, and then joined her with a small laugh of his own. “What?”

“That’s the point I’m getting to, Kat-chan. You’re always so encouraging, always have something good to say. Can Toshi do no wrong in your eyes?” She looked up to meet his gaze.

“Uh…I mean, no one is perfect.” He set his mouth in a line. “I’m certainly not, so how could I expect that of someone else?”

The corners of Nobu’s mouth twitched further with fondness. “If you want my opinion, I don’t think the reason why he’s so good at medicine peddling is because of his apprentice work. Maybe he learned some skills there that helped, but…” She paused. “I think it’s because you drive him to do his best.”

Kondo finally turned all the way to face her. “…Me?”

“Toshi was never exactly going down the wrong path, but I still worried about him,” Nobu spoke while tossing the readied plums on a dish and gathering discarded portions in her palm. “He wasn’t happy with the idea of just owning a shop or even inheriting our land. And I agree. I think he’s made for something different.” She discarded the refuse in a bag, then found Kondo’s eyes. “Something more.”

He licked his lips and glanced at the floor, as guilt began to pang within his stomach. What Nobu was saying sounded positive, but Kondo wondered if there was an ulterior motive to this conversation that wasn’t so promising in the end; after all, he’d been the one to tell Hijikata it was all right to have not finished the apprenticeship, that it’d been okay to not want to spend his life on a farm.

Kondo hadn’t said any of it lightly or with the intent of frivolous enablement; the words had been meant to both comfort and appeal to Hijikata’s best interests—but perhaps his best interests hadn’t aligned with the vision this family had for their youngest. And if that had caused a wedge between them…

“Kat-chan…” The kindness in Nobu’s voice brought Kondo back to her. “What I’m saying is, I wasn’t sure how to set him on the path to finding happiness. But I think you can. Or, that you already have.” She closed her eyes and with a huff, shook her head. “My older brother would go crazy if he heard us talking now because I know for damn sure he doesn’t agree. But, this world is changing. And I think we should all be able to chase what we dream of most. Like…what makes us excited to get up in the morning, instead of just living out of obligation.”

A choppy breath left Kondo’s lips then and his chin fell in a strong nod. “I agree.” His hands met his waist before a second guess made him wonder if it was too direct a stance; he therefore settled on crossing his arms before him instead. “I agree with that so much. Especially with my situation.”

“It’s what I’m doing too, after all.” Nobu grinned. “I have my family. That’s really what I wanted more than anything. And I want each of them to lead the best life possible, but it’s hard to keep tabs on them all, especially with…” She patted her midsection.

Kondo stared at her in confusion—and then it clicked. “…Oh.” His spine went a little straighter. “Oh, wow! That’s…that’s great news! Congratulations!”

“But when your family’s growing, everything’s so busy all the time. I can’t always be there for Toshi.” Nobu put out the flame beneath the porridge and once the bubbling background noise died out, she turned back to Kondo. “So, thank you for being the one who is.”

Absentmindedly itching at his jaw and then massaging the side of his neck, Kondo’s gaze fell down and off to the side. “Um…it’s…” He found himself incapable of stopping his own shy grin then. “It’s mutually beneficial. If you think I’ve done him any good at all, well…you should hear about all he’s done for me. It’s incomparable. I mean, if it weren’t for Toshi, then I—” His words trailed off when he noticed the softness falling from Nobu’s expression. “Sorry, I’m…talking a lot, aren’t I?”

A huff. “Oh, no.” With a swift turn to the counter, she braced the heel of palms against it and pushed her lips out. “Not at all.” Nobu’s tone dropped. “But maybe I have.”

Bewildered, Kondo caught onto the conflicted expression that was ascertainable even from seeing just the side of her face. His mouth opened but he stopped himself before speaking again, as the clear shift in demeanor indicated something profound had happened right under his nose without him even noticing.

“...Nobu-san,” Kondo ventured gently, taking a step toward her.

“Kat-chan, look. This might be overstepping. And maybe it makes me a terrible sister who can’t mind her own business. But.” She drummed her fingertips twice before pushing away from the edge, and when their eyes met, concern was clear and present in hers. “Has Toshi…” Nobu shook her head once with a wince before finally giving in. “Has he talked to you about this long trip he’s planning to take?”

Kondo blinked.

And though he couldn’t say he’d been surprised by her question, his heart seemed to grow a mind of its own as it began pounding hard against its ribbed enclosure. Then, from that central place in his chest, an ache swelled and burned—permeated right from the core to paralyze him.

Or at least that’s how it felt, for in that moment, it seemed to Kondo that he’d forgotten how to speak.

Kondo exhaled with relief, his lashes falling as he nodded once. In the background, he was vaguely aware of teeny toes stepping on his, their owners continuing to yap about the extraordinary size of his shoes.

“Ugh, the strings I had to pull to get him to rest, Kat-chan…” Blowing out a breath, Nobu’s brow creased and she tilted her head. “You should’ve seen him this morning. Flushed! Sweating! Exhausted and grumpy, and completely unreasonable. But he was so insistent on getting dressed, no matter what.”

Connecting the dots, Kondo felt color rush to his own cheeks then and his eyes parted a little wider. “Oh no…”

“I felt so bad that it came to sending a courier and worrying you like this. But with Hiko-chan out giving lessons like the good husband he is…” Nobu closed one eye and raised her shoulders a touch. “Honestly, that letter was the only way I could convince Toshi to get himself back in bed this morning. Even then, he was up and about soon after, pacing.” A beat. “He was really looking forward to seeing you today.”

Raising his palm to his cheek, Kondo huffed as his features softened and he peered off to the side. Soon after, his focus crept back up to her with a shy apology. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, Nobu-san.”

“What are you sorry for? You know best of all that obstinacy and flair for drama are traits around these parts!”

In response to that bit of truth, Kondo could do nothing except stifle the laugh which demanded escape from his tongue. So, the pot was calling the kettle black again… His hand fell and he absently pulled at the hem of his hakamashita to keep himself in line; the last thing he needed was another Hijikata on his case for something minor, especially when Nobu could be just as irascible as Toshi—if the mood was right. “Hardly,” he finally replied, not daring to agree with her assessment, no matter how accurate. “Anyway, I’m just glad he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine. And speaking of the other dramatics in this family.” Nobu’s gaze appropriately fell to her children then. “All right, you two, that’s it! Let’s give him some space.” The girl of seven, Nao, pouted before releasing Kondo as her mother insisted but her younger brother, Gennosuke, made no such move; he clung even tighter, then lifted his chin. “Is Souji-niichan coming?”

“Souji, huh,” Kondo exhaled. “Afraid not. He stayed home today since Uncle Toshi caught a cold.”

“Aww…”

Kondo grinned and ruffled Gennosuke’s hair. “Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing him soon.” It was a promise he’d have to make good on, for as much as this boy wanted to see Souji, Souji had wanted to accompany Kondo on his visit here; the deadpan look and manner with which his brow had twitched upon hearing the remainder of his day would be spent with Gen-san were almost comical. Alas, though, Kondo had known war tales and tea would pale in comparison to the potential thrill of antagonizing Hijikata when he was already contentious and moody. His decision to come alone had been made in the best interests of all.

In all honestly, he’d felt awful about breaking the plans which occupied Souji’s excitement for the last few days, and even sought his permission to do so; unimpressed green eyes had fallen half-lidded with a sigh. “Hijikata-san is ruining my life as usual, I see.” Despite the warranted complaint, Souji had turned on his feet afterward and wandered in the direction of the sitting room, all as Kondo’s palms met in appreciation before taking off, himself.

He’d make the blunder up soon enough. For now…

Upon hearing Nao call his name, Gennosuke let go of the leg he’d wrapped himself around, instead favoring to chase his sister across the porch and through open shoji. Kondo used this opportunity of newly granted freedom to retrieve the elegant box he’d set down earlier. Picking it up, he offered it to Nobu once she finished gently scolding the children again for their noisiness.

“Nobu-san, it’s not much, but…”

“Kat-chan!” she admonished. “You never have to bring anything.”

“I know, I know. But I ran into a fruit vendor and couldn’t pass this up though, look.” Reaching for the tied ends of fabric, Kondo loosened them slightly and fragrance drifted up from inside.

“Ara?! Peaches?!” Nobu exclaimed. “They smell so good!” She inhaled again and a large smile graced her lips. “Oh, Kat-chan, Toshi’s gonna be so happy, you don’t even know. Between you visiting and bringing these? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s cured in a split second.”

Kondo smiled widely at that, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?”

“Only one way to find out! C’mon,” she said with a wink and toss of her head, “let’s go see how bad of a mood he’s in.”

~

Companionable silence descended as Nobu led Kondo down a long stretch of porch and then around the corner, leaving them both standing at the threshold of a closed door.

“Toshi,” Nobu called softly while placing her palm against the entrance. When no reply came she tried again. However, upon being greeted with quiet for a second time, she carefully slid the shoji aside and peered in with Kondo leaning over her to do the same.

“Ah…” he whispered, lingering a moment more before righting himself. Nobu looked up at him with questioning eyes and Kondo nodded once to offer his agreement. And just like that, the door was closed as quietly as it had been opened.

“You know, Kat-chan…” When Kondo offered to carry the box for her as they began walking again, Nobu only hugged it closer. “I’ve known my brother for almost twenty years at this point and it’s still hard to believe that that…innocent face he makes while sleeping belongs to him.”

“Mm?” Kondo chuckled.

“Almost makes me believe in those ridiculous stories about shapeshifters…those scary ones that really do terrify the hell out of you when you’re younger but you never want to admit it.”

“Are you admitting it now?”

“I guess I am!”

Suppressing what would have been a hearty, resounding laugh, Kondo managed to control the volume of his amusement and then agreed. “You have a point, though. Angry Toshi is certainly scary Toshi.” A beat. “And it’s always a good idea to stay on his good side…unless you’re brave.” Upon arriving back at the front of the house, he cast a glance toward the main gate and his lower eyelids lifted just a touch. “Souji is brave.”

“Oh, that kid is a master of getting under my brother’s skin for sure. But make no mistake about it!” Nobu stamped one foot to drive her point home. “Toshi cares deeply for him. I know, if just from seeing how he interacts with my own.”

“Heh, I know it, too!” Kondo crossed his arms with a grin pulling far into his cheeks. “Those two may be like oil and water, but in some cases, oil and water can actually work together, you know. I can’t imagine my life without either. Everything just feels…” Affection swelled in his chest and perhaps had him speaking a bit too openly. “…so complete.”

“That’s good,” came the matter-of-fact voice at his side. “Because I can’t imagine Toshi’s life without you in it, either.”

With a blink, the contented expression fell from Kondo’s face and when his attention turned back to Nobu, he found her studying him with an inkling of pensiveness. “Oh…um—”

“Ne.” She cocked her head toward the kitchen. “You comin’ in?”

“Ah, Nobu-san, I don’t wanna put you out or anything. I just came to make sure—”

“Here, then. Since you’ve been insisting on carrying them.” Nobu thrust the peaches into Kondo’s arms. “Now you’re useful. Follow me.”

“I—” Kondo pursed his lips when he received a very familiar piercing gaze over her shoulder and the sight of it had him immediately relenting. “Mm, right. Yes, on my way.”

Tiny crimson baubles dangling from Nobu’s hair pin danced with a laugh just as animated. “That’s more like it! My last name may be Sato but never doubt I’m a Hijikata through and through!”

“Believe me.” Kondo stepped into sandals (small and uncomfortable, but they would do) waiting on the finished stone floor of the kitchen and set the box on a counter. “I’m smart enough to never dream of doing that.” His gaze drifted around the space and he watched while Nobu approached the pot that had been set over a small flame. The air smelled of comfort—of burning wood and appetizing rice porridge.

“I want to talk with you about some things, but I need to take care a few odds and ends in here first.” She picked up a hand towel to protect herself from the heat and then slid the cover off just enough to look inside. A billow of steam rose from within and the lid was immediately replaced. “Am I right to assume you’re gonna fight me if I tell you to go relax in the sitting room?”

“Who could possibly just sit around when there’s porridge to garnish and other things around here to do?”

Nobu huffed out of her nose. “You’re a good man, Kat-chan.” She opened a nearby cabinet and procured a jar. “Impossibly humble, but certainly good.”

“So, those scallions over there…which knife can I use?”

“Taku.” However, Nobu was grinning softly as she nodded toward a drawer. “Any one you want.”

“Got it.” With that, Kondo plucked the light green stalks from the vegetable basket, brought them to a free area of countertop, and began dicing. Across the way, Nobu removed handfuls of pickled plums from the jar and began extracting the pits.

“You know,” she started, while nimble fingers worked at their task with quickness and efficiency. “I’ve known you for a pretty long time too, but I don’t know if I ever thanked you. Have I?”

“Thanked me?” Kondo asked, his tone gentle and rising with curiosity. “For what?”

“Toshi’s my brother, but…well, I suppose it sounds a little silly since we’re so close in age, but I also think of him as my first son. After our parents died, someone had to step up and I guess it was just in my instinct to be the one who would.”

“It’s not silly at all. That explains why Toshi is so strong.” Chop, chop, chop. “Because Nobu-san is.”

“Cht…please.” Her voice fell, but Kondo could hear the smile she tried to conceal. “Anyway, he was our family’s little prince and I just wanted him to have a good life, especially after all that happened. And I still do.” Kondo finished his task then and peered over at Nobu; she stood still, her digits paused in mid-action of pitting with her chin raised and eyes focused on the wall before her. “It’s tough, though, the balance of having my own kids and everything.” Her shoulders shrugged and she went back to her work.

“I can only imagine…”

“That’s why we tried sending Toshi for that apprenticeship. Everyone here was so adamant on turning him into a successful merchant.” Nobu cocked her head. “But we all know how that turned out.” A beat. “…Bowl’s over there if you wanna put those scallions in something.”

“Well, I’m not following…didn’t it turn out for the best?” Kondo asked, while doing as he was told. “I mean, sure, the textile business didn’t work out but now he’s so good at selling your family’s medicine, so…” He drifted off when Nobu quietly chuckled, and then joined her with a small laugh of his own. “What?”

“That’s the point I’m getting to, Kat-chan. You’re always so encouraging, always have something good to say. Can Toshi do no wrong in your eyes?” She looked up to meet his gaze.

“Uh…I mean, no one is perfect.” He set his mouth in a line. “I’m certainly not, so how could I expect that of someone else?”

The corners of Nobu’s mouth twitched further with fondness. “If you want my opinion, I don’t think the reason why he’s so good at medicine peddling is because of his apprentice work. Maybe he learned some skills there that helped, but…” She paused. “I think it’s because you drive him to do his best.”

Kondo finally turned all the way to face her. “…Me?”

“Toshi was never exactly going down the wrong path, but I still worried about him,” Nobu spoke while tossing the readied plums on a dish and gathering discarded portions in her palm. “He wasn’t happy with the idea of just owning a shop or even inheriting our land. And I agree. I think he’s made for something different.” She discarded the refuse in a bag, then found Kondo’s eyes. “Something more.”

He licked his lips and glanced at the floor, as guilt began to pang within his stomach. What Nobu was saying sounded positive, but Kondo wondered if there was an ulterior motive to this conversation that wasn’t so promising in the end; after all, he’d been the one to tell Hijikata it was all right to have not finished the apprenticeship, that it’d been okay to not want to spend his life on a farm.

Kondo hadn’t said any of it lightly or with the intent of frivolous enablement; the words had been meant to both comfort and appeal to Hijikata’s best interests—but perhaps his best interests hadn’t aligned with the vision this family had for their youngest. And if that had caused a wedge between them…

“Kat-chan…” The kindness in Nobu’s voice brought Kondo back to her. “What I’m saying is, I wasn’t sure how to set him on the path to finding happiness. But I think you can. Or, that you already have.” She closed her eyes and with a huff, shook her head. “My older brother would go crazy if he heard us talking now because I know for damn sure he doesn’t agree. But, this world is changing. And I think we should all be able to chase what we dream of most. Like…what makes us excited to get up in the morning, instead of just living out of obligation.”

A choppy breath left Kondo’s lips then and his chin fell in a strong nod. “I agree.” His hands met his waist before a second guess made him wonder if it was too direct a stance; he therefore settled on crossing his arms before him instead. “I agree with that so much. Especially with my situation.”

“It’s what I’m doing too, after all.” Nobu grinned. “I have my family. That’s really what I wanted more than anything. And I want each of them to lead the best life possible, but it’s hard to keep tabs on them all, especially with…” She patted her midsection.

Kondo stared at her in confusion—and then it clicked. “…Oh.” His spine went a little straighter. “Oh, wow! That’s…that’s great news! Congratulations!”

“But when your family’s growing, everything’s so busy all the time. I can’t always be there for Toshi.” Nobu put out the flame beneath the porridge and once the bubbling background noise died out, she turned back to Kondo. “So, thank you for being the one who is.”

Absentmindedly itching at his jaw and then massaging the side of his neck, Kondo’s gaze fell down and off to the side. “Um…it’s…” He found himself incapable of stopping his own shy grin then. “It’s mutually beneficial. If you think I’ve done him any good at all, well…you should hear about all he’s done for me. It’s incomparable. I mean, if it weren’t for Toshi, then I—” His words trailed off when he noticed the softness falling from Nobu’s expression. “Sorry, I’m…talking a lot, aren’t I?”

A huff. “Oh, no.” With a swift turn to the counter, she braced the heel of palms against it and pushed her lips out. “Not at all.” Nobu’s tone dropped. “But maybe I have.”

Bewildered, Kondo caught onto the conflicted expression that was ascertainable even from seeing just the side of her face. His mouth opened but he stopped himself before speaking again, as the clear shift in demeanor indicated something profound had happened right under his nose without him even noticing.

“...Nobu-san,” Kondo ventured gently, taking a step toward her.

“Kat-chan, look. This might be overstepping. And maybe it makes me a terrible sister who can’t mind her own business. But.” She drummed her fingertips twice before pushing away from the edge, and when their eyes met, concern was clear and present in hers. “Has Toshi…” Nobu shook her head once with a wince before finally giving in. “Has he talked to you about this long trip he’s planning to take?”

Kondo blinked.

And though he couldn’t say he’d been surprised by her question, his heart seemed to grow a mind of its own as it began pounding hard against its ribbed enclosure. Then, from that central place in his chest, an ache swelled and burned—permeated right from the core to paralyze him.

Or at least that’s how it felt, for in that moment, it seemed to Kondo that he’d forgotten how to speak.

[whatscallion]

reply i.

COFFEE/COLLEGE AU: POV - Natasha Romanoff - a reply to THIS starter from @cptsteven because we live for AUs that aren’t serious at all. this is probably one of our first ones? i think we’re on #984375 au right now. enjoy! 

Sugar Ray was playing overhead, talking about the halo on his girlfriend’s four post bed, setting that of a casual air. The music of the nineties generally reigned supreme when Natasha Romanoff was working behind the counter at The Grind, the main hangout for any and all students of the college nearby. There were usually bouts of busy times around lunch, and especially around midterm season. It was damn near unbearable when it was finals season, though she had never worked during that time. Natasha had her own classes to prepare for, but fortunately enough, they were in a pleasant lull between massive tests. It left a pleasant air about the town, just in time for the leaves to start turning colors in their Autumn display.

Crisp and cool, the air beyond the warmth of the coffee shop held its own kind of comfort in its own way, beckoning forth warm knit sweaters and wool socks. Loose beanies and wind-bitten cheeks. Scarves and mittens. It was a change in weather that made people feel cozy without them really even noticing, and the constant heat from the espresso machines not only made the place inviting, it gave life to the already decadent scent of brewing coffee. It was a time of year that had one thankful for their position in life, no matter the impending doom of midterms or tests or quizzes.

There had been a shift in the air as of late, within the small cafe, and it didn’t go unnoticed - not by Natasha and certainly not by her coworkers. The presence of a college student every morning had become more and more noticeable, to the point of casual ribbing from her cohorts, which only begged the question: why did he come to the shop just for black coffee? On occasion, he’d order something that required more elaboration, but more often than not, it was just plain black coffee, something he could’ve easily gotten at the cafeteria on campus.

Steve. That’s what Scott had told her his name was. Tall, blonde, artistic - he was an easy kind of person to grow soft for, and it was even easier to see the way heads turned when he was around. Yet it didn’t seem like he noticed - not when she happened to see him from afar at the college. Oblivious to his own prowess, and it made him humble, almost like he were some kind of fairytale prince. The sudden comparison had Natasha scoffing at her own thoughts, very thankful the sound of steamed milk drowned it out, for Scott was far too nosey to let things like that slide. Not so much a Prince Eric or Prince Phillip - more unconventional, like Hercules. Needless to say, Disney’s Hercules was swiftly watched upon the realization. The biased nature towards the new regular at the shop was slow burning, yet it was becoming painfully obvious. He needn’t even order for Natasha to even start on his coffee the moment he walked in. She even went through the trouble of actually making herself look more presentable that early in the morning, a task that wasn’t that much of a rigor. A swipe of mascara. A quick blow-dry of her hair. Small things that she didn’t think made that much of a difference.

“What can I do for you, Sam?” It was important to know names in the business of coffee, since that’s generally what customers wanted: to be in a place where their name was known, like they were special.

“Just a mocha. Don’t care about the size. Hey, you’re in my accounting class, right? Wednesdays with Isaiah, right?” The redhead was looking away from her sudden customer, writing down an order on the cup with a Sharpie marker. The small talk gifted him a glance of bright emerald before moving to the register.

“I thought that was you,” she responded with an amicable smile. “It’s an alright class but...definitely just a prerequisite for my actual major.” The total flashed before them and Sam dug out the appropriate change.

“Yeah, Gen Ed can be a bitch, huh?” Nat’s reply came by way of a small snicker and a nod before she turned to work on his drink.

Stolen glances at Sam and Steve were taken, yet she didn’t do anything more than what was necessary. She was being paid to make coffee, not make eyes at customers. It genuinely sucked how much of a distraction they became, just by being there. Natasha was more thankful that Scott had the day off, knowing full well he wouldn’t let her live down anything. If he didn’t hit on her constantly, Scott would’ve been more like an annoying little brother to her.

Two days, three ballet classes and a multitude of nonsensical general education classes later, and Natasha was being bored to death in the infamous accounting class. Something about how happiness was translated into something called “utility” and that there was an actual measurement called “utils”. How could one even measure the happiness gained from an action or object, then comparing it to the cost to see if it was even worth it? This was making something so much more complicated, to a point where it was beyond that of a microscope. While Isaiah was passionate about accounting, it didn’t matter to his students. This was, without a doubt, incredibly boring to someone who wasn’t even going to school for numbers. It was torture in the form of two classes, each about two hours along.

This was it. This was Natasha’s Hell in the form of needless academia.

“....And that about sums up the general usage of utility and the subsequent utils. Don’t forget to read chapter 14 and complete the required questions at the end of the chapter. I’m still waiting on some analyses from some of you. Each day is another percentage point taken off, so please turn them in. This is my job, after all.”

After finishing up a page of mundane doodling, centering around a game of MASH gone awry, the class was finally over and the rest of her afternoon was free. Wednesdays were generally meant for mid-week assignments to get caught up on, as well as casual social interactions. There’d been rumblings of the fraternities throwing parties the following weekend, sparking the beginning of a very long, very exhausting homecoming season. Though Natasha specialized in the graceful art of ballet, it was safe to assume she was also on the dance squad. It was an easy way to maintain rhythm and flexibility.

“Are you going to Delta’s thing this weekend?” Hope, a somewhat close-ish friend, had made a point to be in the same class as her, mostly so they could rely on one another to stay focused. They decided being friends could make up for the fact that they made out once at a party. Whoops. “They’re doing it a week early so they don’t get popped again this year.”

“Delta, huh?” Parties weren’t really Natasha’s scene, generally opting to working the late shift at the coffee shop in order to have a good excuse not to go. “Delta’s the worst frat on campus, I thought.”

“You mean, the best because their parties are always balls to the walls? Yeah, Saturday. You should go. Who knows? You might actually have fun.”

“Maybe, but I’ll have to look at the schedule.”

“I swear to god, if you change your schedule again to not go, I’m going to call in a bomb threat on The Grind so you can’t have that excuse.” The girl was quick to know things and use them against whoever she could in order to gain a semblance of an advantage. Unfortunately, Nat wasn’t on her game as of late.

They were getting ready to go when--

Shit. She could pick out that combination of towering height and blonde hair anywhere. Suddenly, Hope wasn’t really there, and it all felt like a Disney movie again.

Stop it. You’re working yourself up. He just comes in for coffee. Probably doesn’t even know your name without your nametag on.

Quit acting like such a girl. .

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Somewhere between Britney and Billie Eilish, liberated by social media and their direct relationship with fans, millennial and Gen Z women claimed the right to be complicated pop auteursRead all of the essays in the decade retrospective

📷 Laura Snapes Mon 25 Nov 2019 13.12 GMT 174

While Billie Eilish has reinvented pop with her hushed SoundCloud rap menace, creepy ASMR intimacy and chipper show tune melodies, there’s also something reassuringly comforting about her: as a teenage pop star, she has fulfilled her proper duty by confusing the hell out of adults. It’s largely down to her aesthetic: a funhouse Fred Durst; a one-woman model for the combined wares of Camden Market. Critics have tried to make sense of it, but when editorials praised Eilish’s “total lack of sexualisation”, she denounced them for “slut-shaming” her peers. “I don’t like that there’s this weird new world of supporting me by shaming people that may not want to dress like me.”To Gen Z’s Eilish, not yet 18, it is a weird new world. She and her millennial peers have grown up in a decade in which pop’s good girl/bad girl binary has collapsed into the moral void that once upheld it, resulting in a generation of young female stars savvy to how the expectation to be “respectable” and conform to adult ideas of how a role model for young fans should act – by an industry not known for its moral backbone – is a con. “It’s a lot harder to treat women the way they were treated in the 90s now, because you can get called out so easily on social media,” Fiona Apple – who knows about the simultaneous sexualisation and dismissal of young female musicians – said recently. “If somebody does something shitty nowadays, a 17-year-old singer can get on their social media and say, ‘Look what this fucker did! It’s fucked up.’”📷 Lunatics conquering the asylum ... the Spice Girls. Photograph: Tim Roney/Getty ImagesFemale musicians have been subject to conflicting moral standards for longer than Eilish has been alive. Madonna, Janet Jackson and TLC knew them well – but the concept of the pop “role model”, expected to set an example to kids, solidified when the Spice Girls became the first female act to be marketed at children. In the 70s and 80s, idols such as David Cassidy primed girls for a monogamous future. By comparison, the Spice Girls were lunatics conquering the asylum. But, given their fans’ youth – and the sponsors that used the band to reach them – they also had a duty of responsibility. Their real lives – the all-nighters and eating disorders – were hidden so effectively that Eilish, born in 2001, thought the band was made up, actors playing the roles of the group in Spiceworld: The Movie.In the late 90s, kid-pop became an industry unto itself: Smash Hits and Top of the Pops magazine pitched younger; CD:UK and America’s TRL aimed at Saturday-morning and after-school audiences; Simons Fuller and Cowell built empires. The scrappy Spice Girls preceded the cyborgian Britney, who was a far sleeker enterprise – until she wasn’t. She was pitched as a virgin: cruel branding that invited media prurience and set a time bomb counting down towards her inevitable downfall. Britney’s 2007 breakdown revealed the cost of living as a virtuous cypher and being expected to repress her womanhood to sell to American prudes. Her shaved head and aborted stints in rehab prompted industry handwringing, and so an illusion of the music business offering greater freedom and care for pop’s girls emerged in her wake. Advertisement Major labels abandoned the traditional two-albums-in bad-girl turn (a la Christina Aguilera’s Stripped). Social media-born artists such as Lily Allen and Kate Nash were swept into the system and framed as the gobby antithesis to their manicured pop peers – until their resistance to exactly the same kind of manipulation saw them cast aside. And if Kesha, Lady Gaga or Amy Winehouse burned out, their visible excesses would distract from any behind-the-scenes exploitation, inviting spectators to imagine that they brought it on themselves.📷 Reclaiming the hard-partying values of rock’s men ... Kesha. Photograph: PictureGroup / Rex FeaturesAt the dawn of the 2010s, social media surpassed its teen origins to become an adult concern, and an earnest fourth wave of activists brought feminism back to the mainstream. Like a rescued hatchling, it was in a

pathetic state to begin with – dominated by white voices that tediously wondered whether anything a woman did was automatically feminist. Is brushing your teeth with Jack Daniel’s feminist? Are meat dresses feminist? Is drunkenly stumbling through Camden feminist? Are butt implants feminist?Pop culture became the natural test site for these ideas – especially music, where a new wave of artists challenged this nascent, often misguided idealism. Kesha reclaimed the hard-partying values of rock’s men to embody a generation’s despair at seeing their futures obliterated by the recession. Lady Gaga questioned gender itself, as one writer in this paper put it, “re-queering a mainstream that had fallen back into heteronormative mundanity”. In a career-making verse on Kanye West’s Monster, Nicki Minaj annihilated her male peers and gloried in her sexualisation. MIA, infuriated by America’s hypocritical propriety, flipped off the Super Bowl and proved her point by incurring a $16.5m fine.📷 Infuriated by hypocritical propriety ... MIA gives America the middle finger during her Super Bowl performance in 2012. Photograph: Christopher Polk/Getty Images Advertisement As a former Disney star, Miley Cyrus stepped the furthest out of bounds. In 2008, aged 15, she had posed in a sheet for Vanity Fair. “MILEY’S SHAME,” screamed the New York Post. She apologised to her fans, “who I care so deeply about”. But in 2013, she torched her child-star image by writhing in her knickers on a wrecking ball, twerking against Robin Thicke, being flagrant about her drug use, appropriating African American culture while perpetuating racist stereotypes.Cyrus’s 2013 transformation bore the hallmarks of a breakdown – especially witnessed two years after the death of Amy Winehouse, who was then perceived as a victim of her own self-destruction. But Cyrus was largely intentional about her work (if, then, ignorant of her racism). She had waited until she was no longer employed by Disney to express herself. Earlier in her career, she said, she struggled to watch her peers. “I was so jealous of what everyone else got to do, because I didn’t get to truly be myself yet.” Despite apparently smoking massive amounts of weed herself, she didn’t want to tell kids to copy her. But she knew the power she offered her peers such as Ariana Grande, who that year left Nickelodeon to release her debut album. “I’m like, ‘Walk out with me right now and get this picture, and this will be the best thing that happens to you, because just you associating with me makes you a little less sweet.’”Pop did get a little less sweet. Sia and Tove Lo sang brazenly about using drugs to mask pain. Icona Pop’s I Love It reigned (“I crashed my car into a bridge / I watched and let it burn”) thanks to its inclusion on the soundtrack of Lena Dunham’s Girls. With its aimless characters and their ugly behaviour, the show mirrored pop’s retreat from aspirational sheen, and the culture’s growing obsession with “messy” women and “strong female characters”: flawed attempts to create new archetypes that rejected the expectation of girls behaving nicely.📷 An explicit rejection of role-model status ... Beyoncé performs at the Super Bowl in 2013. Photograph: Ezra Shaw/Getty ImagesA new cohort of young female and non-binary critics shifted the discussion around music: in 2015, when the documentary Amy was released, they questioned how Winehouse was perceived in death compared to Kurt Cobain. They also pushed aside the virgin/whore rivalries of old. In an earlier era, Beyoncé and Lana Del Rey might have been fashioned into nemeses, one sexualised and powerful, the other gothic and demure. Instead, their respective mid-decade self-mythologising showed that female musicians could be pop’s auteurs, not just the men in the wings. Advertisement Beyoncé’s self-titled 2013 album was an explicit rejection of her role-model status. She was 15 when Destiny’s Child released their debut album. “But now I’m in my 30s and those children that grew up listening to me have grown up,” she said in a behind-the-scenes video.

The responsibility she felt to them “stifled” her. “I felt like ... I could not express everything … I feel like I’ve earned the right to be me and express any and every side of myself.”It was the first of her albums to reveal the breadth of her inner life – the coexisting kinks, triumphs and insecurities, showing the complexity of black womanhood. The critic Soraya Nadia McDonald wrote: “Mixed in with songs about insecurity, grief, protest and the love she has for her child, Beyoncé manages to present her sexuality as a normal part of her life that deserves celebration.” “It doesn’t make you a bad mother. It doesn’t make black people look bad, and it doesn’t make you a bad feminist, either.” When Beyoncé emblazoned “FEMINIST” on stage at the 2014 MTV VMAs, she helped reclaim the word from middle-class white discourse.Like Beyoncé, Del Rey countered the idea that female pop stars were major-label puppets. She had struggled to make it as an indie artist but found a home at Polydor – a detail that caused detractors to question her authenticity. Her shaky debut SNL performance revealed the flaw in their thinking: if she was manufactured, wouldn’t she have been better drilled? Her project was potent, but startlingly unrefined. More intriguingly, she opposed fast-calcifying ideas about how feminist art should look: Del Rey’s lyrics revelled in submission and violence, in thrall to bad guys and glamour. It wasn’t feminist to want these things; but nor was it feminist to insist on the suppression of desire in the name of shiny empowerment.📷 Exposing industry machinations ... Azealia Banks at the Reading festival in 2013. Photograph: Simone Joyner/Getty Images Advertisement Del Rey’s lusts and designs were her own – pure female gaze – a hallmark of the defiant female pop stars to come. Rihanna said she was “completely not” a role model, a point driven home by the viscerally violent video for Bitch Better Have My Money. Lauren Mayberry of Scottish trio Chvrches refused to be singled out from her male bandmates and wrote searingly about the misogyny she faced online. Janelle Monáe and Solange rubbished the idea that R&B was the only lane open to young black women.They started revealing their business conflicts. In 2013, 21-year-old Sky Ferreira finally released her debut, six years after signing a $1m record deal. She was transparent about her paradoxical treatment: “They worked me to death, but when I wanted to input anything, it was like, ‘You’re a child, you don’t know what you’re talking about.’” When Capitol pulled funding for the album, she financed its completion: it was widely named an album of the year. Facing similar frustrations, rapper Angel Haze leaked her 2013 album, Dirty Gold, and Azealia Banks wasted no opportunity to expose industry machinations.The rise of Tumblr and SoundCloud put young artists in control of their own artistic identities, forging authentic fan relationships that labels couldn’t afford to mess with. Lorde was signed age 12, but her manager knew he had to follow her lead because she knew her audience better than he did. Halsey was already Tumblr-famous for her covers, hair colours and candour about her bisexuality and bipolar diagnosis when she posted her first original song in 2014. It received so much attention that the 19-year-old – who described herself as an “inconvenient woman” for everything she represented – signed to major label Astralwerks the following evening.A new type of fan arrived with them. The illusion of intimacy led to greater emotional investment – and with it, an expectation of accountability. Social media was being used to arbitrate social justice issues, giving long overdue platforms to marginalised voices, and establishing far more complex moral standards for pop stars than the executives who shilled Britney’s virginity could ever have imagined. In 2013, Your Fav Is Problematic began to highlight stars’ missteps: among Halsey’s 11 infractions were “sexualising Japanese culture” and allegedly falsifying her story about being “homeless”.Musicians, particularly of an

older guard, were unprepared. Lily Allen’s comeback single Hard Out Here, released in late 2013, satirised the impossible aesthetic standards expected of female musicians – a bold message undermined by the racist stereotypes she invoked to make her point: “Don’t need to shake my arse for you ’cause I’ve got a brain,” she sang, while black and Asian leotard-clad dancers twerked around her in the video. The backlash was swift. There was the sense of a balance tipping.📷 Refused to let terrorists suppress girls’ joy ... Ariana Grande at One Love Manchester, 4 June 2017. Photograph: Kevin Mazur/One Love Manchester/Getty Images Advertisement Over the decade, female pop stars steadily self-determined beyond the old limited archetypes. But the most dramatic identity shifts were still a product of adversity, women battling for control.In 2015, Ariana Grande provoked mild outcry when she got caught licking a doughnut she hadn’t paid for and declaring: “I hate America.” Two years later, a suicide bomber attacked her concert at Manchester Arena, leaving 22 dead. She went home to Florida in the aftermath, then returned to stage benefit concert One Love Manchester. A victim’s mother asked Grande to perform her raunchiest hits after the Daily Mail implied that the bomber had targeted the concert because of her sexualised aesthetic. So she did. By prioritising her mental health and refusing to let terrorists suppress girls’ joy and sexuality, she set a powerful example for fans that ran counter to the moralising of commentators such as Piers Morgan.Grande appeared to emerge from this tragedy – and the death of ex-boyfriend Mac Miller – with a renewed sense of what was important, and what really was not. Her next album, Sweetener, defiantly reclaimed happiness from trauma; she swiftly released another, Thank U, Next, abandoning traditional pop release patterns to work with a rapper’s spontaneity. “I just want to fucking talk to my fans and sing and write music and drop it the way these boys do,” she said.Kesha had helped instigate this decade of greater freedom for female musicians – or so it seemed until October 2014, when she sued producer Dr Luke, making allegations including sexual assault. (In spring 2016, a judge dismissed the case; Luke denies all allegations and is suing Kesha for defamation.) She claimed she was told she had to be “fun”, an image that Luke’s label intended to capitalise on, revealing how revelry could be just as confining as its prim counterpart. In 2017, she released Rainbow, her first album in five years. Addressing her trauma, it got the best reviews of her career – a response that also seemed to reveal something about the most digestible way for a female artist to exist. But her forthcoming album, High Road, pointedly returns to the recklessness of her first two records. “I don’t feel as if I’m beholden to be a tragedy just because I’ve gone through something that was tragic,” she said.Taylor Swift’s refusal to endorse a candidate in the 2016 election, and the fallout from a spat with Kanye West, saw her shred her image of nice-girl relatability with her 2017 heel-turn, Reputation. But she rebelled more meaningfully when she leveraged her profile to expose the music industry, alerting the public to otherwise opaque matters of ownership and compensation. She joined independent labels in the fight to make Apple Music pay artists for the free trial period it offered consumers. Earlier this year, she despaired at her former label, Big Machine, being bought – and the master recordings to her first six albums with it – by nemesis Scooter Braun, an option she claimed she was denied. Now signed to Universal, and the owner of her masters going forward, she hoped young musicians might learn from her “about how to better protect themselves in a negotiation”, she wrote. “You deserve to own the art you make.” Advertisement Swift’s formative politesse came from country music, an industry that emphasises deference to power and traditional gender roles. In 2015, consultant Keith Hill – using a bizarre metaphor about

salad – admitted that radio sidelined female musicians: they were then subject to endless questions about tomatogate, as if they had the power to fix it. But that blatant industry disregard freed female country artists to shuck off obligation and make whatever music they wanted. In recent years, Miranda Lambert, Ashley McBryde, Brandy Clark, Kacey Musgraves, Ashley Monroe, Maren Morris, Brandi Carlile and Margo Price have all creatively outstripped their male peers.📷 ‘Just me existing is revolutionary’ ... Lizzo. Photograph: Owen Sweeney/Invision/APTheir situation resonates beyond country: greater personal freedoms for female musicians haven’t equated to greater commercial success. Just because a wave of female pop acts have refused old industry ideals, that doesn’t mean control is consigned to the past. There will be young women enduring coercive music industry situations right now – whether manipulation or more serious abuse. Some may never meet those impossible standards, and fail to launch. Others may quietly endure years of repression before potentially finding their voice. There are high-profile female pop acts working today who control their work yet are still subject to grinding suggestions that they change to meet market demands, and noisy women from this decade who have been sidelined. The tropes of the self-actualised female pop star are so established that labels know how to reverse engineer “real” pop girls beholden to a script.But the emergence of a more holistic female star will make it harder for labels to shill substitutes. Their emotional openness has destroyed the stigma around mental health that was used to diminish female musicians as “mad” divas. Charli XCX said she would never have betrayed her vulnerabilities when she was starting out in her teens. “If I’m emotionally vulnerable,” she thought, “people won’t take me seriously … Now I just don’t care.” Robyn spent eight years following up her most successful record because she needed time to grieve and unpick the impact of her own teen stardom. Britney – who in 1999 told Rolling Stone, “I have no feelings at all” – this year cancelled her Las Vegas residency to prioritise her mental health. 📷 More to the floor: the decade the dancefloor was decolonised Read more Advertisement They’ve relentlessly countered the male gaze. Chris refused to simplify queerness for the mainstream; Kim Petras stood for “trans joy”; Rihanna challenged the idea of skinny as aspirational by creating inclusive fashion lines and candidly discussing her own shape. “Just me existing is revolutionary”, Lizzo has said, while Cardi B refused to let anyone use her past as a stripper undermine her legitimacy as a powerful political voice.Where unthinking messiness was valorised at the start of the decade, now imperfection only gets a pass as long as nobody else is getting hurt. This summer, Miley, now 26, apologised for the racial insensitivity of her Wrecking Ball era. Soon after, she posted striking tweets in response to rumours of her cheating on her husband. She admitted to having been hedonistic and unprofessional in her youth. But she swore she hadn’t cheated in her marriage. “I’ve grown up in front of you, but the bottom line is, I HAVE GROWN UP,” she wrote. (To a degree – not long after, she found herself called out again when she implied that queerness is a choice.)In their fallibility and resistance to commodification, the women who have defined this decade in pop look a lot more like role models than the corporate innocents sold to girls in the early millennium. They’re still learning, working with what they’ve got rather than submitting to what they’re told. “I don’t know what it feels like not to be a teenager,” Billie Eilish said recently. “But kids know more than adults.” … as you’re joining us today from South Africa, we have a small favour to ask. Tens of millions have placed their trust in the Guardian’s high-impact journalism since we started publishing 200 years ago, turning to us in moments of crisis, uncertainty, solidarity and hope. More than 1.5

million readers, from 180 countries, have recently taken the step to support us financially – keeping us open to all, and fiercely independent.With no shareholders or billionaire owner, we can set our own agenda and provide trustworthy journalism that’s free from commercial and political influence, offering a counterweight to the spread of misinformation. When it’s never mattered more, we can investigate and challenge without fear or favour.Unlike many others, Guardian journalism is available for everyone to read, regardless of what they can afford to pay. We do this because we believe in information equality. Greater numbers of people can keep track of global events, understand their impact on people and communities, and become inspired to take meaningful action.We aim to offer readers a comprehensive, international perspective on critical events shaping our world – from the Black Lives Matter movement, to the new American administration, Brexit, and the world's slow emergence from a global pandemic. We are committed to upholding our reputation for urgent, powerful reporting on the climate emergency, and made the decision to reject advertising from fossil fuel companies, divest from the oil and gas industries, and set a course to achieve net zero emissions by 2030.

[thelastgreenpea]

I truly don't think Nicki/Nicki's team cares for Doja Cat. It's been proven in the ether that Nicki is volatile in the light of comparison. She fed into it hard with Lil Kim, then it consumed her with Cardi B. Then she had to rebrand to a heavier hitter rather than the cute, underestimated feature on every record.

Around the time that Doja's team probably asked about her verse on the Say So remix, she was just pulling out of the Chun Li phase. I remember those two songs dropping and everyone was really conflicted. Chun Li was a "Reputation" move but was slapped down for cultural appropriation, and Barbie Tingz wasn't mindblowing enough to save it. Her feature on "the light is coming" felt like pandering and I don't know who the hell advised her to collab with Katy Perry.

During a music hiatus, it seemed her team successfully pivoted the spotlight onto her personality. Queen Radio clips are all over tiktok and she's been slated more as a tastemaker than a competing act in the sphere, though I'm sure that's not where they wanted her to stay.

Doja does the impossible and gains a career started by a viral joke. There was no reason for anyone to take her seriously, yet enough people paid attention to her talent and creativity that she got a leg up. Not to mention hooked onto a team that knew how well a song like Say So would do with Gen Z.

This makes jumping on the remix a flawless move for Nicki's brand. It was released at a time to elect barbs to campaign for #1 against the Savage remix, yet it was a terrible remix.

I don't know how anyone could look past the blatant mismatch between verses. Not only were the two never in the same room for this record, I seriously wonder if Nicki really even consulted the song before laying down a verse. It truly sounds homegrown, like garageband/logic homegrown. It's obviously not held nearly in the same regard as the Savage remix.

The lukewarm reception of that track which, unless there's something Doja's team did to make it turn out so shitty, would be entirely on Nicki herself for producing a lukewarm verse scotch-taped to the top. Though this may be the inciting incident.

Or there was bad blood beforehand, which in turn made the feature as bad as it is. The move may have been forced onto Nicki and she gave less than half a tit to appease.

Ending in, it's no surprise to me that she turned down "Get Into It (yuh)". Nicki's public reasons being they talked between their teams which apparently is a no-no, and that she checked out the song and didn't find a place for her in it. A song that literally sings her praises.

(also Nicki referenced her feature with Bia in contrast, an act wayy lower in the social hierarchy, which I see as another dig)

What's sad is that I think Doja wrote that track to make peace with Nicki, to solidify that despite the industry, she was a major influence for her. Not to mention using her secret "Say So" sauce to make sure the track went viral.

Yet either due to a threat in her market share or bad management, Nicki didn't accept the olive branch. Sucks.

[your-dietician]

GOP Sees Inflation as New Weapon to Bludgeon Biden, Democrats | The Report

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/economy/gop-sees-inflation-as-new-weapon-to-bludgeon-biden-democrats-the-report/

GOP Sees Inflation as New Weapon to Bludgeon Biden, Democrats | The Report

The Republican Party may have found an issue with which to clobber Democrats as it gears up for what is likely to be a very close midterm election cycle: inflation.

The message was delivered loud and clear Tuesday in House Republican Whip Steve Scalise’s opening statement before the House Select Subcommittee on the Coronavirus, where Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell was testifying.

“The Biden inflation agenda of too much money chasing too few goods is causing major harm to hard-working American families,” ranking member Scalise said after running down a laundry list of pet peeves that included the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan passed in March that included $300-a-week enhanced unemployment benefits, and another $4 trillion in proposed spending on infrastructure, child care, education and family-oriented programs.

Scalise ran down a list of common items that have risen sharply in price over the past year or so, with a chart on an easel behind him showing milk up 5%, bacon up 13%, gas up 56%, used cars up 30% and transportation up 16%.

Some of those comparisons may be exaggerated because of the time frame over which they are calculated. Take gas, which in 2020 hit its lowest average price just below $2 as people stayed home during the pandemic. If the price is measured from March, 2020 when the coronavirus was first deemed a pandemic, the increase is a little more than 21%. But that largely gets lost in the conversation, especially when the purpose is to make a political point.

Referring to the consumer price index showing inflation running at a 5% annual rate in May, Scalise asked Powell, “Is 5% inflation acceptable to you?”

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Powell’s answer: “No, certainly not.”

“What is Scalise’s argument,” asks prominent Democratic strategist Simon Rosenberg, president, NDN and the New Policy Institute. “Is he saying we should have a slower economy and fewer jobs?”

Powell and many economists believe the spike in inflation is temporary, the result of year-over-year comparisons to a period when the coronavirus pandemic shut down the economy and prices plummeted for many items. The Fed has indicated it believes inflation will subside later this year, although its forecast for 2021 annual inflation is still well above its stated goal of 2%.

Prices for certain items have been distorted by global shipping conditions, which were thrown into disarray by the pandemic. As shippers reduced container capacity rather than lose money going to sea half empty, supply chains became congested, resulting in a shortage of critical parts like semiconductors. That led to a scarcity of new cars, which then drove up the price of used vehicles.

“Many Gen Xers and Baby Boomers remember the days of crazy inflation in the late 1970s and worry that that could happen again.”

But this is not really an economic argument. This is about politics and control of the House in 2022.

In May, the Republican Study Group sent a memo from its chairman, Rep. Jim Banks of Indiana, outlining the message to be delivered.

“Of course, they’re trying to spin the media and explain that it has nothing to do with their big-spending policies,” the memo, first reported by Axios, said. “Which we know is simply false. That’s why we need to tie inflation to the Biden economy.”

The Republican message is that the economy was roaring before the pandemic, with unemployment at historic lows, the stock market humming and that were it not for a virus that they blame on China, everything would be hunky dory.

Andrew Romeo, spokesman for the Republican State Leadership Committee, says that the GOP has a good message when it comes to the economy. He notes that 25 states, all with Republican governors, have either curtailed or plan to curtail the $300-a-week additional unemployment benefit. And recent data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics shows that 16 of the top 20 states that have recovered the most jobs lost during the pandemic, measured on a percentage basis, are red states.

“State Republican leaders have a really strong case as to how they are handling the economy,” Romeo says. “If you elect Democrats, they are going to pursue a tax and spending agenda that is hurting the American people.”

The message was on display this week in Virginia, where Republicans started running ads in state races that begin with the statement: “Here’s what we get with Democrats controlling Washington: rising inflation and higher taxes.”

Democratic strategist Rosenberg says Democrats need to combat the GOP messaging by reiterating how the American Rescue Plan and other moves by the Biden administration to speed up vaccinations have improved lives for average Americans and helped the economy recover and grow.

“We have to more consciously understand we are in a real economic debate with the Republicans,” Rosenberg says, “regardless of the merits of their arguments. We haven’t finished the job yet. We have to win this first-stage argument.”

By many measures, the economy is roaring: The nation’s gross domestic product rose at an annual rate of 6.4% in the first quarter and may surpass that this quarter, the stock market continues to be at record-high levels, the housing market is on fire and there are more than 9 million open jobs, although companies say it is difficult to hire workers.

“The first problem is that Jerome Powell was appointed chairman by Donald Trump,” says Scott Lilly, who spent three decades on Capitol Hill serving as staff director of the House Appropriations Committee, executive director of the House Democratic Study Group and executive director of the Joint Economic Committee. “Their complaint is more about monetary policy than fiscal policy.”

Lilly says the inflation of the moment is unlike that of the post-1970s and early 1980s, when former Fed Chairman Paul Volcker successfully broke the back of inflation with interest rates that reached 20% and led to a brutal recession and an unemployment rate that topped 10%.

In the years after that, production of goods ramped up in Europe and Asia, in particular, creating a global supply system that exists today – and was sharply disrupted by the pandemic. Continued tight money policies by Alan Greenspan, who served five terms as chairman, kept the Fed’s priorities more on fighting inflation than on employment. Indeed, toward the end of his term the nation saw the “jobless recovery.”

Like many economic observers, Lilly says the recent spike in inflation is more a result of the country coming out of a period of lockdown than it is underlying fundamentals.

“There’s no shortage of timber in the U.S. but there is a shortage of lumber because we shut the sawmills down,” he says. That shortage drove lumber prices to record levels in the past year, although they have recently subsided somewhat.

Powell, in contrast to Volcker and Greenspan, has placed a much greater emphasis on reaching maximum employment and addressing inequalities in the labor market that have resulted in higher rates of unemployment for minorities and lower-wage workers. At its essence, the debate over inflation is about how the pie is divided and who gets the larger slice.

“This is a policy opportunity for the unscrupulous who would try to exploit it,” Lilly says. “I do think people can be swayed.”

But there is no doubt consumers are seeing higher prices for many commonly purchased products and inflation has caught the eye of Americans, whether they work on Wall Street or shop on Main Street.

“I do think inflation is an issue that could resonate with voters,” says David Cohen, professor of political science at the University of Akron. “Many Gen Xers and Baby Boomers remember the days of crazy inflation in the late 1970s and worry that that could happen again.”

Cohen adds that while Americans are more optimistic about the economy and direction of the country than they have been, “There is an underlying concern that inflation could derail the economy, and the cost of everything from housing to food to automobiles could skyrocket. President Jimmy Carter was a victim of inflation and a sour economy in 1980, and a struggling economy is always a problem for an incumbent president and their party.”

A national Fox News poll, released Wednesday, found that inflation was the leading economic concern for voters, with 83% saying so, ahead of taxes and unemployment. The split among party affiliation was 88% among Republicans, but also an overwhelming majority of Democrats, at 80%. Overall, the poll of 1,001 voters found 51% approving of how Biden is handling the economy, with 47% disapproving.

The poll also found 53% saying the enhanced unemployment benefits were hurting the economy, a sharp difference from the 62% who said they felt they were a necessary lifeline during the pandemic.

“From a policy perspective, this is something voters care about,” Romeo says.

Other indicators of consumer concern have emerged recently. Economic sentiment fell for the fourth straight reading over the last two weeks in the latest HPS-CivicScience Economic Sentiment Index, falling 1.6 points to 46.3. While the index saw a new record for confidence in the job market, declines in confidence in making a major purchase and in the housing market outweighed the jobs index.

“Consumers find themselves in an economy featuring record high numbers of open jobs but also historically expensive homes and rising inflation fears,” according to the ESI release.

And consumer buying practices are shifting as people get back to their pre-pandemic lives, which further complicates the inflation picture. At TD Bank, which provides retailers and others with private-label credit cards, the rate of purchases of “pandemic darlings” like home fitness gear, furniture and the like have slowed, says Mike Rittler, head of retail card services. Now, the emphasis is on clothing, gasoline and restaurants, he says.

Rittler notes that credit has become much more available compared to a year ago, when the nation was facing massive unemployment.

“Customer liquidity is at an all-time high, there’s a lot of capacity to spend,” he says. “The spike (in inflation) may last a little bit longer than we hope, but I don’t think it’s anything systematic or long term.”

That’s not likely to matter to the GOP’s argument.

“If you look at just the two mandates of the Federal Reserve – maximum employment and stable prices – right now we don’t have either, ” Scalise told Powell, “and it’s because of policy decisions, policy decisions primarily by the Biden administration.”

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