#and this would be an Arab soap opera but

[thou-babbling-brook]

The events following the end of AC1 to Altaïr’s death in Revelations except it’s an overdramatic historical soap opera feat. slow motion scenes, dramatic music, zoom-ins, internal monologues, and so many fucking transitions

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 2005 - Number 42 - Aline Lahoud - "Quand tout s'enfuit"

This is a true one-off. Lebanon's only ever Eurovision song and it didn't even make it to the Eurovision stage. It was only two months away from participating when a fundamental contradiction between Lebanese law (which forbids acknowledgement of Israel) and the EBU's rules for Eurovision (which obliges broadcasters to show all competing entries including Israel) could not be resolved and Télé Liban were forced to pull out. Lebanon wants to take part - and one day I hope it will.

The unfortunate singer at the heart of this political situation was ألين لحود (Aline Lahoud). The broadcaster had selected her to be Lebanon's first ever Eurovision representative. She had won the international prize at Türkiye's Megahit-International Mediterranean singing competition, a contest between 15 Mediterranean countries, including Israel.

Perhaps most importantly, Aline is the daughter of سلوى القطريب (Salwa Al Katrib), beloved Lebanese singer and actress. Salwa was a woman who refused an offer to leave Lebanon for France to become a huge international singing star for the love of her home country, and who devoted the later part of her singing career to focusing on religious songs. Who better than the daughter of an icon devoted to her country to represent that country on such a huge international stage?

For Eurovision the song selected was Quand tout s'enfuit (When Everything Runs Away) which is a we'll-be-there-for-each-other-when-times-are-terrible love song. At it's heart, it's a grand French ballad albeit on with a few Arabic flourishes such as the plaintive violin part at the bridge. It this had made it to Eurovision in 2005, it would have stood out. The other two big ballads (including, ironically, Israel) finished second and fourth. I can't help feeling this would have done very well.

But it was not to be. Aline didn't let it put her off and since 2005 has combined a career singing and performing all around the world with starring in several (ten in fact) Arabic language soap operas. She has also presented on TV, mostly in Dubai. She did enter the French version of the The Voice in 2014 but unfortunately was eliminated at an early stage, despite being picked by the judges.

I hope that one day Lebanon returns. Eurovision is far richer when the range of music on display is wider and drawn from as many cultures as possible. Lebanese, and Arabic culture more generally, deserves to be included.

[backtonormallife]

It would be nice if these articles about Arabs not giving people shelter would mention Jews being forcably evicted from Arab land. How many Jews live in Arab countries? How many Arab-Israelis are there?

It's very interesting to see people's antisemitism showing.

Unfollowing people (ie, Best Soap Opera). Much as we share an interest in royal related news, I can't take your antisemitism anymore.

[viciouslyfilthy]

Character Info Sheet

Name: Rotgut

Name meaning: literally just means putrified intestines. Shocker I know /j

Alias(es)/nicknames: La Tripa Podrida (basically his name's meaning but in spanish), Gut, Lust, the roach, little old man, The Thing below Barcelona (by spanish news articles), the cockroach man 'el hombre cucaracha' (by spanish news articles again).

Etchnicity: arab, european hispanic (Iberian Peninsula).

One picture you like best of your character:

Sorry y'all I'm gonna have to break the rules here because I can't just choose ONE picture I like best😔 here we go:

[First (1) image of Rotgut smiling mischievously is not the mun's art; it is a part of an art trade with the artist @crazy-eyed-doggo on Instagram ; second (2) image of Rotgut has been drawn in an exaggerated cartoonish style to re-imagine what the character would look like if he were a villain in shows like Powerpuff Girls/Billy&Mandy ; third (3) image of Rotgut is directly referencing this meme video. Translation: "and in return, you sign your ass, over to me." ; fourth (4) is a video of Rotgut introducing himself, with two drawings put together featuring his voiceclaim.]

Three h/cs you've never told anyone:

Rotgut enjoys crossdressing! He's curious to experiment with his own gender sometimes, either that or he just wants to feel pretty in a different look. (It's one of those rare cases where he will shower and clean himself up NOT because he's expecting to get laid lol)

Rotgut has collected a good amount of objects and trinkets during his 800 years of life. From old coins that you'd find displayed in a museum today; to ancient books (diaries or bibles), jewelry and clothes.

Sometimes he will go on for so long being unclean (we're talking decades) that actual fungi will start to grow on his body/clothes, specifically stinkhorn mushrooms.

Three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Sex and reading porn aside (to the surprise of absolutely nobody) Gut enjoys watching soap operas and reading classic tragic romance books. (William Shakespeare would be his favourite author in this case)

Playing with marbles. Always brings a bag with him if he's going on a trip!!

Try new recipes while cooking. He likes to expand/improve his cuisine. Sometimes asks Cornelius for guidance or tips.

Eight people your character likes/loves:

His kids, all 30 of them but for the sake of this dash game we will assume that counts as one <3

Himself ofc.

August. (his plague bestie!!)

Edgar the Bug (Men in Black)

Jeremiah.

Taryn.

Cornelius/Versy.

Captain Josep Frascona.

Two things your character regrets:

(During moments of self-awareness) he regrets the person he's become now. He knows his behaviour is unlikeable and indecent, because of this ofc most everyone around him hates him or is scared of him- which leads him to not being able to bring his kids out in public (or alternatively, he gives them a bad reputation when they become adults because of who they're related to) because he's scared they might get hurt as a result of people who hate him; he knows it's his fault for this outcome, but he hates everyone around him (that aren't his children) and just refuses to let go. He resents humanity for how much he has been pushed around, mocked and hurt physically in the past for just existing. He doesn't think anyone is worthy of recieving genuine kindness because deep down they're all just as disgusting as he is. This leads to ego and self-importance that makes him feel superior to others because he's not scared of showing just how revolting one can be + he's not human anymore + he's immortal + he can control/speak to hoards of cockroaches.

He also regrets having placed his distaste for humanity so high he's passed it down on his first generation of children. For the most part, this has caused a few of his children to distance themselves from him, like for example Judith and Kolvenik, which hurt him deeply. Kolvenik flat out blames his father and his hatred for humanity as to why he's developed his genetic disorder that has caused him to permanently shed off his human disguise as he got older (which is completely incorrect just to clarify; how Rotgut feels towards mankind has nothing to do with Kolvenik's genetic issue, he just hates and resents his father mostly as a form of projecting his own self-hatred living as a humanoid bug monster that can't have a human form).

Rotgut tries to better himself non-stop when it comes to raising his newest kids, because he wants to see them be happy and make friends and connections, be likeable and be liked by others regardless of what species they are, unlike him. This makes him a bit hypocritical since when he's on his own, he openly goes back to his old ways & antics- with his kids however he just kind of puts on a mask.

Two phobias your character has:

Philophobia -> fear of genuinely falling in love.

Athazagoraphobia -> fear of being forgotten by loved ones/forgetting someone important to him.

Tagged by: @frostcorpsclub

Tagging: ALLLLLL of you👈🤨

[am--f]

The world is like this. New objects proliferate like flora. Environments get printed out. Hybrid forms bloom. Backgrounds are rendered, divided into sections, transferred.

The world is like this. It is cut on the floor, it is patterned across the slope. It comes in various resolutions. There are compression artifacts, blocky forms of blur that confuse discreteness with continuity. They are metabolic, spreading like organisms. There is something molten about a digital file just as there is something molten about a jelly-fish or a fragment of lace or a seashore or a plastic bottle of detergent. Everything depends upon the scale.

Moiré means “watered silk,” 1650s, from the French moire (17c.), or mohair. Mohair is from the 1610s, earlier mocayre, 1560s, fine hair of the Angora goat, also a fabric made from this, from French mocayart (16c.), Italian mocaiarro, both from Arabic mukhayyar or cloth made from goat hair, literally “selected, choice,” from mu-, noun prefix, + khayar “choosing, preferring.”

A moiré is an optical effect created by the superimposition of one transparent pattern onto another pattern. The patterns are nearly the same, but with a difference. It usually has something to do with screens, with the interference patterns that emerge from screens or screening operations. Maybe one screen is a textile, and another is made of diodes. A third screen produces blurry clusters of ink. The effect is always more or less the same: watery, rippling wavelike over the surface. It’s not quite right to say surface, because you are somewhere in between the surface and the depths. In fact, you choose neither, prefer neither. Enchanted where wave-lengths cut you. A certain liquidity emerges here, a function of two different registers, two different levels, neither selected. A liquid has hard edges. You are cut apart by wave-break upon wave-break.

The world is like this. I draw a curtain across my window. Something like lace. Behind it, a screen. Behind it, a sea-garden. In it, flowers. Rose cut in rock. Border on border of scented pinks. Framework of the wing of a dove. I draw a strip of curtain across the too insistent greatness of the world without. I establish grids and coordinate points. I put a veil over the view.

H.D. writes about the clarity of screening out, of obscuring. The clarity of the veil. It’s a kind of liquid perception: a cap of consciousness over your head, affecting, a little, your eyes. It’s like water, transparent, fluid yet with definite body, contained in a definite space, like a closed sea plant, jelly-fish, or anemone. Enchanted where wave-lengths cut you. Optical apparatuses. One lens or two? Opera glass or jelly-fish or microscope? What is this clarity, these cuts, this piercing focus, this severity? These edges in a field of soft focus? A rose is a clear rose, a rose cut in rock, a hard rose, hard like hail. A flower is an attractor in whatever material. You are the world-edge. Your hand caught at this; the root snapped under your weight. Sand cuts your petal, furrows it with hard edge.

We are dealing with signal processing, with questions of interpolation and aliasing. What happens when you scan or sample a source and later try to reconstruct the source? What kinds of disorienting reversals, shifts in scale and motion, might take place?

H.D. writes about media of transmission and storage. If we had the right sort of brains, she says, we would receive definite messages from the figures we see, like dots and lines ticked off by one receiving station, received and translated into definite thought by another telegraphic center. Each bend of the arm, each draping garment, each whorl of hair, each angling of the chin, each tilt of the head: these are telegraphic centers, information sources hiding behind transmission stations. The fruit tree and the human body are both receiving stations. A soap dish is a receiving station. A meat hook is a receiving station. A plastic flower is a receiving station. The world is not made of things but of communication. This is why it can be decomposed and recomposed in code. We want receiving stations for dots and dashes.

The world is like this. Perhaps ordinary things never become quite unreal.

(Exhibition text for Sophronia Cook at Long Play Contemporary, Santa Monica, CA)

[irisvseyelash]

the stress is getting to me...

[roxineedstosleep]

So... Marc sayint that he and the system are triplets?

Then things happen, you know?

Everything's fine my life, until a little detail from the Moon Boys crosses my mind, just after my lunch break. And I almost choked on my orange juice at the thought of it.

How do they cover up each other's presence when they're in front of their acquaintances or other alters?

So, there we go with all this:

I guess Marc, he knew about Steven when he was quite young. Since Steven has memories of several years. And actually, he (Marc) was perfecting over time the whole thing of taking turns when he could keep more control and stuff. Which would explain why Steven thought he was sleepwalking and not being abducted and stuff. And Jake… well, we don't have the full picture yet, but Jake seems to handle himself pretty well within certain aspects, so we're guessing he was also out for a while and taking control.

So. The following happens, which is what brings me to this post.

Now that everything is revealed, and therefore, Steven, Jake and Marc know about each other, I imagine that to avoid problems for the others or to avoid causing weird situations they decide to lie about each other.

With: "Yeah, we're triplets, but... we were separated shot after birth"

Since the "original" is Marc, and partially followed by Steven (so far they don't say anything about Steven's identification documents, I don't know if Marc took care of them or something). Marc is the one who creates the story, Steven is the one who gives it a bit of sad background and Jake… fuck, Jake puts all the spice in the situation, throwing in as much drama and scandal as possible (Steven would think it's because he listens to the taxi customers, but no, Jake got all the drama from the soap operas he watches on the sly).

Then, Marc, with Layla's help, gets the word out in the USA and Egypt; because many of them surely saw Steven or Jake take control.

Then Steven, with a little help from JB and other colleagues at the museum, pass on the same story so that they think it was Marc who was behind the museum incident.

And Jake… Jake would tell it all to some taxi friends, who would also tell it to other taxi drivers and customers during their journeys. Basically, passing the whole fake story of the triplets around town.

"You know, apparently all this time our birth mother died giving birth to us, but because our father wasn't around they decided to give us up for adoption. Marc was adopted by a Jewish couple who couldn't have children and moved to the USA, Steven by a lovely British-Arab couple who worked in an antique shop and Jake was cared for by a lovely old lady and her son, who had just migrated to Latin America. And well, we never knew about each other, what with it being a closed adoption and all. If it wasn't for Marc having to do some work in London, and Jake migrating to the country to see his adoptive father's aunt…. We'd never have met! Life's a funny thing, isn't it?"

And so, as if nothing had happened, EVERYONE falls for the lie. And how each one excuses the lack of presence of the other due to their lives in other countries or their work, nobody really suspects that they are the same person.

I can even see Konshu, helping with the lie, so that they leave his avatars alone; and by the way he loves to confuse humans by generating visions or incorporeal doubles so that others don't suspect about his avatar lying.

[jaigny]

"Sweet Lilith - زهرة ضوء القمر الخاصة بي (My moonlight flower Arabic/Egyptian translated),- allow this morning sun to brighten your nights and days as well as your heart..."

Khepri Nubia - Onofria

Age :??? (Looks to be in her 20's) Ethnics: Ancient Egyptian/Al Simhara Pronouns: She/They/Them Sexual Orientation : Allosexual Traits: Hot Headed. Family Oriented, High Maintence

Khepri has lived a long life til she was chosen as heir and then sacrificed for being accused of a crime she did not commit by her father the Pharaoh and was taken to be a sacrificial lamb of sorts to gods they adored hoping to appeal with Khepri's pure soul as well as her unique beauty.

Something interstingly enough happened as her hearts were weighted as the gods were unsure of what to do with her til Apep/Apophis, Isis and Ra soon decided that they would send her back to earth but as a reborn goddess among mortals as her penance was for eternity as an appropriate consequence. She also became the very first vampric occult who could stand the morning sun.

When she came back her people obviously knowing and seeing her new status obeyed her whim and such, her parents certainly were indeed shocked days after they had put their daughter to rest in the Valley of The Dead. She did not slain them, her fiancé' who was a Egyptian man from a neighboring city was overjoyed but also cautious of her and the ones who accused her of crimes who were infact the guilty ones were indeed livid as their plans were now thorted to take over the city and combine their own with the stolen one. (Not the fiancé's family obviously)

Decades later as her family,lover and enemies are now nothing but dust, she has decided to emerge from one of her many salvation spots to look for love once more, though she has heard of a mysterious other occult that lives in a place called Forgotton Hallows. Quiet as history flew by ,- she was hiding in her many safe haven nooks though still managed to learn out the world and its glorious moderns treasures and languages that are now spoken.

Travelling the world as each year to decade always finding new things to learn whether by book or street smarts etc a skill that she was good with her hands and logic as well as socially. Despite all these new amazing things, she's always wished to be loved as she was before and as she is now. There were times with her various other ex lovers but sadly never many lasted for too long due to her eternal yet cursed youth. She has had many children during this time of course but the last of her line now extinguished 30 years ago has deemed it safe to return back to her home.

Though her home was modern and newish though their were indeed still great glimpses of an ancient world if you squinted hard enough especially the ruins of the once great temples of many kings, and she kept it rented out privately eventually adding renovations to fit the time ages e.g candlelight to solar electricity and water.

It was only 2 years that had passed when Khepri during a very unusual desert heatwave that plagued the city for the past week continuously decided to stay indoors for the sake of it deeming proper and also she didn't want to push her sun limits and burst into flames *sniggers* and thus lazed about with her pet dog Anubi and cat Basket short for Basketcase and watched tv waiting for her usual soap opera show when their was Lilith's bachelorette advertisement playing.

Tilting her head she blinked curious whether or not it was worth it to travel all the way to this Forgotten Hallows place and though she was extremely wealthy (possibly in the AUD/US billions of simoleons) she didn't want to upset her familial pets with the traveling and its consequences that it may traumatize them unless she really had too. So she made arrangements for a house sitter as well as a kind animal kennel that would hold them until she returned and signed her name up to the producer, keeping of course her vampire/goddess immortal ways a secret. and once more thankful though she could drink both blood and eat mortal food for sustenance.

Your welcome to edit her with your own game as l know not everyone uses the same eye presets etc but please make sure her eyes are the same if possible in the defaults you use. Also if you have any Egyptian cc whether it be maxis or alpha your free to add it to her outfits

Other then that l hope Lilith and yourself enjoy having her in your game @hauntedplasma

*Files*

Also please liking and reblogging is fine but please to others that isn't myself or hauntedplasma please ask permission if you want my sim in your game.

[qqueenofhades]

The photo set you reblogged of Yusuf and Niccolo helping throughout time just filled me with so many happy feels and it made me realize that it seems so common in media with immortal couples that they take breaks from each other and reconnect after a few decades. Which is a great trope but seeing these two that seems to have been attached at the hip since the day they met just fills me with all the heart eyes.

(I haven't read your fanfics for them yet. I know I'm a bad fan but if it helps I havent been able to read anything since all this started but while writing this ask I got the feeling that all this rambling I spewed out is a big theme)

Hush. Bad fan nothing. We all are coping with this stupid, awful year in different ways, some of us by escaping into fandom and some of us being unable to engage with it and some of us doing both or anything else. You certainly don’t owe me or anyone any obligation to interact with our content, fic or otherwise. So just to have that there on the top. You’re good, hun. :)

ANYWAY, thank you for giving me a chance to meta a bit on the boys and their relationship and to have a window into what my brain looks like pretty much 24/7 these days. (I blame them.) I keep thinking about all the ways this couple is depicted in the TOG film and how lovely it was and how unusual it is for me to have an OTP where I actually love them in canon and don’t need to violently disavow it in order to create AU fan content with just the characters. (See: Timeless, Game of Thrones, pretty much any show I’ve hyperfixated on at some point.) I love AUs anyway, because that’s the way my brain works, but the fact that I can also enjoy canon just as much is rare for me and for a lot of us. I saw a post somewhere remarking on how the fanfic for Joe/Nicky isn’t fixing anything, which is usually the point of transformative fanworks: we take something that canon atrociously fucked up and fix it. But in this case, all our interpretations are based on actually appreciating the way they’re presented in canon and wanting to enjoy that and uphold it, and that -- especially with a couple like this one -- is shocking??

Like. Despite my historian gripes about the occasionally incongruous details for their graphic-novel backstories (which are the only things I HAVE fixed in my fics), I’m just... deeply appreciative of the care which everyone, writers and actors and all else, put into depicting Joe and Nicky and their relationship. And god YES, one of the things I love the absolute MOST is that they’re a loving, faithful, committed, happy married queer couple over centuries, and that seems to be the case for as long as they’ve known each other/ever since they got together. (See Booker’s “you and Nicky always had each other.”) These fools can’t sleep apart from each other even when they’re stuck on a freight train in the middle of nowhere, they flirt like teenagers at dinnertime and even when they’re strapped to gurneys in a mad-scientist laboratory, they make out to enrage bad guys and also because they’re just still that goddamn into each other after all this time.

I think it was Marwan Kenzari who pointed out that there’s simply no way to truly state the depth of their knowledge and devotion and commitment to each other. They’re 950 years old. They have known each other since they were in their thirties; they’ve been husbands for literal centuries. There is no way anyone else in the world could possibly come close to replicating the kind of bond they have with each other, and neither of them have ever had any inclination to look, because why would they? Especially with the fact that queer couples in media, even otherwise sympathetically portrayed ones, often have Drama and Third Parties and Promiscuity and whatever else (because of the tiresome old canard that Gays Equal Hypersexualized!), and Joe and Nicky don’t need or want ANY of that. There’s no urge to make their relationship a cheap source of soap-opera conflict. It’s the rock and the center and the core of both of their lives, and everything they do stems from that.

There have been some great metas/comments on how neither Joe and Nicky are sexualized, they dress like stay-at-home dads during quarantine (Marwan Kenzari and Luca Marinelli are both objectively gorgeous men, and they’re out there looking like that, god bless), and the viewer is never invited to goggle at or fetishize their relationship. There are no leering or exploitative camera angles on anyone, and their expressions of love aren’t posed or intended to titillate the audience, they’re just solidly embodied and natural and lived in. It’s never bothered to be stated clunkily in dialogue that they’re a couple; we just see them exchanging looks and smiles in the early part of the film, and then we see them spooning on the train after the mission in Sudan, which confirms it.

At every turn, the narrative celebrates the kindness and love shared by the Immortal Family, the individual characters, and Joe and Nicky, especially and explicitly in queer form. The villains of the film are also defined by how they react negatively to that love. @viridianpanther​ had a great meta on how Keane as a villain is especially set up to menace Joe and Nicky as the narrative representation of toxic masculinity, aggressive heterosexuality, and the usual “Kill Your Gays” trope that we’ve all come to wearily expect. But instead, after that scene where Joe and Nicky fight Keane, Nicky is shot and comes back to life in Joe’s arms rather than dying permanently like we probably all momentarily expected, and then Joe gets to FUCKIN’ BREAK THE NECK of the guy who enacted that violence.... good GOD. The first time I watched it, I almost couldn’t believe it was happening. (This goes for the whole film, but especially that scene.) Like... when do we get that?? When do we EVER get that???

Obviously, there are so many stereotypes, whether visually or in behavior or character traits, that could have been assigned to a gay Italian character (excessively dramatic, effeminate, fashionable, etc) or a gay Arabic/Muslim character (explicitly announcing He’s Not Like Those Muslims, having to actively reject his heritage to make him more palatable to westerners, being tormented over being gay, etc) and Joe and Nicky subscribe to none of those. I get very emotional about Joe referring to Nicky as the moon when he is lost during the truck scene partly because it’s SUCH a common motif in Arabic love poetry. To call someone your “moon” is a beautiful way to say they’re the light of your life, and since the Islamic calendar is obviously lunar and the holidays, months, and observances, are set by the phases of the moon, this also has a deeper religious significance.

I don’t know for sure if they did that on purpose, but it it’s a lovely and subtle way of showing us how Joe clearly doesn’t have an issue with being both queer AND Muslim, and is able to draw on both facets of that identity in a way that a lesser narrative would have denied him. And that is just really wonderful. Yes, we’re seeing these characters when they’ve had centuries to settle into themselves, but there are plenty of writers who would have forced those conflicts artificially to the surface, rather than letting them be long in the past. It’s the same way when you watch a film set in the medieval era, it wants you to know that it Is Set In The Medieval Era. Cue the filth, misogyny, racism, violence, etc! Rather than it being a lived-in reality, it has to be jarringly drawn attention to, and I’m just so glad they didn’t do that with Joe and Nicky. And for them to have met in the crusades and fallen in love??! Come on. That’s just rude. Rude to me, personally.

Anyway, this was a rather long-winded and feelsy way of saying that these characters are constructed, acted, and written organically in such a way that you hate to even THINK of them being separated, and it’s not because they can’t function without each other, but because they are two halves of a whole. We also see that the characters themselves can’t stand being forced apart: Joe’s freakout in the truck scene when Nicky briefly won’t wake up, Nicky making sure to tell Joe that he’s glad he’s awake in the lab, the whole post-Keane fight scene that I talked about above, the way Nicky fights ferociously to get to Joe when Merrick’s stabbing him, etc. For that to be given to the queer couple, where the strength of their love and devotion is reinforced as one of the emotional goals of the story, and for that queer couple to be written in the way that Joe and Nicky are, both individually and as a unit, is just so very rare.

Because yes, there’s plenty of drama and angst and pain in their lives, but there’s none at all in their relationship, and that’s what fans keep telling TV writers the whole time: they WANT to see the couple confront things as a unit, rather than being kept on tenterhooks the whole time and forced to go through manufactured or artificial drama. It would feel especially wrong for Joe and Nicky, who have known and loved each other for 900 years. The fact that their respective actors also put so much care and love into them is very obvious, and makes me feel even luckier that they’re played by people who clearly get them and honor them and know what they’re doing.

Basically: of course Joe and Nicky have been with each other the whole time, and of course we’re all drowning in feelings over it, and I feel very blessed that this ship exists, and I very much need the sequel ASAP. Thanks.

[crygimethydgoode]

Lover’s Fantasia Chapter 1 (Crystal Methyd x Gigi Goode RPDR12) Cruel Summer

no rules in breakable heaven 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32286397/chapters/80027176

June 28th, 2021

Amsterdam

It was a fresh start. And it was exactly what Gigi needed after finally starting to feel like herself, finally seeing the sun without her smile. It was a new city bustling with new people and new experiences. It was perfect timing too. Soon after Biden was sworn into office, vaccines were being rolled out. By spring Gigi was fully vaccinated, she could finally go out with her friends and feel the sun beating down on her skin. Her best friend had just won Drag Race, and in late May they celebrated with a trip to Mexico. Gigi was performing again, living again. She breathed in the fresh air that was once masked with a piece of cloth. Everything was finally going back to normal.

Well, almost everything.

Because some days Gigi still went to Venice Beach to sit alone for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the almost nostalgic feeling. Allowing herself to feel that ache in her chest she had fought so hard to push down the past year. But she knew that feeling wouldn’t last, so she’d leave, telling herself it was for the best. Then the sun blinded Gigi through her curtains early one morning when she got a call from Jaida Essence Hall and Michelle Visage offering her a gig for the summer in Amsterdam. And Gigi couldn’t help but hope. It was Hunter who ultimately convinced her to go.

“It’ll be good for you,” he said. “It’s new. It’s nothing she’s… touched.” And Hunter was right, so that night they booked a ticket to Amsterdam. Gigi was excited, she really was. What could be better than spending nearly three months with Jaida and Michelle while they prepared for the iconic Amsterdam Pride? It was the perfect opportunity.

So why did Gigi’s chest ache as she made her way through customs? She decided to ignore it, which was something she had gotten used to doing. The Schiphol airport was much different than LAX. It didn’t have the same white interior and harsh lights that always caught Gigi in her worst moments, no, this airport was different. It was modern, but not artificial. With plenty of art, places to sit, and excitement. It was enough to make her nerves settle.

Gigi’s eyes scanned the horizon through the large windows, and if she squinted she swore she could see Amsterdam, her home for the next few months. She saw The Man in the Clock and quickly took a picture, captioning it “surprise!” before sending it to her story. She decided to keep Amsterdam a secret from the fans, mostly because she couldn’t promise that when the day came, she would be able to get on the plane.

“Don’t be dumb,” Symone said to Gigi as they walked into the airport, Hunter trailing behind. “This is a good thing, Gigi, you’re gonna realize it as soon as that plane takes off.”

So Gigi boarded the plane, not wanting the last time she saw Symone for a while to end in a fight. And she made it to Amsterdam, but now she wasn’t exactly sure what to do from here. She decided going to baggage claim would probably be a good start.

As Gigi walked to the baggage claim, she decided that Symone was right, and this really was the best thing for her. It had to be. She stood waiting for her suitcase when a flash of color caught her eye. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, hoping her eyes were just playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sometimes she’d see a head of curls on the street and her heart would skip a beat, and the sensible part of Gigi’s mind would remind her that they were worlds away.

Gigi assumed it was just her wishful thinking and continued to look for her suitcase and waited for the tightness in her chest to go away. But then the flash of color Gigi had seen came into full view. A hot pink suitcase covered in various stickers with a leopard print scarf tied around the handle. Suddenly her heart shot up from the bottom of her stomach into her throat. Gigi blinked a few times, trying to wake herself up from this nightmare. ‘It couldn’t be,’ Gigi thought. ‘There’s no fucking way.’

“Excuse me, pardon me,” a small nasally voice said. ‘No. Nope. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening. Fuck this. It’s not her, it couldn’t be.’

“Excuse me, thank you- Gigi?”

Fuck. Gigi took a deep breath and grabbed the pink suitcase, as well as her own. She turned around.

“Hi,” Gigi said.

“Hello?”

Summer 2019

Drag Race

Gigi paced around her hotel room, deep in thought. It was her first day off after the first challenge. Gigi had been stuck in her room all day, just expected to sit around and do nothing. Just expected to ignore the longing in her chest for her friends back home. Hunter, Symone, Rosy, Marko, who were just a short car ride away, technically. But Gigi was locked in her hotel room, being told to enjoy some time off. In solitary confinement. What a way to celebrate the fact she had just nearly won her first challenge of Drag Race, placing in the top two of the very first challenge. Gigi was on cloud nine, relieved that she made a good first impression.

And that the judges liked all the helmets.  

But Gigi was so lonely, all she could do was lay in bed and watch weird daytime television. She tried to watch the shitty soap operas but they were just so boring and corny, she couldn’t stomach them. She didn’t have anything to work on, anything to read, nothing. She even attempted to work out, jogging around the tiny hotel room. That lasted for thirty seconds.

Gigi knew the obvious solution. One of the first things she had noticed in her hotel room was the conjoined door, which led right into Crystal’s room. Crystal Methyd. Probably the weirdest person Gigi had ever met. Not just because of her crazy bright drag, clown makeup, and outrageous but perfect amount of jewelry. No, she was shocked by how drawn she was to Crystal. She really was unlike anyone Gigi had ever met.

When Jackie asked Crystal if she was a fashion queen or a comedy queen, and Crystal just responded with “Fashion queen, comedy queen, I’m a TALENTED queen,” Gigi was completely fascinated by her. And then she actually got to talk to Crystal and get to know her a little bit, and Gigi knew in a heartbeat that Crystal was special. She was bright, sociable, and funny. But also really quiet, drawn into herself. Gigi couldn’t quite decide what it was, but Crystal had something the other girls didn’t. She needed to be her friend. So Gigi came up with a game plan.

She obviously couldn’t just knock and say she was bored like a loser. What if Crystal didn’t want to be bothered? What if Crystal hated her already? No. Gigi had a feeling Crystal just wasn’t that kind of person. Maybe she could ask to borrow sewing supplies, saying that she wanted to polish up one of her runway looks. And then she would just... charm Crystal into having a conversation with her? That could work. It’s not like Gigi had many options.

So she walked to the door that went into Crystal’s room. “Go before you’re ready bitch,” Gigi said to herself. She took a deep breath, raised her fist to the door, and before her screaming mind and pounding heart could stop her, she knocked. She could hear rustling coming from Crystal’s room, probably her crawling out of bed.

‘Do you have a big sewing needle? Do you have a big sewing needle? Do you have a big sewing needle?’ Gigi said over and over in her head. And then, before she was ready, the door swung open, and there she was. Crystal Methyd. Gigi’s breath caught in her throat and she prayed Crystal didn’t notice.

Crystal’s mullet had been put into two messy space buns on top of her head, little tendrils of curls framing her face. Gigi could tell that Crystal had hastily shoved her glasses on; they were lopsided, slowly slipping off her nose. There was only one word to describe the person who was standing in front of Gigi, being engulfed in an oversized One Direction concert T-shirt. Adorable. Her game plan flew out the window, and she was left there, speechless, looking like an idiot. What did she want again?

“Hi,” Gigi blurted lamely. Crystal’s face split into a grin, and Gigi could tell she was trying not to laugh.

“Hello?” Crystal asked in her sweet voice. Maybe it was her soft appearance. Maybe it was the fact that Gigi was too bored to care. Or maybe it was Crystal’s kind smile and bright eyes that made Gigi immediately relax. This was just Crystal. The same dork who had a One Direction tattoo on their chest in Arabic. She’s just... Crystal.

“I’m so fucking bored,” Gigi sighed, letting herself smile.

“Oh my GOD, me too! I thought about knocking on your door but I didn’t wanna bother you. Do you wanna come in?” Crystal offered, stepping to the side. Oh. That’s it? That’s all it took?

“Yeah,” Gigi grinned and stepped into Crystal’s room. Gigi’s heart was still pounding, her stomach still felt like it was in her throat. And there was Crystal, already climbing back into the bed, beckoning Gigi to join her. It felt like… it felt like Gigi was truly seeing Crystal for the first time. And her heart was still pounding. It felt good.

Amsterdam

Gigi had imagined what it would be like to see Crystal again for the first time, she had thought of scenario after scenario. Maybe she would enter the Werkroom for All Stars and there Crystal would be standing, a bright grin on her face. Or maybe one day they would be randomly booked for the same gig and they’d bump into each other backstage. Gigi also had wondered what it would feel like to see her again. She expected it to feel like a punch in the gut, or maybe like she was drowning, gasping for air while trying to find the right words to say. But as Gigi stood in the middle of the Schipol Airport looking into Crystal’s brown eyes, the only thing she found crashing over herself was a wave of relief. Crystal was still... Crystal. For some reason, Gigi assumed Crystal would be different, or maybe Gigi assumed she would feel different. But she stood there and felt as the familiar fire began to burn in her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Crystal asked, a slur of emotions ridden on her face.

“I-”

“Oh good, you found each other!” Jaida’s voice called out. Gigi and Crystal’s heads both whipped to see Jaida and Michelle Visage.

“Welcome to Amsterdam bitches, it’s about to be the best summer ever!!!” Michelle ran to them, giving them each a hug, Jaida following suit. Gigi felt like she had just been slapped in the face, but she put on the best grin she could, and Crystal did the same.

“Look at us, top three reunited! I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since Drive n’ Drag,” Gigi’s breath hitched in the back of her throat and she hoped no one noticed.

“Totally,” Crystal said, voice falling flat.

“So excited.” Gigi managed a smile. Jaida cocked an eyebrow.

“You two okay?” Michelle asked. Gigi was anything but okay.

“Yeah. I just got to go to the bathroom before we leave,” Gigi said. She heard Jaida and Michelle questioning Crystal as she walked away.

“She’s probably just jet-lagged,” Crystal shrugged. Gigi walked faster. She rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

“Fuck,” Gigi exhaled, fumbling for her phone, not exactly sure why. Who would she even call? If Gigi told Hunter now, the rest of the day her phone would be blowing up with messages. Besides, it was around 6 AM in LA, Hunter wouldn’t even be awake for another few hours or so. Gigi decided to just splash some water on her face, hoping she didn’t worry Jaida and Michelle too much by running off.

And Crystal.

God, what could Crystal be thinking right now? Gigi took a deep breath and stared at herself in the mirror. “You got this.” And with that, she walked out of the bathroom, head held high.

“Y’all ready?” Jaida asked.

“Ready,” Gigi nodded. With a loud whoop, Michelle and Jaida started towards the exit of the airport, Crystal and Gigi trailing slightly behind. After a short walk through the parking lot, they arrived at Jaida’s rental car. Gigi put her suitcase in the trunk and tried to ignore Crystal, who was clearly watching her. Jaida was driving, Michelle had taken shotgun, which meant Gigi and Crystal would be sitting in the backseat together. Great.

Crystal and Gigi sat in their respective seats. They didn’t lean in and talk to each other, they didn’t slowly find themselves inching closer and closer until their shoulders were pressed together, they both just busied themselves by looking out the window at the flatland that seemed to go on forever. Luckily, the drive was only about twenty minutes into the city. They made some light conversation, but it was clear that Crystal and Gigi couldn’t match Jaida’s and Michelle’s energy.

“Oh! There’s this long-ass tunnel coming up. No, Michelle, I’m not talking about your throat,” Jaida said. Gigi tried to see Crystal out of the corner of her eye. She had a worried expression on her face. ‘It’s not my problem,’ Gigi thought to herself. ‘ It’s not my job to make sure she’s okay.’

Gigi knew that. But that didn’t stop the sick feeling rising in her stomach as the tunnel appeared in the distance. She bit the inside of her cheek, Crystal shifted uncomfortably in her seat as they entered the tunnel. “Weee fuckers!” Jaida cackled. Crystal forced an uncomfortable laugh.

“Can we put on some music?” Gigi folded. Crystal visibly relaxed.

“I thought you would never ask!” Michelle said, handing back the aux cord. “Who wants it?”

“Crystal, you want it?” Gigi said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. Crystal just nodded, plugging her phone in quickly. Before they knew it, the car came out the other side of the tunnel, being filled with sunlight once again.

“Oooh, ladies we are getting close! I’m so excited for you guys to see Amsterdam. You’re gonna love it here,” Michelle said after a few more minutes of driving.

“Wait, how close? Because I have something very important I need to do,” Crystal laughed. God, Gigi missed Crystal’s laugh. She had almost forgotten the way it could fill and brighten the room.

“Well this is our exit, so do what you need to do, girl,” Jaida said, taking the exit. Gigi waited, wondering what Crystal could possibly have planned. Suddenly, in the distance, the tops of roofs appeared as the busy highway turned into a bustling street full of cyclists cutting through the road, causing Jaida to scream. The buildings changed from modern, glass exteriors to faded brick masonry.

Citizens and tourists alike walked the cobblestone streets freely, other people driving didn’t blink an eye at the cyclists who truly ruled the streets. Everyone was going at their own speed, each person had their own tempo they went to. It was refreshing, seeing everyone just doing. Gigi was almost emotional, this was still her fresh start despite… everything. She could actually see herself calling this place home.

Just then, she heard it. “Boom, Clap” by Charli XCX started playing out of the car's speakers, and Crystal was wearing a shit-eating grin. Gigi tried desperately to force back her smile, but couldn’t. They turned down road after road, slowly finding their way into the heart of the city. It was fucking gorgeous, it almost felt like they had gone back in time as the vintage buildings captivated them completely. Gigi felt the excitement rise up in her chest, she couldn’t stop grinning. She stole a look at Crystal, who to her surprise, was looking back. A feeling rose within Gigi, hope, maybe. And then Jaida slammed on her breaks, causing everyone to lurch forward in their seats.

“DAMN IT’S LIKE THE VANS ALL OVER AGAIN!”

Drag Race

Once all the queens had gotten out of drag, they were escorted to the vans, which brought them back to the hotel. Gigi soon found that one of her favorite parts of being on Drag Race was oddly the van rides to and from the studio. It was about a fifteen minute drive in the mornings, but a 45 minute drive when they had to go through heavy L.A. traffic. But Gigi enjoyed it. She liked sitting with Crystal, just shooting the shit. Sometimes all the girls would make up stupid road games to pass the time, which annoyed the hell out of the driver.

But most of the time, Crystal and Gigi were off in their own little world, foreheads nearly pressed together, hushed whispers about whatever stupid random thing they were talking about, two giggling messes. But things were different tonight. The challenge was Snatch Game, and Gigi was going through a whirlwind of emotions. She had just WON Snatch Game, which was totally unexpected but meant everything.

But she had also gotten into her first “TV fight” and it wasn’t as glamorous as she had expected. If anything, she just felt like shit for coming after Heidi’s makeup out of nowhere. Yes, she looked cracked, but Gigi wished she had just kept her mouth shut.

BUT SHE HAD JUST WON SNATCH GAME.

‘I’m not just a fashion queen anymore, bitches,’ Gigi thought gleefully. And then her attention turned to the queen who was walking to the vans slower than usual, head cast down. The night had been so hectic, Gigi had only been able to talk to Crystal a couple of times since the runway. Poor Crystal. If Gigi had a bad night, it was nothing compared to hers. Crystal’s Snatch Game didn’t go so well. At all. It was shit.

No one but Gigi had really understood it. While Crystal’s Poppy was accurate, the judges didn’t find it funny. Gigi thought it was amusing. Entertaining? Well,  at least her performance wasn’t as bad as Aiden’s or Britta’s.

The queens climbed into the vans, all going to their unassigned assigned seats. Gigi, Crystal, and Jackie sat in the way back, Crystal in the middle. Gigi couldn’t help but smile as Crystal slid in next to her, shoulders knocking together.

“Hey,” Gigi whispered, tilting her head to look at Crystal. She just gave Gigi a sad smile, resting her head on her shoulder. Gigi’s stomach immediately dipped, her whole body on fire. ‘Is my heart really beating that fast?’ she thought, feeling the pounding against her chest. She prayed Crystal didn’t notice. If she did, she gave nothing away. She just nuzzled her head closer to Gigi’s neck, letting out a sigh. Gigi could practically feel Jackie smirking at them, but couldn’t be bothered to care. She loved these van rides for a reason.  But they couldn’t know that. So Gigi just gave a soft chuckle and leaned into Crystal. “You good?” She whispered. Crystal gave a small nod.

“‘M just tired,” Crystal murmured. The vans took off, and they were immediately stuck in L.A. traffic. Within five minutes Crystal was fast asleep. Gigi allowed herself to relax for a moment, just thinking about the person that was practically sleeping on top of her. Things with Crystal were... interesting. It was weird how fast they clicked. The minute Gigi had built up the nerve to knock on Crystal’s door, they had become nearly inseparable. Of course they were close with the other queens, but Crystal and Gigi had each other on lock, painting next to each other, working on their challenges together, riding in the vans together, always.

And nearly every night since had been spent in each other's hotel rooms; practicing the lip syncs, sewing costume pieces together in silence, or just talking about everything and nothing. They were just there for each other. Within the span of two weeks, Crystal had become one of Gigi’s favorite people in the world. Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if the feeling was mutual.

Suddenly the van hit a huge bump, causing everyone’s heads to smack the ceiling.

“Did you hit a fuckin dog?!” Gigi heard Jaida ask the van driver. With a soft laugh, Gigi turned her head to see Crystal was awake now, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“We hit a dog?” she whispered, still half asleep. Gigi chuckled and shook her head.

“No, it was just a bump,” she replied. Crystal let out a breath, laying her head on Gigi’s shoulder again.

“Your snatch game was so good,” Crystal muttered dreamily. Gigi could feel her face beginning to heat up, but tried to keep her cool.

She’s just Crystal. Just Crystal.

She’s just... Crystal.

“Thank you,” Gigi replied softly. She wasn't sure why, but something gave her the nerve to reach for Crystal’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. Crystal laced their fingers together and didn’t let go.

“I’m just so happy for you. You’re killing it, Geege. You’re gonna go all the way,”

“Yeah well, I’m not going anywhere without you. So you better do good next week. I need you,” the words came out of Gigi’s mouth before she could even think to stop herself. Crystal raised her head, turning to look straight into Gigi’s eyes.

“You will not see me in the bottom again,” Crystal said, a determined look on her face. And Gigi believed her.

“I know.”

The vans pulled up to the hotel, and everyone was escorted to their rooms. Crystal and Gigi said a quick “goodnight” in the hallway in front of the producers and went into their respective rooms. And then Gigi heard it. Her knock. Gigi opened her conjoined door and there Crystal was, looking like she was holding back a shit-eating grin.

“Was my Snatch Game really that bad?”

“Crystal...” Gigi trailed off. And they both burst into laughter. And it was nice.

Amsterdam

It was nice to laugh with Crystal again, nice to feel carefree and happy with her again, driving through the streets of Amsterdam as Jaida and Michelle pointed out a few of the clubs.

“You bitches aren’t ready to see your apartments! We’re all in the same building, Jaida and I are a floor below you,” Michelle said excitedly, turning back in her seat as Jaida turned down a narrow road.

“Y’all are on the top floor. Michelle and I didn’t wanna go up all those stairs. Sorry bitches!” Jaida cackled unapologetically. So not only did Gigi have to spend two months in Amsterdam with Crystal, she also had to live right next to her.

‘This is fine. Amsterdam is still my fresh start. This is fine. I will be alright,’ Gigi repeated over and over in her head until Jaida parked on the side of a busy street, her car parallel with one of the many canals in Amsterdam.“See that coffeeshop?'' Jaida pointed at a tall building across the street that was much wider than the other ones. There was a coffeeshop on the bottom floor, the storefront painted bright turquoise. All along the windows were tiny versions of all the different pride flags waving in the wind.

Looking through the windows Gigi could see walls covered in art as people sat in booths, passing joints around with dazy grins on their faces. And Gigi couldn’t help but grin too. “We’re living right above it! Pretty good gig, right?! Me and my girl Michelle tiptoe down the stairs every night, we smoke a little, laugh a little, and stumble up into our beds. You two are gonna love it, I know,” Jaida explained as everyone helped unload Crystal and Gigi’s suitcases. Gigi could tell Crystal wasn’t paying attention, looking around the city in wonder.

Jaida and Michelle started to cross the street towards the apartments, but Crystal was still standing in the same spot, watching the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam.

“Crystal,” Gigi called, not wanting to cross the street without her. Crystal’s head snapped in Gigi’s direction, and she immediately ran towards her, suitcase in trail.

“Sorry. Thanks. It’s just all so...” Crystal trailed off as they followed Michelle and Jaida into the apartment building.

“I know,” Gigi muttered, giving Crystal a tight smile.

“Right,” Crystal said, her voice barely above a whisper. They walked up a narrow stairway behind Jaida and Michelle. After climbing four long flights of stairs, they finally stopped. The four stood on a small landing, barely fitting. There were two doors across from each other, the one on the left labeled 28, the one on the right 27. “I want 28!” Crystal blurted, eyes wild. Gigi had to hold back a laugh.

“That was your apartment anyway, dipshit. Michelle, if you wanna give Crystal a tour of her apartment, I can show Gigi around hers,” Jaida said, and pulled Gigi into her apartment. She looked around at the narrow but long room. Immediately to the left, there was a door that led to the bathroom. Gigi stood in front of the door, looking at the small kitchenette before her, knowing she would never use it. But there was a small table with four chairs that Gigi immediately knew she would use to organize all of her drag stuff. To the right, there was a huge bed with fluffy white pillows and a matching comforter. And right next to the bed was a door that led outside.

“THAT’S RIGHT BITCH YOU GOT A BALCONY!!!” Jaida exclaimed as she dragged Gigi outside. She was immediately blown away by the sight. The balcony overlooked a small canal, jutting over the water. There was no road, just another set of apartments on the other side. But to her right, Gigi could still see the main street where Jaida’s car was parked, tourists and dutch folk alike going in and out of the small shops and restaurants. “And you get to share the balcony with Crystal! You two will have fun out here,” Jaida winked at her. Gigi saw another door right next to hers, which she guessed led to Crystal’s apartment. Conjoined balconies. Cute.

Jaida walked back inside, leaving Gigi no time to dwell on it as she went in after her. “Anyways, not much of a tour, there’s not much to see, but I just wanted to help you get all settled in! At like, 7, I thought we could get dinner? Go explore the city a little?” Jaida stood at the door, a glint in her eye. She knew.

“Yeah. That’s great,” Gigi replied easily. Jaida opened the door, and Gigi couldn’t help but stop her. “You left out some key details when you invited me here, Jaida. I didn’t know Crystal would be... joining us,” She tried to sound as casual and pleasant as possible, but she gave Jaida a pointed stare.

“Oops must’ve slipped my mind!  SORRYBYE,” Jaida winked and practically ran out of the apartment. And Gigi was alone.

“Fuck,” she said out loud. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Gigi collapsed onto her bed and immediately took out her phone to FaceTime Hunter. “I don’t care if you’re sleeping, bitch, pick up,” She whispered, waiting to see Hunter’s face. He finally answered, still in bed. Gigi could see Marko’s sleeping body next to him.

“Geege it’s so fucking early whaaaaat,” Hunter groaned. ‘Oh just you wait bitch,’ Gigi thought. No matter how miserable she was, she couldn’t wait to see Hunter’s face when he found out.

“Guess who’s joining me, Michelle, and Jaida in Amsterdam?” Gigi said in a false cheery voice. Hunter just looked at her for a moment, and she could see the realization slowly dawn on his face.

“No.”

“Hunter...” She said, feeling the familiar tightening in her throat.

“No,” Hunter said again, and Gigi was surprised to see tears in his eyes. Fuck.

“Yeah,” Gigi said lamely, now trying to fight back her own tears. She had almost forgotten just how shitty her situation was. Almost.

“Gigi...” Hunter whispered, hand clasped over his mouth.

“Hunter...” Gigi’s voice cracked, and fuck she was crying again.

“A whole year of progress, of you finally... finally being your old self again. It’s all-all gone. And those assholes didn’t even tell you?!” Hunter was pissed now, getting out of bed and pacing around the darkroom.

“No, but it’s okay! I’m still me. This is still my fresh start, I can do this. She doesn’t matter,” Gigi said fiercely. And she wanted to believe herself so badly. But Hunter didn’t look convinced. And she wasn’t either.

“Gigi... what are you gonna do?” Hunter asked, still shell shocked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I guess just... keep my distance? I don’t know, Hunter,” Her voice cracked.

“Hasn’t the universe put you through enough?” Hunter implored, desperately trying not to break. Gigi had also forgotten how hard everything had been on him. How he was left to pick up her broken pieces.

“I guess not,” She answered lamely. She just looked at Hunter for a moment and watched as he took a deep breath, collecting himself. And then he went into momager mode.  

“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are not going to be alone with Crystal. Ever. You have worked on yourself way too much to throw it all away for her. Okay? If you feel like you’re gonna do something stupid, call me. I don’t care if I’m sleeping, I don’t care if I’m at a rager. I don’t give a shit- Fucking call me. You can’t do this again Gigi. We can’t do this again,” Hunter ordered Gigi, giving her no room to object. And she easily agreed, even though a small, secret part of her didn’t want to. Not long after Hunter hung up, going back to bed. As Gigi stared at the ceiling, she knew she was utterly fucked. After all, when had Gigi ever actually listened to Hunter?

Drag Race

When Gigi heard a knock on her door, she wasn't exactly surprised. Crystal had been coming to visit every night since the Political challenge. And every night Gigi dreamed in screaming colors. At first, she tried to blame it on the excitement of being on Drag Race, but Gigi knew she was just lying to herself. She opened the door and of course, Crystal was there. Her mullet was pulled up into a top knot with a scrunchie, a mischievous grin had taken over her face, one hand behind her back. Needless to say, Gigi was ready to say yes to whatever Crystal had in store.

“What’s behind your back?” Gigi cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, I told you I was saving a joint for my first win...” Crystal sang, revealing a joint and lighter in hand.

“Oh my fucking god,” Gigi laughed, a rush of excitement crashing over her.

“I figured if we turn on the steam-fan-thingy in the bathroom and smoke in there everything would be fine, right?” Crystal asked. It was a bad plan. Definitely a bad plan that could get them both in trouble. But Gigi couldn’t be bothered to care.

“I’m in,” She grinned.

“Okay, we have to go to the vending machine first though,” Crystal said, and then “I already begged the producers to let us go together, be thankful it’s Annie and Noelle babysitting tonight.”

They walked down the long hallway, visibly excited. Gigi leaned against the side of the vending machine, peering at Crystal through the glass as she punched in item after item.

“Are you a peanut butter gal? I kinda am. It’s not my first choice but also not my last choice, you know? God, I wish they had Swedish fish...” Crystal kept on rambling about candy, but Gigi couldn’t hear over the pounding in her chest. The artificial light shone in Crystal’s face, and Gigi had to force back her smile. As she got lost in Crystal, Gigi couldn’t help but feel as if she was breaking out loud, the way she never did. “That should cover it,” Crystal said, arms full of snacks. The smile Gigi was forcing down shone through. “What?” Crystal asked, looking shy. Gigi smiled.

“Nothing. Come on, let me help,” she said, taking some of the snacks. They went back into their respective hotel rooms before Gigi entered Crystal’s room through the conjoined door. Crystal turned on the fan, it was a little annoying, a little loud, but didn’t matter at all to Gigi. Crystal threw all the snacks in the tub, and Gigi saw the lightbulb in Crystal’s head.

“I just had the best idea-”

“One step ahead of you,” Gigi laughed lightly, already going to sit in the bathtub. Somehow, their legs ended up in a tangled mess, but neither of them moved. Gigi grabbed the joint and cleared her throat. “This joint is being smoked tonight to honor the one and only Crystal Methyd’s first win!” Gigi said. Crystal cheered for herself. “I will now do the honorary lighting. Miss Methyd, if you would.” Crystal held the joint between her lips. Gigi had to hold her breath as the flame reached the joint. Crystal inhaled deeply then exhaled through a grin.

“Finally!” Crystal laughed, passing the joint to Gigi. She took a hit, sending all the smoke into her lungs then back out. They passed the joint back and forth a few more times until Gigi could feel the familiar buzzing in her chest and the tingling set underneath her eyes. She found herself giggling as she watched Crystal take another hit, coughing as she exhaled.

“Okay!” Crystal coughed. “First impressions of each other, go!” Gigi took a second to think. She had replayed the first time she met Crystal in her head over and over, but it was hard to put what she felt into words.

“Uhm... I remember you walked into the werkroom, and I thought ‘What is this thing-’” Gigi started. Crystal immediately started laughing, shifting to face Gigi. “And then you introduced yourself, and you talked about your One Direction tattoo, and I... I don’t know, I feel like I immediately could just be me around you. You were just... I don’t know. Yeah,” Gigi finished. Crystal passed her the joint.

“I thought you looked like Kelly Mantle at first. And I absolutely thought that you were going to hate me,” Crystal laughed. Gigi’s jaw dropped.

“Crystal-”

“I’m sorry.”

“You thought I looked like Kelly-“

“It was the hair-”

“-Mantle? Bacon dress girl?”

“Only for a second! And she’s a VERY talented Drag Queen!”

“Why would you think I’d hate you?”

“Because you were like... pretty. Not pretty, you were stunning. And stunning people sometimes don’t like me or don’t understand my drag. I don’t know, I just thought you’d hate me. People do,” she shrugged. Gigi didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know. You just made me... nervous? Then I heard you knock on my door on our first day off, and I got so excited because I just really wanted you to like me,” Crystal giggled, but there was weight behind the words.

“Crystal Elizabeth Methyd, there is no world where I could ever hate you,” Gigi said. Crystal looked at her differently for a second.

“Did you just call me Crystal Elizabeth Methyd?” Crystal chuckled. Gigi didn’t even realize she had called her that.

“Yeah...?” she said. Crystal just burst out laughing.

“I love that! That’s my name now. Crystal ELIZABETH Methyd. I sound fancy!” Crystal giggled.

When Gigi got the call saying she made it on Drag Race, this was the last thing she thought would happen. She didn’t think she’d find herself opening up one stitch at a time to Crystal. Yet as the smokescreen faded in and out of view, legs tangled, something screamed from within her. Crystal took a hit, then exhaled the smoke onto a piece of chocolate.

“Gigi, look! I made you an edible!” she laughed. Something screamed from within Gigi, and it screamed “This is exactly where you should be.” They finished the joint and ate all the snacks while swapping stories and laughs back and forth. Gigi learned a lot about Crystal, she learned about Get Dusted and all the work Crystal did for the drag community in Springfield with her friends. Gigi couldn’t wait to meet all of them. She also learned about Crystal’s fear of tunnels.

“Like, there’s cars above you, and you’re just stuck and I get all claustrophobic… it’s just not good,” Crystal explained. Gigi loved learning about Crystal, she loved watching her eyes light up as she praised her friends back home, about everything she accomplished with the Get Dusted girls. And Gigi loved as Crystal listened to her long-winded life story that she had definitely already told her before. But Crystal paid close attention, gasping in all the right places, listening intently. Hours had passed without either of them realizing it.

“Shit. It’s probably three by now,” Gigi groaned, rubbing her tired eyes. Crystal sighed.

“This is my least favorite part of the night,” she said. Gigi cocked an eyebrow. “Saying goodbye.” And again, Gigi saw a light bulb appear in Crystal’s brain. “You could stay the night!”

So Gigi crawled into bed with Crystal and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She dreamed of Crystal in the glow of neon signs, her hair, her glasses, her hands, her. When Gigi woke up, the silence of morning couldn’t be louder.

Amsterdam

At some point, Gigi found the motivation to get out of bed and stop moping, worrying about how she was going to avoid Crystal all summer. But Hunter was right. She could do this. Why would she ever be alone with Crystal anyways? All she had to do was lock herself in her apartment. Never go out on the balcony. Always make sure she was with Michelle or Jaida. Gigi could do it. And if she ever felt like she couldn’t, she would just FaceTime Hunter. She could do it easily.

But still. A small part of her didn’t want to.

Gigi shoved that intrusive thought down real fast and got changed for dinner. At 6:45 Jaida and Michelle came knocking on her door, and soon the group of four was off to dinner. Gigi had no idea where Jaida and Michelle had taken them. All she knew was that the booth was way too cramped, her arm nearly brushing Crystal’s. She thought this would be the worst part of dinner. But really it was Jaida and Michelle’s lame attempts at small talk.

“So. Crystal,” Jaida began, looking at her expectedly. “Why did I hear a little rumor that Widow is babysitting your cat?”

“Um... because she is,” Crystal giggled awkwardly. And then they were right back to that awkward silence. They soon finished up their meal, and Gigi didn’t look at Crystal the rest of the night,  knowing she couldn’t. Knowing it would unlock something too strong. Something she couldn’t just push down and forget. But then Crystal was walking on the edge of a canal, arms spread, trying to balance. Fucking idiot.

Gigi found herself slowly inching closer to Crystal, knowing she was tipsy and stupid. She noticed. The minute Crystal could feel Gigi’s presence, her head whipped to look at her. And then she stumbled. In a flash, Gigi’s arms flew out, one hand clutching Crystal’s elbow, the other one pulling her by the shoulder. Crystal stumbled into Gigi, but at least she didn’t stumble into the canal. Crystal regained her footing, quickly pulling away from Gigi after muttering a lame “thanks.”

Gigi’s mind was going crazy, her heart was pounding, her body on fire. That was the first time she had touched Crystal since... that was the first time Gigi had touched Crystal in ten months, just short of a year. It was all too much. That was the first time she had seen Crystal in a year. The first time she had spoken to her. She had been cut off from Crystal for nearly a year with absolutely no contact, just trying to forget about her. Could Gigi really do this? She thought she could. She hoped this would get easier.

“Y’all wanna smoke before bed?! I think it’ll be magical,” Jaida turned. Crystal hummed in agreement, Gigi just gave a silent nod. They soon made it to the coffeeshop they lived above and walked in. The inside was decorated with all kinds of weird shit. There was no specific lighting source, just a bunch of random, probably thrifted lamps scattered across the shop, casting different shades of light across the floor. There was a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and magazines. Gigi swore she could see the Harry Potter series next to some old Playboy magazines. One wall was covered with vinyl records that had been painted over. Every record was different, painted by different Dutch artists. Gigi’s favorite was a sunset over the desert, a car driving past with a U-haul trailer attached. She knew this would become one of her favorite spots in Amsterdam.

Crystal, Gigi, and Michelle sat at a table while Jaida went up to buy two joints for them to split. She came back shortly, an excited grin on her face.

“Just a little nightcap ladies,” Jaida sang, and Gigi had to chuckle. At least she had Jaida. Jaida put the joint between her lips, lighting the end of it. Gigi watched the top burn away as Jaida deeply inhaled. As she blew out her smoke, Jaida gave Michelle a lazy grin and passed it to her next. Soon Crystal had the joint, taking a hit.

“Blow O’s!” Jaida cackled as Crystal obliged. Gigi fought back a smile. And then Crystal passed her the joint. It fit easily between Gigi’s fingers, but she was confused. All she saw was the back of Crystal’s head. It was turned, looking down at her phone. And then she realized. Crystal wouldn’t look at her. And all Gigi could think was, ‘What have we done to each other?’

Eventually, they finished passing the joints around and followed Jaida through a side door that led to their apartment building entrance. Gigi gave long hugs to Jaida and Michelle on the third-floor landing, not caring that they had blatantly lied to her about Crystal being there. It wasn’t worth it. And maybe this would end up being a good thing. She hoped to god it would.

Crystal didn’t say goodnight, just ran up the stairs and went into her apartment without a word. Gigi didn’t know how that made her feel. Relieved? At least she wouldn’t have to say an awkward goodnight to Crystal. Yes. This was good. No Crystal is a good thing. So why couldn’t Gigi stop thinking about her as she got ready for bed? Why couldn’t she stop replaying everything over and over in her head? Seeing Crystal for the first time since...

Gigi was supposed to be okay without Crystal. She thought she was. She had gotten better in L.A. It didn’t hurt every time she thought about Crystal, just more of a dull ache. Gigi had let herself let go, move on to a life without Crystal. And she was hoping that she could do the same thing in Amsterdam, despite seeing her every day. But it was only day one. And all she could think about was Crystal.

Crystal at the airport, Crystal in the car, Crystal walking along the canals, Crystal passing Gigi the joint, refusing to look at her. Her mind was all just... Crystal. And she just wanted to forget. But that was impossible. Crystal had found a way to burrow into the deepest depths of Gigi’s brain, refusing to leave. Did Gigi really want to let go?

How do you let go of someone when you’ve spent the last year desperately wanting them? When you’ve spent the last year replaying every moment together over and over in your head, wondering what you could’ve done differently, wondering where it all went wrong. How do you let go of someone when for so long, it was the last thing you wanted to do? How do you let go of someone when your heart is screaming at you, begging you not to, no matter how much you know you should?

As Gigi brushed her teeth, she heard Crystal opening her balcony door and stepping out onto it. She peaked out the window and saw her lighting a joint, sitting in one of the chairs. A year ago Gigi would’ve joined her on the balcony in a heartbeat, complaining that Crystal hadn’t invited her in the first place. Now Gigi was just utterly... confused. How do you let go of someone when she’s right there on your shared balcony, and all you want is to just be with her, no matter how much she might hate you?

‘Maybe I should call Hunter. He’ll stop me from doing anything stupid.’ But Hunter was worlds away, and couldn't really do anything to stop Gigi. A part of her knew this was coming. She knew she’d cave eventually and try to talk to Crystal. Why? Why did Crystal have so much power over her, still? And why was Gigi trying not to smile as she heard Crystal coughing outside? Even when things were so different, even though everything had changed, Gigi couldn’t help but admire Crystal, who was now just scrolling on her phone, lazily holding the joint between her fingers. Absolutely wasting bud, if Gigi may add.

Gigi’s feet started moving before her mind could scream at her to stop, going before she was ready. Her hand slowly went to the doorknob,  just hovering there. Was it worth it? Was she going to throw it all away for Crystal? All the tears, all the talking, all the driving, the countless days where she forced herself to get out of bed, knowing she would forget about her someday? All the days where Gigi really had forgotten about her? When she felt like she could finally breathe again? Gigi felt that familiar burning in her chest. And she knew. There’s no way to let go of Crystal Methyd. Not when Gigi swore two summers ago she never would.

LAX

Gigi felt the knot forming in her stomach when she passed the sign that read “LAX 5 MILES AWAY.” Crystal had the same sad smile on her face as Gigi. It was really about to be all over. The summer of competing, crying, laughing, smoking, sneaking into each other's hotel rooms, lingering glances, and shy smiles. Why did it have to end like this? In Hunter’s Jeep, Rosy blasting “ Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift, all the windows down, letting the music rumble through the speakers and through their chests. Crystal and Gigi’s shoulders pressed together even though there was plenty of room in the backseat.

Why did it have to end at all?

Hunter took the exit, and Gigi started to feel sick. Crystal was supposed to have one of the vans bring her to the airport, but couldn’t refuse a ride with Gigi, Hunter, and Rosy. And Gigi hoped that Crystal accepted the ride because she too, couldn’t stand saying goodbye just yet. Just yet.

It was bittersweet. Of course, Gigi was happy to go home and be with her friends and family, but she couldn’t shake the sense of dread ringing throughout her body.

“You want us to drop you off at the front, Crystal?” Hunter asked.

“I’m gonna go in with her,” Gigi blurted, knowing she couldn’t say goodbye... just yet. Crystal looked at Gigi, beaming. “I don’t think Crystal could drag five suitcases around an airport by herself.”

“Oh sure,” Crystal murmured, nudging Gigi slightly. Crystal didn’t notice Gigi blushing, but Hunter did, sending her a knowing look in the rear-view mirror. Hunter found a parking spot after about ten minutes of looking around.

“It was so nice meeting you, Crystal! I absolutely adore you my fellow Aries,” Rosy said, grabbing Crystal’s hand and giving it a parting squeeze. Gigi caught Hunter’s eye again.

“I’m sure we’ll talk soon, but it was really nice meeting you,” Hunter said.

“Thank you guys so much for giving me a ride, you’re literally the best,” Crystal said. And so she and Gigi dragged the suitcases out of the Jeep before walking into the airport together. It was packed with a lot of people going home after spending their summers in LA. Gigi didn’t dare look at Crystal, scared she would see right through the brave face Gigi was trying to maintain despite the tears threatening to fall. Gigi watched from a distance as Crystal checked in and got her ticket, breathing slightly shallow. She knew what was coming next, she wasn’t stupid, this was always inevitable.

“All checked in!” Crystal tried to sound her usual cheery self, but Gigi could hear the sadness in the back of her voice.

“So this is it...” Gigi said, looking anywhere but Crystal. Crystal grabbed Gigi’s hand.

“I’ll see you soon. I promise,” Crystal said, voice cracking slightly. Gigi chuckled, tears stinging her eyes.

“Don’t cry cause I’ll start crying,” Gigi said, blinking back her tears.

“Geege...” Crystal put her hand on Gigi’s face, her thumb gliding across Gigi’s face. Chills ran down her body.

‘don't go, don't go, don't go’

“You have to go, you have a flight to catch,” Gigi said, composing herself quickly.

“I know, I just-”

“I know.” Gigi looked Crystal in the eye, who had tears streaming down her face. “Believe me, I know.” Crystal threw her arms around Gigi, and Gigi held on. She held on so tight her chest felt hollow. It was inevitable. There was nothing Gigi could say to make Crystal stay, she knew that. But that didn’t stop her from trying.

“You could just stay for the weekend, you know?” Gigi said into the hug. Crystal hugged Gigi tighter.

“I can’t, I gotta get back home to Paul and Tictak,” Crystal whispered.

“Paul?” Gigi asked, though the pessimist in her already knew the answer.

“My boyfriend,” Crystal said. The knot in Gigi’s stomach burst, now feeling empty and gutted, utterly hollow. Of course. Gigi pulled out of the hug.

“Oh. Well, um-”

“He’s just very um- private. He asked me not to talk about him on the show... And then it... just never came up I guess,” Crystal said, sounding slightly guilty. Crystal shouldn’t feel guilty, she owed Gigi nothing. Gigi knew that. She kept repeating it.

“No, I get it. I just uhm-”

“Shit, I’m sorry I got to go through security or I’m gonna miss my flight. I hate goodbyes. I hate that this is happening-”

“It’s okay, Crystal,” Gigi gave Crystal’s hand a final squeeze. “We’re gonna see each other soon, remember?” Gigi said. Crystal’s lip was trembling, she nodded quickly.

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon,” Crystal said. And that was it. Crystal walked away. Gigi couldn’t bear to watch as the person who completely captivated her left to go be with someone else. And Gigi just hoped she could smile long enough, just until Crystal turned back over her shoulder, finally ripping her gaze from Gigi. She waited, a painful smile on her face that made her cheeks ache, waving Crystal goodbye. Goodbye, for now.

Alas, Gigi didn’t bother wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks as she walked back to Hunter’s Jeep.

“Hey!- oh god she’s crying,” Rosy said, getting out of the car to wrap Gigi in a hug. She immediately started crying in Rosy’s arms. Hunter stood, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You really like Crystal, don’t you?” he asked gently, which made Gigi hurt even more. She tried to answer, tried to form a sentence, tried to say it’s just a crush or we’re just really good friends but she couldn’t admit that, not yet, so instead she said.

“She has a fucking boyfriend.”

And as Gigi stood in the middle of the LAX parking garage crying in Rosy’s arms, she only thought one thing. ‘I will not let go of you, Crystal Methyd. I will not let go.’

Amsterdam

Gigi’s hand landed on the doorknob, and she knew Crystal heard it. ‘Go before you’re ready bitch,’ She turned the doorknob, and felt the warm summer air on her face. And there Crystal was, looking up at Gigi with a dumbfounded expression. “Hi,” Gigi said softly, smiling at Crystal. She watched her visibly relax, returning the smile.

“Hello,” Crystal grinned, putting down her phone.

“We should probably talk about... everything.”

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

Since y'all liked real things I have said to spirits so much, I thought I would share some of the more odd/funny experiences I've had with spirits. Here we go.

👻 So one time when I came home late at night, I said goodnight to my uncle's ashes, only to get hungry and sneak over some cookies not like 10 minutes later. I literally hear, "mmmmhmmm" which makes me jump like ten feet cause I thought it was my mom catching me sneaking food. No. It was him. Judging me.

👻 I've heard plenty of echos that sounds like domestic disputes in my room. This gets very awkward around like 2-3am. At first I thought it was my neighbors upstairs. But when my upstairs neighbors argue about anything, it's in Arabic. I can’t tell you about all the fights but oh boy do they get real. Affairs, deep secrets, you name it. Who needs soap operas when you can just tune into my room in the middle of the night~

👻 I can hear my great uncles laughing at night. Uncle L likes being with his brother. And you know what? I’m not even mad. Often both of them like to call out my nickname a lot. Takes me a couple seconds to realize its them sometimes though. 

👻 Sometimes, if a spirit lingers long enough, my iPod will give them a bit of an earworm. I tend to have my music on all day everyday. I'll catch snipets of someone humming/singing part of a song. This is very rare but when it happens it always brings a smile to my face. My late fiance liked to stroke my hair or back and sing our song.

👻 The spirits in my room do not like my nephew. I don't know why, but they do not care for him. I've literally tried to show him there was a small spirit hanging on my arm and immediately the cold spot disappeared from my arm and moved to the other side of me. On occasion, one will nudge him out of my room or stick my door if he tries to come in. No harm comes his way, they just don't want him here, I guess.

[dcnatural]

Is There Somewhere

Word Count: 2392

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn meet to finish unfinished business, and Ivy recalls a magical night the duo had shared.

Unless you knew what you were looking for, the Gotham Garden Motel was hard to spot. Squeezed between two warehouses on the road leading to Arkham Island, the building seemed abandoned: the glass of the windows was covered in dust, making it impossible to see anything in the other side; the sign which announced the name of the establishment was missing some letters and the neon lights had long stopped working; the roof was missing a couple of tiles and the white paint was peeling off the outside walls, which were covered by cracks. It was a miracle the place was still standing.

Despite the decrepit state of the motel, its driveway was often filled with cars and people were seen going in and out at a regular basis. If one dared to open the rotten wooden door, they would find themselves inside a shockingly well illuminated reception. It even had a waiting area, which included a tube television and a coffee machine. An employee in a cheap cotton uniform sat behind the large desk, alternating between watching a soap opera and scribbling something on the notebook open in front of them. A door reading “Employees Only” leads into the office, a separated area with two large window panes that could be used to spy on the reception. 

They didn’t ask for IDs and only accepted upfront payments made in cash, the registration was as simple as writing whichever name you wanted in the book and leaving the money. You would then be given a key to your room. This discretion was the main reason behind the motel's popularity. Whether you were a cheating husband, a drug dealer or a high tier super criminal, if you wanted to have a clandestine meeting, this was the place to come. Everyone who visited the motel was involved in some shady business. The whole premise of the place was that you could come, do your shit and leave, no questions asked.

That's why the clerk didn’t bat an eye when Poison Ivy came striding in through the front entrance, placed a wad of cash in the front desk, signed the visitor’s log, took the key for room 93 and headed to the staircase without saying a word. Nor did the clerk find it unusual when, fifteen minutes later, Harley Quinn burst in and raced upstairs, not even bothering to close the door after her.

Room 93 was located on the fourth floor. Unlike most hotels, which the room’s number indicated their respective floor, the Gotham Garden didn’t use this rationale. Instead, the numbers had been randomly assigned; a brilliant idea that occured to the first owner after getting wasted in a bar downtown. Therefore, there was no intuitive way of finding your room, and the guests were required to carefully read the maps plastered to the walls of the staircase.

While the reception gave the impression of belonging to a decent place, the rest of the hotel matched the state of the outside. The red carpet covering the floor had a thick cover of dust and mold, the lamps in the ceiling were either burned out or flickered inconsistently. Cockroaches crawled around, and one could hear the screeches made by the rats inhabiting the wall. Each door had been painted with a different color, but now the ink was faded and everything looked like a lifeless gray.

Harley verified if the hallway was clear before tapping on the dark-blue door. Dressed in a black hat with a wide brim, overly large star-shaped pink sunglasses and an old trench coat, she looked like the most comical spy in the world.

The knock caused Ivy to jump from her chair, and she stumbled to reach the door. She gave a quick glance at the bathroom mirror to ensure that her vivid red hair was well combed and her shirt was in place. Her heartbeat was frantic and she took a deep breath to calm herself, inhaling the lavender scent of her perfume.

Ivy sighed as she contemplated the girl before her. “Didn’t I tell you to be discreet?”, she complained as Harley skipped inside.

“This is discreet, Pams. No one can recognize me with these glasses. Betcha you wouldn’t have known it was me if I hadn’t told you I was coming disguised”, she replied as she removed the sunglasses and tossed them aside. They skittered through the floor before stopping underneath the wardrobe. 

She then took off her hat, letting her blonde locks cascade down her back. The colorful streaks had been washed off, with only ghostly remnants of pink and blue to evidence the product of Harley’s latest post-break-up-hair-makeover. It only made sense that now that she was back with the Joker she would try to erase any change she had made during their time apart.

The darkened windows didn’t allow much light to pass through and, despite being early afternoon, Ivy had turned on the twin lamp shades that decorated the nightstands, their floral pattern casting shadows in the threadbare arabic rug that covered the floor underneath the bed.

Harley sat in the far end of the bed, back propped against the wall and legs stretched over the mattress. “So, what’d you wanted to talk about, uh?”

Ivy paced around the room, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Harley. “How could you go back to him?”, the words left her mouth in an urgent whisper. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision and she felt the urge to brush them away. Tears were a sign of weakness and weaknesses weren't a luxury she could afford. In fact, the last time she had cried was back when she still was Pamela Isley, on that fateful day that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her last tears had been shred when she laid on the floor, dying only to be reborn as Poison Ivy.

Harley idly played with her hair, curling it around her well manicured fingers. She didn’t know how to reply to that. Why did she return to the Joker every time? Why did she still love him when all he did was hurt her? She knew it was an abusive relationship, she hadn't spent years training as a shrink for nothing, but she couldn't find the strength in herself to cut him out of her life. For better or for worse, he had shaped her into who she was now. She feared that without his influence in her life, she would go back into being Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and honestly, the prospect of normalcy terrified her.

But she couldn't tell Ivy all of that, so she did what she knew best and created a diversion. "You know, your hair’s fantastic today. Are you using a new shampoo?"

As if moving by their own accord, Ivy's lips curled into a smile. She cursed herself. She should be angry, sad, outraged. But there was something about Harley that always made her let her guard down. Harley had the gift of bringing happiness into Ivy's loneliness. And perhaps that was the reason why that betrayal had hurt so much.

Ivy collapsed into the bed, careful not to get too close to Harley. She wasn't sure if she could deal with so much proximity right now. Not in this bed, at least. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wonder. To travel back to a week ago, before the Joker sweeped in again and took Harley with him. Back to when it had been just the two of them, hiding in this same room while they counted their loot and laughed about the stupidity of the guards of the jewelry story they had just robbed.

That day had awakened something in Ivy, and she had thought that her friend felt the same. But clearly she had been wrong. 

In her mind she relieved it all, every single detail of that fateful day, from the smell of the strawberry bubblegum Harley had been chewing to the sound of gold clittering against gold.

* * *

The first thing Harley had done once they were secured inside the room was to remove her jester suit, the sweaty outfit was sticking to her skin and making her itchy. Stripped to her underwear and tube socks, she had then proceeded to catalogue every single item they had stolen, listing the retail price in a chart. 

Ivy had offered to help, but Harley had her own system and every time the redhead tried to do something she only mixed it all up. So she had given up and was texting her usual fence to ask when they could meet.

"I love this song", Harley shouted when the radio began to play a slow pop ballad. She seemed like a completely different person from the concentrated woman she was seconds ago. Climbing off the bed, she began to dance, with a grace that only the ones who had trained for years were able to do. She moved like air, arms swaying to the rhythm of the music and hips rocking back and forth in matching pace. The whiteness of her skin was a stark contrast to the black and red socks she wore, and Ivy’s gaze lingered on those long and slender legs. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have those legs tangled around her own body, to have those hands caressing her skin. 

“Come dance with me”, Harley asked, tugging Ivy’s arm and trying to pull her to her feet.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t dance.”

Harley rolled her eyes and pouted. “Pretty please, for me! It’s boring to dance alone.”

Faced with the other girl’s plea, Ivy couldn’t find in her the strength to say ‘no’ and so she relented, allowing Harley to pull her up. Ivy’s movements were awkward, her body rigid whereas Harley’s was fluid. She misteped and tripped, but Harley was always there to catch her before she fell.

The song ended and another began, and they kept swirling around the room. The soft melody brought them closer, Harley’s arms embracing Ivy’s waist, chests pressed together and faces inches apart. Harley suppressed a yawn, eyelids fluttering shut as exhaustion began to take over. She nestled her head on Ivy’s shoulder, taking advantage of her friend’s taller stature. 

The rest of the world faded away, all that Ivy could think of was the intoxicating feeling of Harley’s lips brushing against her bare skin. Outside, a car passed by, the headlamp shining even through the dirt glass, creating a brief spotlight for the two girls.

A false move caused Harley to trip, and they stumbled, Ivy’s back landing on the saggy mattress with Harley on top of her. For a moment, time stood still. They laid over the white sheets, not moving and barely breathing. A tension hung in the air between them, an unvoiced desire that previously neither had felt. 

Then, before Ivy knew what was happening, Harley leaned down and brought her mouth to Ivy’s, hovering like that for an instant before closing the remaining distance. At first, the touch was light as a feather, barely there. Then, with renewed passion, Harley pressed harder, Ivy’s lips welcoming her. Ivy didn’t protest as Harley slid the strapless leotard out of her body, the garment falling to the floor near where Harley’s own jumpsuit laid.

When Harley pulled away, it was only so she could lay a trail of wet kisses. She sucked, licked and bit every inch of exposed skin, venturing further down with each second. She stopped at Ivy’s navel, looking up in search for permission, and Ivy remembered how to move for just long enough to nod, before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Every nerve in Ivy’s body was on fire. Her mind was numb. She felt nothing but Harley. Harley’s mouth. Harley’s fingers. Harley’s skin. Harley. Harley. Harley. The name echoed in Ivy’s mind with every beat of her heart. Ivy clutched tightly at Harley’s arms, the firmness of the muscles underneath her fingers ensuring her that this wasn’t just part of her imagination. Ivy felt herself coming undone under her friend’s touch. She couldn’t think she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breath. All her worries and fears that clouded her brain faded away until only Harley was left.

* * *

“Pammy?”

Harley’s voice pulled Ivy back to the present and she snapped her eyes open. “I thought we had something.”

“We did. We do. You are my best friend. I love you. I really do”, there was a note of sadness in Harley's voice as she spoke.

Tears spilled out of the corners of Ivy’s eyes. “But you love him more.”

Harley nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“No”, Ivy interrupted, sliding out of the bed. “It’s fine. I was foolish to believe you would actually leave him for real. I just wish I could let this go, forget it ever happened.”

She realized now how stupid this had been. Nothing she did could ever change Harley’s mind. She needed to get out of that room, she needed fresh air.

“Ives, come on”, Harley pleaded, rushing to grab Ivy’s arm before she could leave.

Ivy twisted out of her friend’s hold and opened the door. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

The door closed shut behind Ivy and Harley allowed her body to fall to the floor, back against the scrapped dark blue paint. A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her knees, shielding herself from the world. She felt alone. Her best friend had abandoned her. And perhaps I deserve that, Harley thought. She didn’t know which was her worst mistake: falling in love with the Joker or with Ivy.

Outside, Ivy inhaled the fresh afternoon air and began the long walk back to the Botanical Garden. She hadn’t meant to fall in love that night, but now it was done and there’s no way of fixing it. She wished Harley could leave the Joker, not just out of jealousy but because she knew her friend deserved better. I could offer her better.

The dusk had settled over Gotham when a figure wearing a trench coat and hat left the Gotham Garden Motel. She opened the door to a green car and, with the motor rumbling, she took off into the darkness.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

In the past few weeks I have really felt as if the Suez Canal was flowing through my drawing room.

- Clarissa Spancer Churchill Eden, Countess of Avon, on the Suez War 1956

Clarissa Spancer Churchill Eden, Countess of Avon  turned 100 on 28 June 2020.

When she was born Lloyd George was Prime Minister and her uncle Winston Churchill was Secretary of State for War and Air. Her father Jack’s parents were Lord Randolph Churchill and the beautiful Jennie Jerome. Her mother was also a beauty, Lady Gwendoline Bertie. As an only daughter Clarissa felt over-loved and smothered.

Clarissa was never much interested in politics. Self-contained and silent as a girl, she would say, ‘I only spoke when I had something to say’. She made her debut with Deborah Mitford and Pamela Digby, but wanted more and was tutored by famed Oxford philosopher, Isaiah Berlin and Lord David Cecil.

She then joined a heady milieu of artists and writers - Lord Berners, James Pope-Hennessy, Edith Sitwell, Cecil Beaton, Greta Garbo. Her life was like an early volume of Anthony Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time. Evelyn Waugh and Duff Cooper were hopelessly in love with her.

But at 32 years old she went from High Bohemia to High Politics on maarrying Foreign Minister Anthony Eden - a surprise to many in high society. The Anglican Archbishop of Sydney and Evelyn Waugh protested that Eden had a wife still living. Much of Waugh’s moral outrage was down to personal jealousy and his unrequited love for Clarissa. Eden had indeed been a loveless marriage to his first wife Beatrice but in 1950 they finally divorced, and in 1952 Anthony married Clarissa.

Anthony Eden was no slouch as he sailed through Eton and, like many of his generation, he served in the First World War losing two brothers killed in action along the way. Eden himself served with distinction in the trenches and front lines of that bloody war. At the age of 19, he was the youngest adjutant on the Western Front and by 1918 because of his conspicious bravery, at the age of 20, Eden became the youngest brigade major in the British Army. He was awarded the Military Cross (MC) for her war time service. After the war, he studied Oriental Languages (Persian and Arabic) at Christ Church, Oxford, starting in October 1919. At Oxford, Eden took no part in student politics, and his main leisure interest at the time was art. Eden was in the Oxford University Dramatic Society and President of the Asiatic Society. Along with Lord David Cecil and R. E. Gathorne-Hardy he founded the Uffizi Society, of which he later became President. Possibly under the influence of his father he gave a paper on Paul Cézanne, whose work was not yet widely appreciated. Eden was already collecting paintings.

Eden read the writings of Lord Curzon and was hoping to emulate him by entering politics with a view to specialising in foreign affairs. He went into politics and became an MP at the age of 26 years old. In Parliament he quickly made a name for himself and was already being talked of as a future Prime Minister. He was gently mocked for his fussy self-image and was often regarded as the best-dressed, best-looking politician of his time - although one rival rival said of him, ���half- beautiful woman; half- mad baronet’.

Clarissa was deeply in love with Anthony, and he with her. But she wasn’t quite prepared for the high stakes of politics as her husband climbed the greasy pole of political advancement. Eden was deeply ambitious and he eventually became Foreign Secretary in 1931.

Clarissa recalled, ‘My first visitor was the wife of the head of the Foreign Office, Lady Strang, who came to tea….I did wonder what I had got myself into when her opening remark was ‘I hope you are not going to denationalise steel – it is doing so well’ I had previously had no views about steel’

Within 3 years, Anthony at last achiecved his life’s goal and became Prime Minister, having at last succeeded Clarissa’s uncle, Winston Churchill who stepped aside for the younger Eden. Was she the most beautiful cultivated chatelaine of No 10 since Catherine Walpole? Many did then and many think so today. 

A gall-bladder operation gone wrong and the debacle that was the Suez Crisis made for a short and unhappy time for Eden as PM and a trying time for Clarissa. She was famously quoted as saying ‘in the past few weeks I have really felt as if the Suez Canal was flowing through my drawing room’. This was said in a rare political speech at Gateshead on 20 November 1956, but picked up and widely reported.She later regretfully conceded that “drawing room” was perhaps an unfortunate metaphor.

Nevertheless the Suez War took its toll and Eden eventually found his health broken. His stellar political career lay in ruins as Haorld Macmillan plotted behind the scenes (a fact that Clarissa never forgave him for). Eden resigned in 1957 and in 1961 accepted an Earldom (of Avon). Both Anthony and Clarissa enjoyed 20 leisurely years between Wiltshire, Stratford, Paris and the Caribbean.

Her main loves are art and opera, she loved to travel and, though not one for discomfort, she would endure any amount of it to find an obscure chapel in Serbia. In later life she took up sub-aqua swimming, happily enjoying life in deep waters. Though she read serious classics, she took an unexpected enjoyment in soap operas like Dallas, greatly entertained by the antics of J. R. Ewing and Cliff Barnes with their huge Stetson hats, talking about their “Daddies”.

A great many people bored her and still do, but she takes a wry enjoyment from that. I heard an anecdote from a friend that once after a dinner, when she said, “I think we have exhausted the social possibilities of this evening, don’t you?” - a more elegant way of saying it was time to go.

In many ways Clarissa remains a reminder of a nobler age of Britain and who embodied many of the values that made Britain so great before the sunset of its empire and the dawn of counter culture of the Modern Britain of the 1960s. She has always remained enigmatic person, the soul of discretion but fiercely devoted to her loved ones. Above all, she has been a woman of substance in control of her own destiny.

[militant-holy-knight]

In light of President Obama’s recent remarks comparing the brutality of the Islamic State to the Crusades, it might be time to take a fresh look at those events. Were they really the one-sided Dark Ages barbarism we have been taught? Were they an early manifestation of Western imperialism and global conquest?

In his landmark book, “God’s Battalions” (HarperOne 2009), Baylor University social sciences professor Rodney Stark suggests otherwise. It is a well-researched chronicle, including 639 footnotes and a bibliography of about 300 other works, yet reads like an adventure story full of military strategy and political intrigue.

What Prompted the Crusades

He begins in the final years of Mohammed and describes how a newly united Arab people swept through (Zoroastrian) Persia and the (Orthodox Christian) Byzantine-  controlled areas of Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and North Africa. (Byzantine refers to the Greek-speaking eastern remainder of the Roman Empire.) Eventually Arabs took over control of the Mediterranean islands, most of Spain, and the southern part of Italy, and even reached as far as 150 miles outside of Paris before being turned back by the Franks, or early French.

The Muslims were brutal in their conquered territories. They gave pagans a choice of converting to Islam or being killed or enslaved. Jews and Christians (other People of the Book) were usually but not always treated somewhat better, and allowed to retain their beliefs but under conditions of Sharia subjugation. But the Muslim-held territories were not monolithic. Stark writes:

‘Perhaps the single most remarkable feature of the Islamic territories was the almost ceaseless internal conflict; the intricate plots, assassinations, and betrayals form a lethal soap opera. North Africa was frequently torn by rebellions and intra-Islamic wars and conquests. Spain was a patchwork of constantly feuding Muslim regimes that often allied themselves with Christians against one another.’

Not surprisingly, there was intense Christian resistance and determination to take back lost territories. Especially effective were the Normans and the Franks in Spain and Italy.

The Golden Middle Ages Belonged to Europeans

Western scholars have often characterized this clash of cultures as an Islamic Golden Age versus a European Dark Age, but Stark demolishes this as a myth. He says the best of the Islamic culture was appropriated from the people Muslims conquered—the Greeks, Jews, Persians, Hindus, and even from heretical Christian sects such as the Copts and Nestorians. He quotes E.D. Hunt as writing, “the earliest scientific book in the language of Islam [was a] treatise on medicine by a Syrian Christian priest in Alexandria translated into Arabic by a Persian Jewish physician.” Stark writes that Muslim naval fleets were built by Egyptian shipwrights, manned by Christian crews, and often captained by Italians.  When Baghdad was built, the caliph “entrusted the design of the city to a Zoroastrian and a Jew.” Even the “Arabic” numbering system was Hindu in origin.

And, while it is true that the Arabs embraced the writings of Plato and Aristotle, Stark comments,

‘However, rather than treat these works as attempts by Greek scholars to answer various questions, Muslin intellectuals quickly read them in the same way they read the Qur’an – as settled truths to be understood without question or contradiction…. Attitudes such as these prevented Islam from taking up where the Greeks had left off in their pursuit of knowledge.’

Meanwhile, back in Europe was an explosion of technology that made ordinary people far richer than any people had ever been. It began with the development of collars and harnesses that allowed horses to pull plows and wagons rather than oxen, doubling the speed at which people could till fields. Plows were improved, iron horseshoes invented, wagons given brakes and swivel axels, and larger draft horses were bred. All this along with the new idea of crop rotation led to a massive improvement in agricultural productivity that in turn led to a much healthier, larger, and stronger population.

Technology was also improving warfare with the invention of the crossbow and chain mail. Crossbows were far more accurate and deadly than conventional archery, and could be fired with very little training. Chain mail was almost impervious to the kind of arrows in use throughout the world. Mounted knights were fitted with high-back saddles and stirrups that enabled them to use more force in charging an opponent, and much larger horses were bred as chargers, giving the knights a height advantage over enemies. Better military tactics made European armies much more lethal. Stark writes:

It is axiomatic in military science that cavalry cannot succeed against well-armed and well-disciplined infantry formations unless they greatly outnumber them…. When determined infantry hold their ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder to present a wall of shields from which they project a thicket of long spears butted in the ground, cavalry charges are easily turned away; the horses often rear out of control and refuse to meet the spears.

In contrast, Muslim warriors were almost exclusively light cavalry, riding faster but lighter horses bareback with little armor, few shields, and using swords and axes. Their biggest advantage was their use of camels, which made them much more mobile than foot soldiers and gave them the ability to swoop in and out of the desert areas to attack poorly defended cities.

Muslims Slaughter, Rape, and Pillage

These differences provided Crusader armies with huge advantages, but what would prompt hundreds of thousand Europeans to leave their homes and travel 2,500 miles to engage an enemy is a desert kingdom—especially after the Muslim conquest of Europe had been turned back?

In 638 Jerusalem surrendered to Muslim invaders, and mass murders of Christian pilgrims and monks became commonplace.

There had been long-festering concern about the fate of Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land. After his conversion to Christianity in the early 300s, the Roman Emperor Constantine built the Church of the Holy Sepulchre on the site of what was believed to be Jesus’ tomb, and other churches in Bethlehem and on the Mount of Olives. These sites prompted a growing number of European pilgrims to visit the Holy Land, including Saint Jerome, who lived in Bethlehem for the last 32 years of his life as he translated the Bible from Greek and Hebrew into Latin. By the late fifth century, Stark reports, more than 300 hostels and monasteries offered lodging to pilgrims in Jerusalem alone.

But in 638 Jerusalem surrendered to Muslim invaders, and mass murders of Christian pilgrims and monks became commonplace. Stark includes a list of select atrocities in the eight and ninth centuries, but none worse than the some 5,000 German Christians slaughtered by Bedouin robbers in the tenth century.

Throughout this period, control of Palestine was contested by several conflicting Muslim groups. Stark writes, “In 878 a new dynasty was established in Egypt and seized control of the Holy Land from the caliph in Baghdad.” One hundred years later, Tariqu al-Hakim became the sixth caliph of Egypt and initiated an unprecedented reign of terror, not just against Christians but against his own people as well. He burned or pillaged some 30,000 churches, including the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the tomb beneath it.

Soon enough, newly converted Turkish tribes came out of the north to seize Persia and Baghdad (by 1045) and press on to Armenia, overrunning the city of Ardzen in 1048, where they murdered all the men, raped the women, and enslaved the children. Next they attacked the Egyptians, in part because the Turks were Orthodox Sunnis and the Egyptians were heretical Shiites. While the Turks did not succeed in overthrowing the Egyptians, they did conquer Palestine, entering Jerusalem in 1071. The Turks promised safety to the residents of Jerusalem if they surrendered the city, but broke this promise and slaughtered the population. They did the same in Ramla, Gaza, Tyre, and Jaffa.

Emperor Alexius Pleads for Help

Finally, they threatened Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire. Emperor Alexius Comnenus wrote to Pope Urban II in 1095, begging for help to turn back the Turks. This was remarkable given the intense hostility between the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches. Perhaps the pope saw an opportunity to unite or at least reduce tensions between the two Christian churches, but he responded with a call to create an army that would go to the Middle East.

Without ongoing support from Europe, the Crusaders could not survive constant attacks from the Muslims.

I am not going to regurgitate all the battles of the Crusades themselves. It is a fascinating history well worth studying in part for its parallels and lessons for today. Let’s just say that the Crusaders were extremely effective militarily, often defeating far larger Muslim armies, despite having traveled some 2,500 miles into an alien desert climate. Their biggest enemies were disease, starvation, and political betrayal. Plus, the Crusades were expensive and home countries grew weary of paying the taxes needed to support them (sound familiar?)

The Crusaders ended up establishing their own kingdoms in the Holy Land, which lasted for about 200 years or, as Stark notes, almost as long as the United States has existed; but without ongoing support from Europe they could not survive constant attacks from the Muslims.

How the Crusades Were Different from Military Action of the Day

So, what to make of all this?

The Crusaders were unique in that they did not seek to plunder or enslave.

Actually, the Crusaders were unique in that they did not seek to plunder or enslave. They didn’t even try to forcibly convert anyone to Christianity. Their sole interest was to protect the pilgrims and Christian holy sites. They sometimes sacked cities that refused to provide food to a hungry army, but they didn’t take riches back to Europe. There were few riches to be found. Rather than exploiting indigenous resources to benefit Europe, Europe sent money and resources to the Middle East. Pilgrims were quite lucrative for host countries, just as tourism is today.

War was a nasty and brutal business at the time, and had been for all of recorded history. Cities fortified themselves as protection against invading armies. A siege of a city meant surrounding the area and cutting off supplies until the population surrendered, often by starving. In the Bible, II Kings 6:24-33 relates the story of the siege of Samaria, in which two starving women agree to kill and eat their sons.

The rule of war at the time was that, if a city surrendered, the population would be spared, but if it resisted and the invading army had to take it by force all the inhabitants would be killed or enslaved. But Stark notes that Muslim armies often violated even this rule—promising sanctuary, then slaughtering the population that surrendered. (Before we get too smug and condescending about the savagery of these ancients, let’s not forget the rocket bombing of London, the firebombing of Dresden, and the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki a mere 70 years ago.)

Muslim armies often promised sanctuary, then slaughtered the population that surrendered.

One way in which Muslim fighters today have advanced over their forebears is that during the Crusades they did not adopt new tactics to counter the technological advantage of the Europeans. They never used crossbows or shielded infantry, even after several hundred years of fighting. Today, Muslim warriors quickly evolve to make the most of Western technology, although they still never seem to develop anything of their own.

An Enduring Clash Between Inquiry and Submission

One final thought on this. As Stark indicates above, there is in too many Muslim countries a sense of obedience that precludes robust debate or new ideas, let alone technological innovation. In his classic, “The World is Flat,” Thomas Friedman quotes Osama bin Laden as saying,

‘It is enough to know that the economy of all Arab countries is weaker than the economy of one country that had been part of our (Islamic) world when we used to truly adhere to Islam. That country is the lost Andalusia. Spain is an infidel country, but its economy is stronger that our economy because the ruler there is accountable. In our countries, there is no accountability or punishment, but there is only obedience to the rulers and prayers of long life for them. (pp. 400-401)’

Friedman confirms that this is based on a 2002 report, the first Arab Human Development Report. This report, written by Arabs, found that Spain had a larger gross domestic product than all 22 Arab states combined!

I think Stark is closer to the mark than bin Laden. The problem is a cultural way of thinking that starts with the Qur’an and the Prophet and emphasizes unquestioning obedience. The very name of the religion, Islam, means “submission.” The thinking of bin Laden that emphasizes punishing poor rulers is a complete misunderstanding how progress is made. European cultures place a high value on questioning everything, even the divinity of Jesus Christ. Certainly there have been exceptions to this, but in the sweep of history it is an unmistakable trait.

So we have perhaps the starkest conflict of worldviews imaginable: on one hand, a robust and virtually unlimited spirit of inquiry, and on the other a fervent dedication to universal obedience and submission. How this plays out is the story of our times.

[popatochisssp]

This is just for me, requests in general still aren’t open

So! The boys all speak English...’cause the idiot writing them only speaks English...but what if they were to pick a new language to learn, too?

:3

Sans (Undertale): He goes with Latin, since he’s got a background in science and knows a couple terms, but mostly-- it’s a dead language. Not only will he never be expected to speak it, but can you imagine the puns he can make, as a skeleton who knows a dead language? He sure can!

Papyrus (Undertale): Italian catches his fancy. He already knows so many pasta names, all he really has to learn is everything else-- he’s already halfway there, right? But seriously, it seems like a really cool language for a really cool dude, he’s excited to get into it! XD

Sky (Underswap Sans): Russian? Why not! He likes the way it sounds and while he’s heard it can be challenging to learn, he certainly has the dedication to try!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Very curious about Arabic... It’s an old language with (in his opinion) beautiful writing systems, and he feels like he could probably access a lot of interesting literature if he could read it. Might take him awhile to pick it up, but he’s patient, he can get there.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Feels like he’d get a lot of use out of learning French-- it’s the language of love, ain’t it? Ship’s kinda sailed on him soundin’ classy in one language, might as well give another a try, right?

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He chooses German and it’s purely out of spite-- somebody told him it was hard to pick up, so of course, he’s going to prove them wrong! ...Whoever they were, he’s already forgotten who said it, honestly.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’ll try to be practical about his choice and goes with Mandarin. It’s the most spoken language on the planet, after all, surely he’ll be able to use it eventually!

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He doesn’t really wanna... but if he has to pick something, it’ll be Japanese. If Undyne is gonna force him to watch anime, he might as well understand it without the subtitles. And...maybe also ‘cause he could ask his brother for help with the kanji characters-- they’re not pronounced the same across languages, but y’know, overlapping meanings, that’s something.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Oh boy, he’s not a quick learner anymore so most languages are very daunting to him...except maybe sign language! He may not have muscles, but he does have some sort of muscle-memory, if he did enough drills he could probably learn at least some basic signs-- enough to have a bare bones conversation, heheheh...

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He...would like to finish learning Spanish. I say ‘finish’ and not ‘start’ because uh... Well. He’s a fan of soap operas in general, and in the course of looking for some to watch, he discovered telenovelas and he had to pick up a few words here and there, just to follow the plot. It would be nice to understand all of it, though!

[ucflibrary]

As debates rage across the country on whether we should open schools, this weekend we’ll take a look at two movies set in vastly different school environments, the refined world of higher learning in Jerusalem and the grittier world of a Paris high school.

~

Footnote (Joseph Cedar, 2011)

Two Talmudic researchers and professors—Eliezer and Uriel Shkolnik, father and son--are at the center of Joseph Cedar's Footnote. A movie about the virtues (or lack thereof) of academic rigor and filial piety may sound dry, but the ingenious plotting and smart editing pulls a juicy soap opera out of this story's dusty shelves.

One of the clever narrative gambits the movie pulls is providing exposition through footnotes themselves. In both these men's cases, we see on the screen, "A few things worth knowing about..." before going into an annotated rundown of their professional and personal lives. The movie turns into an almost dual biography, a filmed explication of the book about these men's lives as if they were real and not characters in a story.

Footnote is also a curious examination of professional rivalry, specifically in the realm of academia. Among its chief themes are academic integrity and the validity of different types of research. That idea proves to be the main wedge between the father and son, and the point at which loyalties begin to fracture. In a newspaper interview, Eliezer says Uriel is very good at what he does. It just so happens he doesn't really respect it as legitimate scientific research.

This constant disappointment at the hands of his own father causes Uriel to blow up at his own son. We can see how the dysfunction in one relationship manifests itself in and is displaced onto other relationships. And we can see how the pettiest of grievances take their toll on the weightiest of bonds.

 Footnote (2011) is available through Alexander Street Press.

~

The Class (Laurent Cantet, 2008)

The Class follows teacher François Marin over the course of an academic year and his class of mostly foreign-born students in a working-class area of Paris. Jumping back and forth between scenes of Marin arguing with his often insolent students and him commiserating with his colleagues over their shared frustration, we can certainly empathize with the plight of the modern teacher. It's quite apparent that the term “teacher” encompasses a lot more than that word would suggest.

But in the same way that parents and their children can make up pretty quickly after having a fairly big row, the same can be said about Marin and his students. A couple of scenes after a student named Khoumba writes Marin a letter saying she will no longer engage with him after having a big fight in class, they are seen discussing classwork as if nothing happened. His relationship with Souleymane, a particularly difficult student, ping pongs between outright contempt and Marin being his most outspoken supporter.

Many of the scenes are uncomfortably tense, not only for how personal and heated those arguments get, but how the movie often refuses to spell out who is right. Students challenge him in manners typical of rowdy teens, but also in unexpected ways. When Marin always uses the name Bill for example sentences, they question why he always uses "whitey" names, especially when his class is full of African and Arab students. And they argue that since everyday, common speech is always evolving, they wonder why they should dwell on an impractical adherence to strict rules of language.

The question of who's right all leads to the final big confrontation of the movie between Marin and Souleymane. And it's to the movie's credit that though the structures of power in the school system inevitably force decisions to be made in one direction, it doesn't necessarily ask the viewer to assign blame to either side. We get to know these kids and their points of view and we're hinted at problems in their personal lives. We're also shown the unenviable position so many teachers are put in just by coming into work every day. It is then, perhaps, a lesson in empathy from which we can still learn today.

The Class (2008) is available through Alexander Street Press.