#instead of actually doing a shred of introspection

[rjalker]

Moon literally only being there to make babies for Jade [handshake] Murderbot literally being programmed to protect humans

things we're supposed to just pretend we don't notice

She absolutely failed to convincingly prove that Moon is with Indigo Cloud because they actually like him as a person, and not just because he can make babies for Jade.

It's not even difficult to accomplish. She brought Ember in to ~prove~ that they like Moon, but as Chime literally pointed out literally immediately, Ember is a literal child. He's absolutely no threat to Moon's position. So like. Yeah, that's...not doing anything to convince me that Moon's there because they like him.

There were so many opportunities to show us this but they're never taken, because that would be too much effort I guess.

She's leaning so heavily on the trope of found family for The Books of the Raksura that she forgot that that relationship actually needs to be tested in a way that will prove, without a shred of doubt, that Moon is there because they want him, specifically, as a person, to be a part of their family. Especially with all the abandonment issues she's saddled him with. But we just never get it. And it's such a waste.

And like, Murderbot literally does not want to do anything except protect humans. Which is the exact thing it was created to do. But she doesn't want to write stories about robot rebellions against slavery because that's too cliche, so instead Murderbot's just gonna keep performing its intended role and this is supposed to be revolutionary. With no introspection ever at any point to show that Murderbot is questioning if this is what it really wants, or if this is just what it was programmed to want.

The laziness and refusal to think deeply about the issues at hand weakens the characters and their relationships once you think about it for more than five seconds.

[kavehsclaymore]

Traces we Left

an 4nemo smau

DISC 1 - Track 5 : A Second Opinion

"Yahoo~!" The hum of the air conditioning is too loud for the studio he's in, but he isn't recording right now, so Kuni ignores it. Jean should have kicked him out of the building by now, but 4nemo's success gives them certain privileges within their agency; Kuni will take advantage of that without a shred of remorse. "Hello, Venti," he says anyways. "You sound... energetic." "Hi!" Venti replies through the speaker. "Yeah, it's morning! I'm full of sunshine!" "Morning bird," Kuni replies. "You say it like it's a bad thing!" Venti laughs. "Anyways... What's up, 'mouchie?" "I need your advice," Kuni responds. "As a professional... And a friend." He ignores Venti's dramatic gasp. "He called me a friend!" "Can you listen to a song?" he asks. Venti gasps again. "Wait... You wrote a song?" He can hear the way Venti's voice takes on a new level of excitement. "Oh, oh!!! You're writing a single!" "An album, actually," Kuni admits. "If someone would actually listen to the first piece so I can move on to the rest." Venti makes a high-pitched noise that sounds embarrassingly like a squeal. "Okay, okay, I'm listening! Go ahead!" They switch to a video call. Kuni props his phone on the table. "The quality'll be shit," he warns, and reaches for the guitar propped against the wall. "Don't care! Sing, 'mouchie!" And he does. Kuni plays the chords and sings the words he's written down for this song. Once he's played through it once, he goes over his ideas for instrumentation and points out the places he thinks need polishing. Venti is silent for a moment when Kuni is done. "You're pouring your whole heart into this," he notes. "I can tell." He smiles. "Now, as for the song itself, it's got a few problems." Kunikuzushi can take criticism at face value. (All the 4nemo's can; it's the only way they've survived for so long in a cut-throat industry.) "What did you hear?" he asks instead, straight to the point. "What do I need to change?" "It isn't that you need to change much, per se. It's all really pretty and appealing, aurally..." Venti twirls a finger around one of his loose teal-dyed locks thoughtfully. "But you're trying to say too many things in one song. I think you should spread those ideas out. Like this part--" he hums part of the song "--that's a whole other melodic idea, you can make it a different song entirely!" Kunikuzushi looks at the sheet music spread out before him, plucking strings absently as he goes, and then reaches for his pencil. He marks the spot Venti means, and then a few more places where that also applies. "So, in this spot, too..." He strums the chords he had written down, humming the melody; Venti joins him. Then he changes the chord qualities and his strumming pattern, and Venti makes a noise of approval. "Ah, I see." "Yeah, that's the spirit!" He taps his chin. "And about the instrumentation... It's your first solo album, and your 5wirlies are more into that introspective stuff, so you can keep it pretty simple if you want to. Whatever you write, it needs to fit your album's narrative, at least loosely." They go back and forth like this for the next hour, until the clock shows that it's past 3am when Kuni looks up next. He begrudgingly tells Venti that he has to get some rest, and after a bit more back and forth, they end the call. Kuni gathers his belongings and heads outside. As he slips into his car and drives home, his mind goes back to what Venti said, over and over again. He knows the advice is solid - Venti's a musical prodigy, and getting a master's in composition, so one would hope he knew what he was talking about - but it sparked a different thought for Kuni altogether. Namely, that his songs can follow the same narrative.

a/n: hello scaranation! some things to note:-pretend that inazuma and mond have totally different timezones ok ok -update: i fixed the link, but it broke the formatting of the pictures and i cannot for the life of me fix it.... sorry :<

Summary: As your final semester in university begins, your childhood friend-turned international idol Kunikuzushi decides to make good on the promise he made to you all those years ago.

He's going to write you a song.

Scaramouche/Wanderer x gn!y/n

ALBUM: Traces we Left

prev | masterlist | next

Credits: Y/N's circle || Kuni's circle

DISC 1:

Track 1 | Track 2 | Track 3 | Track 4 | ▶ Playing Now: Track 5 | Track 6 | Track 7 | Track 8 | Track 9 | Track 10

DISC 2:

Track 11 | Track 12 | Track 13 | Track 14 | Track 15 | Track 16 | Track 17 | loading....

((message to be added to taglist))

taglist: @misfireezreal @crowbird @i5yanfei @tjjjrsj @kunikuzushisbeloved @raideneiari @dazaisfavgf @orionicchaos

[master-of-47-dudes]

Oh, more rambling about Metroid actually.

One of the things that's really cool about both Metroid Fusion and Metroid Dread (spoilers for Dread I guess) is that they both tackle Samus having to come to terms with her seeing herself as a warrior and a weapon and how this perception of herself is dangerous- and this is very much tied to her having this implicit concept of the power suit being her real, outer self!

After all, Fusion reveals that Samus's suit is fundamentally bonded to her body- literally hooked to her nervous system to the point that the armor has to be surgically removed.

And not only that, but the addition of the metroid vaccine changes Samus- and changes her suit- dramatically. And it also makes her suit more malleable to change as she changes further as seen in Dread.

But anyway, to my main point:

Metroid Fusion is a game that explores the consequences of Samus's actions on SR-388. Her hesitancy to complete her extinction mission at the end of Metroid II was redemptive, yes, but in removing the baby metroid she still unleashed a far worse threat to the world.

Super Metroid explores the immediate consequences of her actions, of course. But while Super Metroid shows her being punished for having shown mercy to the baby metroid as the Space Pirates take advantage of her hesitation, Fusion gives Samus an opportunity to redeem herself for the extinction event she caused (by causing another, bigger extinction event as she is well known for doing).

But in order to do this, she has to confront the monster that is herself. To slaughter an entire species as she did with the Metroids- not impersonally or accidentally but descending into the depths and mercilessly executing every last one of them- Samus had to be a cold, impartial weapon.

And to Samus, that is what she is. It's why the suit is her second skin- she's a warrior. A weapon. Except... Samus still has humanity underneath that. The SA-X, however...

The SA-X is a mirror of that aspect of Samus taken to the logical extreme: A cold, heartless, living weapon of mass destruction. The ultimate warrior, with no ability or desire to hesitate or hold back or regulate itself in the destruction it can unleash.

It's natural that Samus is more introspective in Fusion, forced to deal with a stubborn computer that brings to her mind memories of her former CO (because it is him) while having to confront the darkest and most violent version of herself and question what it is that makes her different from the SA-X. She ultimately concludes it IS her humanity- and having the foil of Adam, a reminder and anchor to the more human side of herself, helps her to come to terms with that.

And then in Metroid Dread, she's forced to confront this struggle once more. Except this time, she faces this aspect of herself from within. Stranded in the depths of ZD-R, Samus is forced to overcome the EMMI over and over- they are not an existential threat to the universe at large like SA-X was, but they are just as durable, just as dangerous on an individual scale as it was to her while being far more targeted and unrelenting.

After all, the SA-X had better things to do and greater motivations beyond chasing down and killing Samus, and only really harassed her when their paths crossed. And the SA-X was intelligent enough to toy with Samus- to use the immense power at its disposal to mock and harass its weakened adversary instead of going straight for the kill.

The EMMI had only a singular purpose: Hunt down and kill Samus Aran as efficiently as possible.

Samus was forced to confront every single one of them head on in order to progress- she had to let go of fear and hesitation and embrace overwhelming power to shred them to pieces. She had to become the weapon again, to embrace being the ultimate warrior because the only way to escape ZD-R alive was to do so. Not to mention Adam, anchor to her humanity that he is, was removed and impersonated by Raven Beak to encourage Samus to embrace losing herself to becoming a weapon once more, to embodying the metroid within her and becoming an Ultimate Warrior.

Quiet Robe tried to give her an out, and almost succeeded in bringing her back. Then she screwed that up by releasing the X parasites (whoops) and things went from being a personal threat (only Samus's life wS on the line) to a massive, existential one again.

By the time Samus faced down Raven Beak, she really had lost just about everything that made her different from the SA-X. Fighting him, she was an embodiment of rage and destruction- an incoherent, screaming beast practically foaming at the mouth to destroy the enemy in front of her. This was something that Raven Beak did deliberately, forcing her to absorb genes from X Parasites that held the keys to forcing the feral metroid cells in her to the front while simultaneously putting Samus into a position and mindset where it was "embrace this part of yourself or die", but it's a part of her that was always there.

And so we end up with the Metroid Suit. The embodiment of Samus at her most powerful, now even surpassing her former peak in Super Metroid as the massive energy reserves gifted to her by the sacrifice of the baby were now generated by her own being. But it's also an embodiment of Samus at her least controlled- no longer able to hold back or even prevent herself from being a force of destruction, to the point that Adam had to stop her from touching the controls of her ship because she would simply drain it of energy.

It's funny that in the end, SA-X gives Samus her power back while Quiet Robe-X gives her humanity back, but in the end Samus is able to escape and left to contemplate what she has gained and lost from this experience.

Anyway I'm rambling.

[itsevanffs]

And oh, being a fanfiction writer doesn't make anyone untouchable or special, if they post in public place, using OUR favorite characters OF COURSE we're going to critique them. do you go and tell to someone who says 'i didn't actually love that book/movie/ANYTHING' 'how can you!!! but they put effort in it- DUMB. ASS. Don't hide behind the 'they might be offended' argument, we all know the only reason y'all pressed is bc you don't like anyone that's not on the same opinion with u.

Wait. So... is this like, a 'I/my friend said something shitty as 'critique' about an author's work who didn't ask for it and Evan and/or his friends said 'hey don't do that, you're being a bit shitty' and now I'm mad about that so I'm going to yell at them instead of doing introspection' type thing?

Because, trust me, you can have all the opinions you want. But when you say 'that movie sucked' to your friend after you exit the cinema, the screen writer doesn't get it blasted in their face in bright red letters. Your complaints don't magically reach the ears of the director, the actors, the camera crew, the CGI guys. Fanfiction ain't like that. You comment 'your prose is childish, you really should have done something better with that' or 'there are so many typos lol learn to spell' and it gets sent, unless these authors have comment emails/comments themselves turned off, straight into their email.

Even if you are my friend, unwarranted criticism will get you a warranted escort to the nearest exit until you shut up. People do this shit for fun, not for profit. They put it out there, for free, because they feel proud of what they have created and want to share it. AO3 is NOT a review or proofreading site - it is a godforsaken archive. Social media, tumblr is not a review or proofreading site. Posting does not mean 'I consent to be absolutely shredded by (well-meaning) nitpickers'.

If you wear your favourite shirt in public, that act does not invite people to go up and tell you it doesn't match your hair or your eye colour.

You wanna critique? Fine. Go sign up as a beta/alpha reader on a proofreading site or forum, and out your spirit there. Look for fics that have 'critiques welcome!' in the author's notes.

But cut the consumerist bullshit you've got going on here, because it doesn't suit fandom at all. This isn't about you; it's about the hearts of people braver than you who put their souls into the world and do not want to be beaten down by unwarranted comments. Consent is a simple concept, and it is absolutely baffling to me that people like you still believe not saying no means yes.

[stormyoceansmain]

no literally... s5/5a pining!eddie era just makes sense. "just make sure you're following your heart, not christopher's", the shooting being focused only on eddie and buck, everything cutting out except for the two of them, them keeping their eyes on each other the whole time, framed like they're reaching for each other under the truck up until eddie passes out, the emotional parts of the shooting storyline going to buck instead of his gf, buck being the one to tell chris, ana stepping out of frame, buck staying with chris in the diaz house, all the very blatent bobby and athena parallels in the same damn episode, showing all the firefam's significant others' putting their vests on while buck puts his on alone in eddie's house, the likelihood of eddie literally asking for buck when he woke up in the hospital bc he's the first one ana called and he looks so happy to see him, the entire conversation about the will and buck just being the one to pick him up from the hospital at all... it's all insane. not to mention how it looks like ana is going for a kiss at the welcome home party (which... they've never even kissed on screen lmao) but eddie goes in for a cheek kiss like he does with his family members instead. also buck not chasing after taylor after they kissed and instead running right to eddie, and then having all of his attention on eddie and chris at the party...

and even earlier on in the season, eddie leaves his "nice" date with ana, comes home to buck and chris after having to "take a detour"... chris going to buck when he's upset. eddie getting jealous of buck and taylor teaming up. the fact that eddie only started dating ana bc bobby gave him the speech about moving on, and he thought it might be something good for christopher. she's nice, she's pretty, christopher knows her, she's the safest and easiest option, but is that really what he wants? isn't there someone out there that would be good for both him AND christopher? hm. and then buck only showing interest in dating once eddie and ana start their relationship? ok....

so... next stop eddie!pining. buck being the one who gets to end a relationship + figuring out what it is exactly that he wants OR buck and taylor mutual breakup bc they figure out they're better off as friends (bc... ~bisexual~ besties buck and taylor would be so good for me personally.). second half of the season mutual pining era and then something in the finale maybe? honestly, though, there's no way eddie and ana are going to last, esp after the conversation with carla. some people think they'll probably even start s5 having already broken up off screen. and who knows how long they'll do buck and taylor for tbh, but if the finale is any indication, i'd say we're going to get Something about how they're together but buck still spends the majority of his time with the diaz boys.

sorry this is so long ksdjfjkn. i've typed up like... 5 different versions of this and they're all ridiculous. anyway, i think they've officially started shooting for s5 today. bryan safi (josh) posted pics in costume on instagram. so you caught up literally just in time !!

WHEN I TELL YOU THIS MESSAGE HIT ME RIGHT IN THE SOLAR PLEXUS AND THEN PROCEEDED TO WIPE THE FLOOR WITH MY BODY.......... JUST HAVING EVERYTHING WRITTEN DOWN LIKE THIS, EVERY SINGLE INSANE DECISION THEY MADE IN SEASON 4 WHEN IT COMES TO BUDDIE..... ABSOLUTELY SHREDDED ME

wish i could write something coherent about this, but it literally MAKES SO MUCH SENSE TO HAVE PINING!EDDIE IN SEASON 5, because LOOK. LISTEN. why having eddie say that being with ana is easy, why having carla tell him to follow his heart, if they're just gonna make him end up with yet another woman??? ALSO the fact that they made sure to point out how buck is the one person who will always be in christopher's life, making him the best choice for eddie AND christopher

and since im a sucker for slow burn i would give ANYTHING for more eddie introspection in 5a, ending with eddie realizing his feelings for buck in the mid season finale, and then actual pining!eddie for all of 5b until SOMETHING happens in the finale (i feel like taylor is gonna be around for quite some time, so buck finding out about eddie's feelings in the finale would be [chef's kiss])

[organabanana]

leaves of three, let it be [2/3] || harlivy

Chapters: 2/3

Fandom:  DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i’m sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Summary

After Harley mistakenly confesses her love and then promptly takes it back, Ivy spends some time sorting through the things she absolutely doesn't feel (and the ones she does). Selina and Harley don't quite help.

Chapter 1: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 2: AO3

If you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d say she isn’t.

Actually, if you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d probably stare you down until you crumbled under the sheer weight of her judgment and apologized for ever talking to her, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, Ivy doesn’t meditate. The concept of meditation, if you ask her, goes in the same patchouli-scented box as moon-charged crystals and essential oils.

No. What Ivy does is… introspection. Yeah. She introspects. She consciously clears her mind of all intrusive thoughts. Which may sound a lot like meditation, maybe? But — she cannot stress this enough — it’s not the same thing.

So there she is. Sitting on her couch. Introspecting. And it may look like she’s staring off into the distance, but she’s actually looking at a nearly invisible, tiny little hint of a green sprout that’s managed to grow in a crack on the windowsill.

There it is. A tiny little fighter. Just like—

Nope.

No way.

We are absolutely not thinking about her. We’re introspecting. So Ivy takes in a deep breath, in through her nose, eyes fluttering closed as she exhales slowly and then opens them and tries again.

As she was saying. A tiny little sprout. She could go over there and touch it and quite literally breathe life into it. She can’t tell what kind of plant it is, but she could make it bloom if it’s a flowering species. What if it’s a tree? She could make it grow so big its roots would tear this whole building apart just like her heart was torn apart last ni—

Motherf—

“Morning, my little dill pickle.”

Selina climbs in through the window, practically gliding into Ivy’s apartment with the kind of grace that would normally make Ivy stop and stare and perhaps have a not-quite-respectful thought or two.

Listen: she has eyes. Don’t read into it.

Anyway. As graceful and ridiculously nimble as Selina is, she’s also way up high in Ivy’s shit list at the moment (second only to you know who), so today is not the day for lighthearted conversation and platonic crushes.

“Fuck you, Selina,” Ivy offers as a greeting, glancing at the plant to make sure it’s still there. And it is, of course. Selina fucking Kyle may be a bitch and a half, but she knows how to move without leaving a trace.

“Now?” Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow at Ivy, the slightest hint of a teasing smirk on her face. “I mean I was gonna offer brunch, but that doesn’t sound like the worst midday plan.”

Ivy simply stares for a moment, as if she’s forgotten if there’s one person in the world that’s absolutely immune to even her most wilting looks, that’s Selina fucking Kyle.

“Oh, come on,” Selina practically groans, “stop it. Brooding is such a teen boy move.”

“I am not brooding.”

“Right.” With one single word, Selina makes it clear that she doesn’t believe Ivy and, most importantly, that she doesn’t care enough to argue. “Anyway. Brunch? My treat.”

Ivy closes her eyes. Not meditating. Just introspecting. Just trying to channel the urge to make a full-grown sequoia grow out of Selina Kyle’s ass into something productive. One deep breath in through her nose and—

“We can have margaritas!” Selina lets out a quiet chuckle as she admires the perfectly matte black polish on her fingernails. “Yikes. Too soon?”

Fuck introspection.

“I. Am going. To fucking murder you.” Ivy stands up with every intention to make good on that promise, and Selina must read it in her eyes because for the first time since Ivy’s known her — for the first time in her life, maybe — Selina looks scared.

Well, maybe not scared.

But she is absolutely concerned.

“Fuck me, Ive, damn,” Selina takes one step back, no longer smirking, “calm down, will you?”

Ivy stops, Selina’s audacity basically jolting her out of her murderous rage. “Calm down, Selina? Fucking seriously? You did what you did and now you come here and tell me to fucking calm down?”

Selina tilts her head just so, like she’s conceding (against her will) that maybe there is a reason for Ivy to be somewhat upset with her.

“Oh, come on,” she sighs, rolling her shoulders like the tension has to leave her body somehow, and it will certainly not be via an apology, “it wasn’t even real poison.”

Ivy’s eyes widen slightly in disbelief. Does Selina think she’s mad because she thinks Harley was in actual danger?

No. No, Selina can’t think that, because Selina may be an asshole, but she’s a very smart asshole. So she must know Ivy’s well aware of Harley’s immunity to toxins. She must know that’s not even remotely the reason Ivy’s spent the last eleven hours and some change introspecting all thoughts of last night out of her mind.

For a split second, Ivy feels something similar to warmth towards Selina as she considers that maybe she’s simply ignoring the embarrassing part of the event to spare Ivy. Maybe she’s pretending this is about Harley’s physical wellbeing and not… well. The other thing.

Sadly, the split second passes.

“If it helps,” Selina says, and even before she finishes the sentence Ivy can already sense it won’t help at all, “it’s totally reciprocated.”

Ivy feels it crawling up her veins, thick like sap. She’s managed to distill plenty of emotions, turned them into tonics and toxins and elixirs and used them for her own benefit and the Green’s. She’s bottled love — well, lust — and hatred and rage. Fear, even. Insanity, ironically enough. But this.

This… this humiliation.

Oh, this is something else.

Ivy closes her eyes. In through her nose, and even the air feels like it has to go through that thick mixture of (public) pain and weakness and acknowledged vulnerability to get to her lungs.

It’s one thing to have Harley see her like this. Like that. Like last night. Defenses down and heart out there in the open like her ribcage’s forgotten its purpose. That’s fine, she figures, because it’s been the norm for years and years and years. It’s nothing new, really, to have Harley see her accidentally stumble over the line into pathetic from time to time. It happens.

But Selina.

Selina fucking Kyle.

Selina saw that and she understood what she was seeing and now she’s acknowledging it, and Ivy isn’t even mad anymore.

I mean, she is. She’s really fucking mad.

She’s just many other things as well as mad, so it’s harder to focus on it.

Out through her mouth. Slowly. And her voice is nice and even when she opens her eyes and looks at Selina once again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivy lies, walking towards the kitchen like that had been her intention all along, “there is nothing to reciprocate.”

Ivy can feel Selina’s look on the back of her head. She’s not going to give her the satisfaction of turning around, of course. Selina Kyle’s ego is healthy enough as it is. But she can absolutely feel it. A look involving an arched eyebrow and narrowed eyes and possibly a smirk. Maybe the slightest purse of painted lips, if she’s going for judgmental rather than smug.

Selina is multi-faceted in her scorn.

“You have got to be shitting me, Ive,” Selina says, and Ivy still refuses to turn around, focusing instead on staring at the interior of her fridge and ignoring the fact that ninety percent of its contents are there for Harley’s all-day snacking needs.

She ends up grabbing a jug of water not because she’s thirsty, but simply because it’s the only thing in there she knows for a fact is there just for her.

“Seriously?” Selina prods, walking closer and crossing her arms over her chest as she watches Ivy methodically fill a glass of water like it’s a delicate operation that requires her undivided attention. “You’re such a fucking pussy. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

Ivy does turn around then, gripping the glass with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary. In her defense, she’d much rather be gripping Selina’s neck instead.

“Once again, Selina,” she says with a slight shrug, taking a sip of cold water, “no idea what you’re talking about.”

Selina gapes at her. It’s kind of flattering, actually. It’s not every day something leaves Selina Kyle fully unable to speak. Maybe — Ivy thinks to herself, enjoying her water — she’ll never speak again. Maybe she’ll leave Gotham entirely. Wouldn’t that be just—

Ivy’s train of thought is completely derailed by something that is never a good sign: Selina Kyle is laughing.

Not chuckling. Not snickering. Not letting out one of those sarcastic giggles she likes to use to obliterate people’s entire self-esteem.

No. No, this is honest to goodness, full-on belly laughter, and it’s fucking terrifying.

“Wh— what the fuck, Selina?” Ivy asks, trying to sound less scared than she actually is. Selina’s sense of humor is not so much dark as it is downright fucked up, and if she’s finding something in this situation funny, it can only mean someone is about to get crushed, metaphorically or otherwise.

All signs point to Ivy.

“Look at you!” Selina points in the general direction of Ivy, like she’s about to rip her fashion sense to shreds. But this, sadly, has nothing to do with clothes. “Holy shit, you’re in so much deeper than I thought, this is fucking hilarious.”

Ivy takes one step back, until her hip bumps against the counter and she blindly feels around to leave the half-empty glass on it. To her credit, she still manages to try and infuse her voice with something resembling nonchalance one last time.

“You’re not making any sen—“

“Man, you’re in love, in love, huh?”

Ivy’s been shot before. So she feels like she’s not being overly dramatic when she says Selina’s words feel just like that. Like being shot right in the gut. And Ivy tries to be as stoic as she usually is when faced with things like gunshots and blunt force and bat-shaped ninja stars (holy fuck, he’s such a nerd), but she feels a bit like she’s been standing on a castle of cards for the last… however many years it’s been since she met Dr. Quinzel in Arkham, and Selina’s just figured out exactly where to blow to make it all come tumbling down.

“I mean I knew you two were into each other. Obviously,” Selina continues, and Ivy suddenly understands the exact meaning of all those expressions regarding cats and mice, “but I thought it was like… well, you know. Friends in need of a nudge towards the benefits. But this.”

Selina shakes her head, smile as wide as her eyes. She looks both surprised and delighted. Like she’s really just found out there are feelings involved in whatever lust-filled fever dream she’d interpreted as reality before now.

“And you’re the one who’s doing all the yearning. I totally thought she was the useless one. Holy shit.” Selina takes a couple steps in the direction of the window, like using a door like a normal person is simply not an option for her. “How long?”

Ivy opens her mouth, but Selina interrupts her before any sound can come out.

“Don’t answer that. I already know.” Selina waves her hand dismissively. “No wonder you’re fucking terrified. You’d be safer falling in love with an actual hyena.”

“I’m not—“

“Please.” Selina reaches the window and notices that little plant for the first time, giving it a little pat that could almost pass for affectionate if you didn’t know Selina Kyle. “So what’s scarier, Ive?” Selina almost purrs the question. “That she may not love you back, or that she probably does?”

Ivy tells herself she could murder Selina right then and there, with the help from the little plant. Hell, she could probably kill her without help from the plant.

But that wouldn’t really fix anything, right?

“Anyway!” Selina lets out a happy little sigh as she slinks out of the window and onto the fire escape outside. “No brunch, then. I’ll leave you to your brooding.” Her smile turns into a smirk then, eyes narrowed like she’s about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. “And don’t worry, Ive. I can keep a secret.”

Selina winks at her before she disappears.

Ivy refuses, pointedly, to think about her conversation with Selina.

She tries to go back to her introspection, but it turns out there’s no breathing in and out when your chest is full of feelings to the point of actual physical discomfort, so Ivy gives up on that, too.

She could plot. Scheme, if you will. It’s been a while since she’s gone for an actual multi-step plan to rid Gotham — and, later, the world — of parasitic CEOs profiting off nature. A bit of environmentally friendly murder never fails to put her in a good mood.

But it turns out it’s nearly impossible to come up with a solo plan without being constantly aware of the fact that going solo is no longer her default. A plan involving only herself doesn’t feel like just any random plan anymore. Now it feels like a plan without her, and that’s just— that’s just the opposite of what she needs to be thinking about right now.

So.

What’s an eco-terrorist to do when eco-terrorism is not an option?

Eight hours later she’s in her lab, hair haphazardly held in a bun with a pencil as she looks at her latest experiment through her microscope.

The little sprout from her windowsill sits right next to the microscope in a beaker serving as a makeshift flower pot while Ivy works.

“You know, if this works,” Ivy tells the sprout, eyes trained on the cell that should enter active mitosis any second now, “you’re going to be my sidekick when we take down the next big guy.”

If this works, and she can give this tiny plant the powers she hopes to give her, they can take over Gotham and the world as a team. Ivy’s always worked best with plants, anyway. Who needs—

“Red?”

Harley’s voice is uncharacteristically mellow, but it manages to startle Ivy anyway.

“Jesus, Harley,” Ivy doesn’t look away from the microscope, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

She’s not mad. Not at Harley, anyway. None of this is her fault. She’s just—

Listen. Figuring out exactly what to call what she’s feeling would require introspection, and we’re not doing that anymore.

“Oh. I uh—“ There’s something in Harley’s tone that twists uncomfortably in Ivy’s chest. “Wanted to talk?”

Ivy doesn’t want to talk. Talking, as it turns out, may be the very last thing she wants to do. But there’s that something in Harley’s voice. Something that sounds a bit like embarrassment. Like shame, even. Like maybe if Ivy were to listen in on Harley’s inner monologue right now the voice in there would sound suspiciously like him calling her a fuck-up and an idiot and—

“I’m sorry.” Ivy leaves the little plant’s cell to enter mitosis in its own time and turns to fully focus on Harley. “I didn’t mean to snap. You just startled me.”

Harley visibly relaxes. Ivy decides she hates him just that much more than she did ten seconds ago.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya,” Harley leaves her bat propped against the trunk of a giant nightshade and takes a few steps towards Ivy.

Normally, Harley has no concept of personal space. She sits on whatever surface is closest to Ivy, invading her space and making it impossible for her to fully focus on anything that’s not Harley. It should be annoying, but it isn’t, for reasons Ivy is absolutely not going to consider at this time.

This time, however, Harley hovers just a step or two away from Ivy and her microscope and her standing desk.

It feels…

It feels wrong.

“What did you want to talk about?” Ivy taps the desk and tries not to smile when Harley beams as she practically bounces to sit on it. Her legs dangle over the edge, well-worn combat boots lightly bumping against Ivy’s legs with each soft swing of Harley’s feet.

Nothing really feels wrong anymore.

“I’m sorry, Pammy.”

Ivy shakes her head. “It’s fine. You know you’re always welcome here, I just wasn’t expecting—“

“No,” Harley says, and when Ivy looks into her eyes she realizes Harley’s not going to let her pretend she has no idea what this is about, “I mean I’m sorry about the other night.”

Ivy stands up a little straighter. Takes half a step back, like that’s going to help. Crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s fine.”

Harley tilts her head just so, bright blue eyes narrowing for a second, and Ivy sees a flash of Harleen right there staring back at her. Reading her fucking thoughts, almost. It’s unnerving.

“It’s fine, Harley,” Ivy insists, tone sharper as she takes another step back. She can hear the low rumble of every vine in her lab stirring along with her mood.

There’s a moment there, maybe a few seconds long, where they both simply stare at each other in silence. Like they’re trying to figure each other out in a way that feels completely foreign because she knows Harley, and Harley knows her, and there’s nothing to figure out. Nothing at all.

“You know—“ Harley’s voice sounds a bit brittle, like it may just break if it hits the wrong word, “you know I didn’t mean it, Pammy.”

Ivy nods. Once.

“I know.” She knows now and she knew when she first met Harley and she’s known for the last however many years it’s been. She fucking knows it’s love but it’s not love like that. She knows. “It’s fine.”

“You know Selina just got in my head, right?” Harley keeps talking, and on some level Ivy knows there’s nothing to be angry about because Harley just wants to explain. She just wants to make sure things aren’t weird between them because they’re best friends. But it feels almost cruel anyway. “You know I don’t—“

“I know you don’t love me, Harley, yes, for fuck’s sakes, I’m not an idiot.”

“But I—“

“Don’t.” Ivy holds one finger up. If she has to listen to Harley say she loves her, but just not in that way she may lose her fucking mind. “It’s fine.”

For a few blessed seconds, it feels like maybe Harley will let it go. Like maybe she’ll just drop it and let Ivy get out of this with some semblance of pride.

But that would just be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?

“I do love you, Ive, it’s just—“

“Holy shit, Harley!” Ivy raises her voice and hears the tell-tale creak of vines growing up the wall. “I know! I fucking know, all right? Selina is a dick and you thought margarita mix was a love potion and you’re not fucking in love with me, all right? I know!”

“But—“

“No! No fucking but!” Ivy swears she hears it. The little snap when she loses her last thread of control over what she’s saying and things spill out before she has a chance to filter them. “I don’t love you either, have you even considered that?”

Harley’s eyes widen in the purest expression of surprise Ivy’s ever seen in her life.

“Right!” There’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop. She wants to stop and backtrack and tell Harley she didn’t mean it because she can’t stand the thought of hurting her, and she needs her to know that of course — of course — Ivy loves her. But she just can’t right now. “I’m not secretly in love with you! All right? I’m glad you don’t love me. I’m fucking fine.”

Harley opens her mouth like she’s about to speak, but closes it without making a sound. She doesn’t look hurt, necessarily. She looks… she looks disarmed, almost. Like she doesn’t know how to react.

“I’ll just—“ Harley swallows and jumps off the desk. “We’re fine, so I’ll just leave. Yeah?”

Ivy nods. “Fine.”

“Cool. Yeah.” Harley sort of smiles, but not really. She moves a bit slower than usual as she goes back to her bat and walks towards the door, and there’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop her and fix this somehow — because it’s not fine at all — but self-preservation wins in the end.

“Remember to lock the door on your way out.”

For a second, Harley almost looks like she may say something. And for a second, Ivy almost hopes she will. But Harley just nods and walks out, and when she hears the lock snap into place, Ivy knows she’s all alone with her plants.

Right where she belongs.

[labelleofbelfastcity]

fig and gorgug’s excellent adventure

word count: 1.7k

read on ao3 here!

“Bill, my most esteemed colleague…”

Fig looks over at a quietly snoring Gorgug, his face softly lit by the shadows of Bill and Ted on her crystal. Even after a year of knowing each other, a few months of which were spent in a cramped cell together, she hadn’t known he snores. It had never been quiet enough, she had never been quiet enough, to notice that about him.

If Fig focuses, she can feel the rumble of the tour bus against her back, and, if she leans her head against the metal wall by her shoulder, the vibrations of tires over asphalt rattle around in her skull. They’ve only been on the road for a week, with just two concerts under their belts, and Fig is already kind of exhausted.

It’s a lot. The managers and the calls home and the makeup assignments for missed schoolwork. She probably wouldn’t even be doing the latter, but Gorgug spends his allotted midmorning time sitting at their extremely tiny table, with papers of Barbarian Theory and Engineering 1 scattered around him, and she’d feel like an asshole to just watch.

Fig hasn’t been sleeping well, either. The little bunk seems to press in around her, shoving her into an even smaller version of herself. Which feels stupid to complain about, because Gorgug is over a foot taller than her, since his growth spurt over the summer, and he’s sleeping just fine.

As if to prove her point, Gorgug shifts in his sleep, curling closer into Fig’s side. It’s just past one in the morning, and they have a gig tomorrow so Fig should really be sleeping too, but she’d felt like crying, for some reason, alone in her bunk. She’d crawled into Gorgug’s, instead, and pulled up Bill and Ted while he blinked blearily at her. It didn’t take him much longer to fall back asleep—now with his arm tucked around Fig’s shoulders—and Fig continues to hide from her emotions by watching Ted philosophize.

“Hey, Gorgug,” Fig hisses, burrowing her head into his chest in a way she knows will stick him with her horns. “Gorgug.”

“Hrmgh,” he grumbles, shifting more so that Fig can’t really poke him anymore. “Go to sleep.”

“No. Gorgug, hey. Come on, dude, I have an idea.” She doesn’t, really, more the idea of an idea, just like how Bill and Ted only operate on negative brian power and a pretty homoerotic bromance.

Homoerotic. She must’ve texted Kristen too much yesterday.

“Sleep is my idea,” Gorgug says, but it’s more of a sigh and a yawn wrapped up together and stretched like a yawning cat.

Fig’s brain unhelpfully supplies an image of sleepy Riz—ears cocked all funny and pupils absolutely giant. She shoves it back into the little chest lovingly marked “Bad Kids” that she’d constructed the second they drove away from Elmville because Fig is great at compartmentalizing and hiding her feelings. Totally.

“I’m bored, I want to do my idea.”

“You’re watching Bill and Ted.”

“No, I’m not. I’m talking to you.”

“Then stop talking to me and go to sleep.”

Fig huffs, about to say something just into the realm of mean, but then she feels Gorgug smile against the top of her head, and she relaxes a little.

“What’s your idea?” He asks, still sleepy, but also endearing in that goofy and sweet Gorgug way.

There’s a pause, while Fig tries to come up with her idea. The bus trundles along and Bill and Ted continue to kidnap historical figures. Finally, she says, much quieter than is warranted, like it’s some big secret she’s been holding close to her heart, “I’m gonna find a chronomancer so we can go back in time.”

“Like Augefort?” Gorgug yawns again.

“Absolutely not, Augefort doesn’t have Rufus energy.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Maybe not a chronomancer, then, but like, someone who’s fucked with time, ya know. It would be cool to hang out with someone who’s fucked with time.”

“Like Augefort?” Gorgug says, before amending, “No. Wait. Rufus.”

“Yeah, Rufus,” Fig agrees. “Except if Rufus were hot, I think it would be more fun if our Rufus was hot.”

“Rufus is already hot. He’s got… sunglasses.”

Fig giggles and Gorgug snorts too. “You need your eyes checked, dude.”

“We watched the,” he yawns, “the Matrix last month. That’s what you said about Neo.”

“Uh. Neo is Keanu Reeves so just, automatically hot. Which. Speaking of. Bill and Ted are right there, dude.”

Gorgug laughs, quietly, voice still gummy with sleep, as he pokes her gently in the side, “I thought you liked older men.”

Fig makes a face that is very scandalized and very affronted. “That doesn’t mean I like Rufus.”

Gorgug shrugs, as best he can while in cuddle-mode. “I don’t know…”

Fig huffs and whacks him on the arm. “Maybe we should go to sleep.”

“Works for me,” he says, and settles back down.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t go back to bed, Gorgug. I’m still talking.”

He grumbles and turns his head even further into hers, trying to shield his eyes from the crystal’s light. “Watch your movie.”

“This is our movie, Gorgug. It’s ours.”

“It’s too late for it to be ‘our’ anything.”

“You’re no fun, you know that? No fun.”

“I’m sorry,” Gorgug says, way too sincerely for her to continue down that line of teasing.

“Hey, no, it’s fine. You’re tired, I should let you rest.”

Gorgug’s hand moves where it’s on her shoulder, rubbing over her sleep shirt, and then pausing, “Hey, is this mine?”

“Um,” Fig says, because it is, in fact, his. He’d left one of his Owlbears t-shirts on a chair, right after they unpacked all their stuff onto the tour bus, and she’d thought about it for approximately three seconds before snatching it and chucking it at her pile of clothes.

That first night, neither her nor Gorgug had gotten any sleep, sitting on the floor of the bus between their bunks, anxiously going over lyric and style choices for the next night’s show. So the shirt had waited until after their first concert, when both of them had been too tired to do much more than change out of sweaty, smoke-filled clothes and fall into their respective beds. It had smelled comfortingly of the Thistlesprings’ homemade fabric softener, but Fig’s varying states of cleanliness have not helped the smell stick around.

Now, though, cuddled up against Gorgug’s chest, she doesn’t miss the shirt’s smell. It’s nothing compared to the real thing.

“It’s okay if you took it,” Gorgug says, cracking a small smile. “It looks better on you anyway.”

“Since when do you have an eye for fashion, Mr. Hoodies-In-Summer?”

He reaches around and pokes her on the cheek, “Hey, my hoodies are a catch for women ages thirteen to twenty-eight.”

“We did sell, like, a literal ton last night,” Fig says, snorting.

There’s a lull in the conversation. Bill and Ted shred some sick air guitar.

“...It’s a little weird,” Gorgug says, eventually, in that introspective tone of his that promises paternal questioning.

“What is?”

“That we’re sophomores in high school and have so many people, like, caring about us. Or, I mean, watching us. Like, I guess we’re famous, or something? That’s weird.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Fig’s been too caught up in the whole being famous thing to think about what it means for her, a fifteen year old, to be famous. She isn’t a fan of thinking about it, actually, and decides to put it off even further. This is why Gorgug’s the thoughtful, considerate one.

“That’s probably why you’re better at songwriting than I am,” Gorgug muses. “You just do what feels right.”

Fig shifts a little, so she can look at him better, his features cast in the shifting colors of the crystal. “Dude, that’s like all drumming is. Like, just playing your emotions and not overthinking it. And you’re literally the world’s best drummer.”

“Oh,” Gorgug laughs, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You are. What other teenager gets to go on a tour while they’re still in high school?”

“Um. The Jonas Brothers?”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if you compare our music to the Jonas Brothers again I will stab you with my horns.”

“I really don't think they’re poky enough to do that—”

“Stab, Gorgug. With force. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Wo-ah,” Ted says, on the crystal.

“Wicked,” Bill chimes in.

“What if we talked like them at our next concert?” Fig asks, “Just come out with full Bill and Ted voices and keep them up the whole show.”

“That sounds… hard.”

“No, it would be fun! Like, um,” Fig switches into the voice, drawing out her vowels and smiling dumbly, “we’ll totally get babes like this, dude.”

“You can get princess babes,” Gorgug says. “I’ve got Zelda. That’s basically the same thing.”

“Oh my god, you’re too cute,” Fig burrows closer to him, back in her usual voice.

She can tell Gorgug’s blushing by the bashful tone of his silence. “Um, thanks. I should probably call her tomorrow.”

“Do you mind if I join too? I really like her, she’s nice. And sick as hell.”

“Yeah, that would be fun! We can show her our set, maybe.”

“Totally! If school wasn’t on right now we could’ve brought her along.”

“I don’t know, wouldn’t that, like, Beatles us?”

“Did you seriously just mention another boy band? Also, beyond that, did you use the Beatles as a verb?”

“Er.”

“Sometimes, I wonder how you ever made it into the punk-rock scene. And then I remember that I invited you.”

“Thanks for doing that,” Gorgug says, wrapping his other arm around Fig’s shoulders. “I never really said it before, but, thank you. This has, um, it’s meant a lot to me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dude.”

“It’s, like, kind of everything right now, Fig.”

“Oh.”

“So, I guess, um, thank you. For inviting me to join a band with you and taking me on tour.”

“I, uh… Of course. Thanks for being my drummer, Gorgug. I’ll always take you on my adventures.”

“And I’ll always go with you.”

Bill says, “Excellent,” on the crystal screen, smiling at Ted with big eyes.

Yeah, Fig thinks, as Gorgug sighs and smiles into the top of her head. Excellent.

[halfmoonshines]

Azula ‘Joins’ The Gaang

A one-shot wherein Azula... apologizes?

@elanceq

Azula sat in the throne room, of course draping herself against the main chair sat high upon a pedestal, feet tucked below her and examining her nails. It had been a long time since she had been in this room, especially alone. The young firebender allowed her thoughts to drift back to the battle that took place at the palace just nine short months ago, the day Azula had lost her nation, and herself somewhere along the way.

After Zuko had retrieved her from where she sat shackled that day, he took her into the mountains at the edge of the fire nation, where a wise old woman was said to be waiting for them, waiting for Azula. She didn’t care much to think about the time she had spent there, secluded, reforming.

The young princess came to realize shortly after her arrival, that her psyche had split herself into two different personalities. Princess Azula, a powerful firebender and ruthless leader, and just Azula. The child she had been at six, when all she wanted to do was find a flower that matched Ty Lee’s favorite color. Or the child she had been at eight, when she made the mistake of bringing her father an injured sparrow she had found.

A young Azula comes rushing into the throne room, hands clasped tight to her chest as her little legs pumped to move her quickly across the room.

“Dad!” She called out, upon sighting him. She knew her mother would have been the preferable healer, but her father was so good at so many things that maybe he would find it in him to help them too.

The newly appointed Fire Lord Ozai turned around from the conversation he was having with one of his advisers slowly, eyes locking on the young child who was barreling toward him.

“Azula,” He started. “We do not run in the throne room. We walk calmly, and with purpose. Now slow down and approach.”

The princess was taken aback, and bristled slightly at the command, but she slowed her run none the less into a fast paced walk. When she arrived next to him, she waited for him to speak first, afraid of acting against him again.

“What is it that you are needing my help with so urgently?” Ozai’s voice was quiet, but laced with annoyance, upset at being bothered.

Azula shuffled her feet a few times before opening up her hands a bit and holding them aloft, presenting the injured bird to her father. The bird chirped once from its place in Azula’s grasp, wing contorted at an odd angle. 

“I found this bird all alone in the garden and I thought perhaps we could try to mend it?” Azula spoke softly, head downcast, suddenly much more unsure of what was about to happen than she was when she first entered the room.

Ozai let a breath out of his nose, and a hearty chuckle escaped his mouth. “You mean to tell me that you thought it of the utmost importance to come and interrupt me, for a sickly aryan creature that surely wouldn’t even survive another year even if we did deem it worthy of such help? How very foolish of you, Azula. Your time is better spent studying, training. Not traipsing around the gardens, talking to animals. Now dispose of it and mention it no more.”

Azula looked up at him, mouth slightly agape in surprise. He had always been decisive, but never this cruel toward his own daughter before. She always tried her best to excel in all of her studies, surpass her brother in the arena, but sometimes she just couldn’t help but be a kid. He was being unfair.

“But, father-”

Ozai had turned his back to her at this point, but snapped back quickly at the sound of her voice. “Did you just disregard a direct order from me?” He reached out quickly then, violently ripping the small bird from the child's hands. Azula cried out at its sudden departure, straining her arm to try and grab it back.

Ozai’s face twisted into a glare, and he held the bird above his head, very tightly. “You do not speak against me, ever. You do not disobey me,” He brought himself down to her eye level grabbing her left shoulder with his free hand. “Ever. Now you need to go train, and I will dispose of this creature properly, and try to forget how insubordinate you’ve been.” This was as close to yelling as his voice ever got, loud and sharp.

Tears pooled in Azula’s eyes and she tore herself from his grasp, turning and walking quickly out the door, careful not to run. When she exited the room she allowed the tears to flow freely, knowing that she had just killed that bird.

This, Azula decided upon introspection, was the moment that she lost her last shred of innocence. Her hope would be stamped out just a short time after that.

Zuko had entered the room without her noticing, so he cleared his throat to garner her attention.

“Somehow,” He started with a small smile. “I knew this is where I would find you.” Shaking her head to dispel any unwanted thoughts, she raised her head and smiled a tight lipped smile at her brother. “I just had to see what you’ve done with the place, ZuZu. But it’s every bit as drab as it was when I left.” She raised herself from the throne, stepping down and heading toward him. “Though you never did have much of an eye for decoration.”

Zuko shrugged and lifted his arms a bit before letting them drop to his sides. “No, that was always more your department. I was hoping now that you’re back, we could renovate the place a bit.”

Azula smiled, recognizing his gesture as one of warmth and trust. The contentment that pulled at her stomach, tried to lull her into feeling secure was foreign, but not unwelcome. The woman Azula had trained with had taught her that these things would feel  different after all of these years, but nothing to fear.

“I would like that, Zuko. But there is also something else I had wanted to request of you?” Her tone was cautious, unsure of how this conversation would go.

Zuko’s eyebrows furrowed in slight concern, but tried his best to put his faith into his sister, someone who seemed like she truly had at least tried to make improvements on herself.

“What is that, Azula?” His tone was light, doing good to hide the anxiety that was itching at her throat.

His sister took a moment before answering, eyes flitting around the room before meeting his own. “I wanted to see your friends.” She paused for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction but there was nothing discernable. “The Ava- Aang, mostly. Though I’m sure the rest deserve an apology from me as well, especially those water tribe siblings.”

Zuko let shock show in his expression for a split second before he composed himself. Obviously he had expected that at some point, since Azula had hopefully returned for good, she would be officially remeeting Team Avatar. He just didn’t expect it to be immediately, and didn’t expect her to be the one to request it.

He only paused a beat before answering. “Of course, Azula. They’re actually staying fairly close to the palace at the moment. Would you like to go now?” Zuko was nervous, obviously. But Azula was some of the only family he had left, and if she could change then he wanted to be right there with her.

Azula nodded quickly, appreciating his trust. She had nervousness covering her like a thick blanket, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from what she felt she needed to do. 

“Let’s go.”

-

The royal siblings stood outside of the large building that Avatar and Co. were using as their home for the moment, both a little nervous to knock on the door. Azula tried to distract herself by studying the ornate carvings that adorned the door frame, but Zuko was more preoccupied with who was inside right now, and who would be first to answer the door.

“I’m just going to get some food, guys. We’re heroes! I’m allowed one extra meal a day for saving the world.” Sokka’s voice was quickly approaching from the other side of the door, and Zuko yanked Azula back to the bottom of the steps, trying to make it seem like they had just arrived.

As Sokka opened the door, his eyes were squinted shut against the sun, and he didn’t seem to notice the people standing there as he came barreling down the steps. There was no time to move, so when he was about an inch from crashing into them, and Zuko was about to scream his name in panic, Azula realized she would need to take action.

“Hello! Sokka, isn’t it? My brother and I were just coming to speak with you and your friends.” Azula forced a bit of pep into her voice, trying to shock him a bit less, and made sure she had a small smile on her face.

At hearing her voice Sokka’s eyes opened wide and he reeled back, right before he would have crashed into them, and instead tripped on the bottom step he had just gotten off of, landing on his but a few stairs up.

Zuko’s mouth opened in shock, trying to figure out what had just happened in the last 60 seconds. Azula raised her eyebrows in shock, hoping he was okay (and also hoping she wasn’t going to be accused of pushing him over). A small part of her mind was calling him a blithering idiot, but it was easily ignored.

By this time the commotion was heard from inside, and the door flew open again, but this time it was Katara; followed by Aang who looked both anxious and worried, Suki, who had her weapons clutched in her hands and a glare in her eyes, and Toph. Toph held the rear of the line, and was smiling from ear to ear. She had felt them approach the stone home they lived in, and Azula’s walk wasn’t easily copied.

“Hey guys, we we’-” Zuko could see that something was about to happen, so he quickly tried to intervene and take a step forward only to be shoved aside by an angry water bender.

Azula didn’t flinch as Katara was waterbending a whip and holding it aloft, ready to strike.

“What is she doing here?” Katara’s voice was angry, her tone bordering on hatred.

Azula chose to speak then, eyes scanning the group that stood across from her, ready for an imminent battle. She mustered up the most regretful look she could. 

“I’ve come to try and apologize to your group.” She paused a moment to let them process what she had said. No doubt it would come as a shock to some, and be unbelievable to others. “I fear that I allowed my father’s teachings and my own thirst for power overshadow every rational thought I should have had over these years.” This was the first time Azula had ever said anything like this. Sure, she would occasionally go over what she planned to say in the group to her head, but it never came out like this.

“For years I strived to be the strongest, most cunning person in the world, because that’s what I thought mattered. My father always told me that I was not a normal girl, that I shouldn’t feel the need to drench myself in such useless emotions as shame and compassion. I was told the world was not compassionate, it was hostile, and broken. Made to believe that I had to be decisive and aggressive, or the world would overthrow me.”

Azula gulped heavily, palms sweating a bit. She hadn’t felt this emotional in a long time. She kept her eyes to the group, doing her best to keep eye contact and surprised that they let her continue. “I’ve realized that we were the hostile ones, I was the threat in this world. If the fire nation was ever great, it was long before this war. Before the vision my father had for a dictatorship. I know it will take a long time, if it ever happens, for all of you to forgive me. I feel like I am far from deserving of it, but I did want to let you know that I regret the decisions I have made that put you all in danger. And regretful for my part in this war.”

No one spoke a word, they just glanced at each other through their peripherals, unsure of what to do. Toph was the first to speak, pushing Suki out of her way and coming to stand beside Katara.

Toph’s gray eyes gazed up at where she knew Azula’s face to be, and Azula stared right back, curious to see if she was going to be attacked or not.

“She’s not lying.” Toph’s words were simple, but made everyone in the group shift their stance a bit. Sokka stood from where he had fallen on the step, and Katara reluctantly dropped her water.

“I don’t care if she’s not lying, I don’t see any reason we should go along with whatever this is.” Suki sounded distrustful, weapons still held firmly at her sides.

“She said she didn’t expect us to forgive her right away,” Katara spoke now, her voice level. “But I do think she’s being serious. I might not love the idea of going to dinner with her, but,” Katara nodded at Azula a bit, coming to a conclusion in her mind. “I don’t think we should stand in the way of her redemption.”

Sokka looked worriedly at his sister. “Are you okay!? This is Azula we are talking about! The woman who would’ve killed any one, or all, of us without care. We’re just go-”

“Sokka.” The young airbender had been silent from his place at the top of the steps until now. “Katara’s right. If Azula’s aware of the mistakes she’s made, and she’s willing to apologize, we have no reason not to accept it. She doesn’t have to go penguin sledding with us yet.” Aang smiled at Azula then, shifting his attention from Sokka. “But it would be cool to learn how to bend lightning! That looks so awesome! And I mean your brother was my enemy until he became a great fire bending teacher so, maybe it runs in the family!”

Azula scoffed in shock, her own smile widening a bit. This was how the Avatar acted? Oh, if only she had had an actual conversation with this boy a year ago. 

Suki and Sokka seemed to be the only ones with a problem at this point, but upon sharing a pointed look with each other, they glanced back at Azula with slightly duller daggers than before. 

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me. Welcome to the light, Azula. Maybe you can try to get a tan.” Sokka’s face was mostly serious, but his tone was laced with his normal humor.

Zuko couldn't believe his eyes, but the sight was welcome. His sister was standing beside him with a large smile on her face, and most of his friends were mirroring her.

“So,” Azula said, a warm feeling vibrating through her body.. “You want to learn how to bend lightning?”

And the rest…

Is history.

[tvandenneagram]

You’re the Worst: Jimmy Shive-Overly - Type 4w3

Jimmy is creative, melancholic and selfish. He projects an image that he hates people and can be quite insensitive to other people’s feelings.

At his worst, Jimmy is self-centred and overdramatic. When he is dealing with Gretchen’s depression he doesn’t really listen to what she says and thinks he can ‘fix’ the problem. It comes across sometimes, that Jimmy only really cares about Gretchen’s depression in how it affects him. 

At his best, Jimmy tries to do the right thing and stands by Gretchen, even when she is pushing him away. He chooses to stay by her side and comfort her instead of going out with another woman. 

Jimmy is creative and has a lot of emotions he wants to express. He is an author and wrote a book about his childhood experiences. Within his book, he poured out his feelings about his father that he never felt comfortable expressing to him. Jimmy always wished that his father would read his book and understand him. On another note, Jimmy’s first novel is fuelled by his melancholy and he believes that he needs to be sad to produce real art. Sometimes, type 4s can romanticise sadness which I believe this lines up with.

Jimmy grew up in a very overbearing and emotionally suffocating family. He always felt misunderstood and his family would often bully him for being too emotional. Jimmy longed for his family’s acceptance and approval. When they visited them from England, he bent over backwards to try and impress them. 

Jimmy has a lot of unique interests and tends to like things which are more obscure. For example, he dressed up for Halloween as a character from a show nobody in his friend group knew about. Jimmy is drawn to the unconventional and this is part of what he likes about Gretchen.

Jimmy projects an attitude that he doesn’t care about other people and what they think. He openly says that he hates everyone and believes himself to be much smarter than most people. Jimmy can come across as narcissistic and arrogant in his interactions with others. Underneath this, Jimmy is actually very jealous of other people and their success. He often writes heckles that he reads at book signings, as he is perturbed that their books are successful and his was not.

When Jimmy meets Gretchen, he has just gotten out of a relationship with Becca and felt like all relationships were doomed. He is drawn to Gretchen because he feels like she is like him and that both are bad people. While, they both enter the relationship with the intention of something with no strings attached, Jimmy quickly becomes attached to Gretchen and invested in the relationship. Despite this, Jimmy sometimes does things which contradict this because he is scared of having his heart broken again.

Jimmy has quite balanced wings, as he is very introspective and cerebral like a wing 5. Additionally, he is not very personable and is quite hesitant to form relationships with other people. I gave him a wing 3, because he is motivated by success and achievement. Jimmy has lofty goals and is very self-confident, believing he will be a successful author one day. Additionally, he is desperate for his father’s approval and seems quite concerned with his outer appearance.

Tri-type: 4w3 - 7w6 - 1w2

Some quotes to describe Jimmy’s traits and motivations:

“This is our love story… and our story is chaotic, but love is chaos. It's the only game in town I've played.”

“No. It's amazing. I was smelling the jacket that Dad left and it smelled exactly like him. Just cigarettes, ale, beans, occupational failure. And in a rush, that feeling that we'd been searching for all day just came flying out. And, Gretchen, it wasn't sadness. It was happiness. I'm free. I am finally free! And I'm finally unstuck creatively.“

“The world is absolutely lousy with people, and I hate them all. I hate everyone but you.”

“Thank you for being alone with me.”

“I did what you said. I looked at my life from an outside perspective. It was terrifying. I didn't recognize any of it. I don't recognize my life. I don't know whether I made any of the right decisions. Everything could be wrong.”

“You know, when we had that moment in the pub, I thought to myself, 'After 33 years, I'm finally having a real moment with my father.' Can't believe what a fool I was. There wasn't a shred of truth in that moment. You were lying the whole time. You were dying, you didn't say a word. All you had to do was say, 'Hey, Jimmy, this might be the last time I get to see you. Is there anything you'd like to say?' And that way, despite decades of neglecting, withholding, general assholery, I could have had a modicum of closure. Goddamn you! I can hear you laughing at the word 'modicum' as I speak. Well, guess what. I'm getting my closure right now. You do not get to affect me anymore! So long, Dad.”

“Maybe there’s beauty in the struggle against near certain failure.”

“Look what I made! I went to Kinko's. Talked to some undergrads making a 'zine. It's a lovely place. Anyway, turns out I've been living my entire life in opposition to my father. And now that he's dead, I have no idea who I really am. Am I even a writer? Who knows?”

[danseru-kun]

FFVII Remake Playthrough 9 - The End

For all my reactions for the entire game, they’re under #Danseru Review. This is not going to be reaction for the entire game but just the final chapters.

I finished my last run just after I climbed to the upper plates on the way to Shinra HQ.

So Tifa, Cloud and Barret look over to the sunset against the ruins of Sector 7. Instead of meaningful introspection of the weight of their actions and the devastation, Cloud is his usual edgy self, and Tifa is about rebuilding a bar. They talk like the bar burned down instead of thousands of people dead. I cant see any character growth from Cloud at 40+ hours and he’s really bland. 

Shinra HQ in general

I geniunely love the moment when Cloud screams “Tifa!” and runs to her when she falls from the parkour stuff. I felt it’s one of the few genuine Cloti moments that doesn’t feel like fanservice. While it’s hella boring to do that platforming section (I’m played Uncharted and this is meh), I love controlling Tifa. 

I debated whether I’ll take the stairs or the elevator. In the Original I took the stairs and it was worth the humor. I checked the cut scene of the elevator and it has more of Tifa’s “Shinra employees are humans too” bullshit (not her, but the writers). So I opted to the take stairs and it’s a delight because Barret is entertaining. 

The museum and Mayor Domino

I think this section makes sense showing us Shinra’s history and propaganda but like my usual gripe, it’s not characterful. I must say Barret is decent throughout this section as he gives his thoughts and expresses his feelings over the matter. While Tifa and Cloud, who are supposed to have personal grudge over Shinra barely offers commentary. 

I don’t have feelings over the mayor but he feels like a convenient ally to introduce so late in the story. It makes sense he’s a puppet leader. I just wish we can read stuff in his office for lore. Also I’m pissed his attendant tried to sell me information, and it turns out I should have accepted it for Barret’s gun? What a joke.

Aerith and Hojo’s Big Lab

Okay, Hojo seriously creeps me out, especially that part where he talks about impregnating Aerith and breeding her either with Seph or Genesis. (Shudders) I do feel that this captured the original...

But geez those Whisperers preventing Hojo from revealing the truth about Cloud not being in Soldier. I really hate the Whispers. 

Yay finally she’s back. I have like three staffs that need some proficiency and I was itching to use Aerith again. I like seeing her room when she was a kid, but it’s just so cold when she was trying to say her mother was taken everyday, and Cloud was like “tell us about your past.” 

Nanaki! Nice to have you around but sadly I can’t control you. He’s adorable. 

Again this section is super bloat. On the upside, you get to play Tifa and Aerith together. The girls vs dogs was challenging and fun. You literally have to keep on going with Tifa and just one second of pause will make the dogs shred you.

I felt this section is similar to the sun lamp chapter that just drags soooooo long and just bloat. It makes no sense they’re suddenly on board with helping Hojo do his things because “otherwise we can’t get out of here.” Seriously? 

 Shinra President and Rufus

I’ve already expressed how much I hated this section because it makes absolutely no sense for Tifa’s character: https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/623070870698590208/EivVTTuc

It’s because again, Nibelheim Must Not Be Revealed Except Vague Flashbacks.

Jenova Dreamweaver! Tifa is an amazing tentacle smasher. Otherwise easy boss fight. 

Also it makes no sense Cloud will remain and fight Rufus? Why? How is Rufus relevant to him as a character based on what he displayed so far?  Barret makes more sense based on how he’s acting. 

The Counter strike of Cloud was literally made for this fight. It’s... ok and I used Poison for the first time. 

The Bosses and the Highway

Barret and Aerith vs the tank boss is the worst boss fight in the game. It’s literally just torture and patience, and repetitive hiding behind pillars and waiting for that weakness point to pop up. 

The highway as predicted, was bloated with so many fights and I died thrice to that final boss. I’m an idiot because at 50 hours I just discovered how to slow down. 

At this point I’m super tired of boss fights after one another.

The Final Chapter

I’ll probably express it in a better review but it’s just a huge mess and I was just too tired to rant. I thought Aerith was the best adapted character up to this point until she reveals that it’s actually a fight for... destiny! That’s like Goku suddenly saying he’s fighting for animal rights, or Batman suddenly about Global Warming. It also makes me feel they recycled FF13-2 and Serah/Yeul regarding destiny and fate.  I went WTF and it needed me 50 hours to really know what we are fighting for? Only Barret is consistent because he’s fighting for the planet and Marlene.

Easy boss fight that’s so boring. I didn’t even remember dying.

Also yes Sephiroth and Cloud are just so homoerotic together.

So apparently they allowed Zack, Biggs and Wedge to live but people revealing Cloud’s past has to be silenced by the Whisperers. It’s so stupid I’m so tired of complaining. Also if you’re a new player, who the heck is Zack supposed to be?

Of all main Final Fantasy entries I’ve seen, Remake’s ending is the least emotionally moving. I hated FFXV but even at the end I went “awww” especially when they’re at the bonfire and talking about friendship.

The ending ties nothing together for the characters. I remember myself watching FFX and FF13′s endings over and over. Remake has nothing I wanna rewatch or relive. It’s a shallow story, weak character development and written with the assumption that the people are already familiar with the lore. 

[one-chicago-fanfiction]

Festive Fics: Day 5

Halstead Brothers’ Christmas

Christmas morning was the first day in a long time that Jay slept in late. His only plans were with Will, and the two of them were laid back enough in their plans that no specific times had been designated for food, or for exchanging gifts. All that stuff would happen when it happened. It wasn’t like when they were kids. Jay heard the sounds of Will up and about long before he could bring himself to leave the warmth of the bed in his brother’s spare room.

His head was pounding too—a throbbing reminder of just how much alcohol he and Will had consumed last night. Every time he tried to move he groaned with the pain, but when eventually he brought himself to sit up, he glanced at the bedside table and found a tall glass of water next to two aspirin pills waiting for him. He’d slept deeply and drunkenly enough that he hadn’t even heard Will slip into his room, hadn’t even stirred. He shuddered at the very small invasion and took the pills, downed the whole glass of water.

Every step from the spare room into the kitchen was painful, but when he made it there he slid into a chair at the table, held his head in his hands and watched Will make the breakfast.

“How are you so….?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at Will’s upright stature and total composure. Will glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his brother.

“I’d say you’re a lightweight,” he said, “but actually I’m pretty sure you drank twice as much as I did. Probably explains it.”

“No,” Jay said, searching his aching mind for the shreds of last night’s memories. “There’s no way that’s right.”

“Evidence says otherwise,” said Will, gesturing vaguely at Jay hunched over at the kitchen table, head still in one hand as if it would help the pain. In response, Jay groaned. “Want your breakfast? I made—“

“Definitely not” Jay said, and Will just smiled, turned off the hob and dished up a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes for himself, slid into the seat opposite Jay and started eating. Jay tried not to look at Will’s food—particularly the eggs—and focussed very hard on not throwing up.

“Wanna do the gifts next?” Will asked, and there was something of a child to him in that moment, innocent and delighted, and even though he knew Will was working hard to skirt around the edges of the wounds they both carried, that would always ache a little more on days like today, Jay appreciated the effort.

“Maybe when the aspirin kicks in,” Jay said, and Will nodded.

They spent the morning listening to Christmas music from Will’s TV, lounging around on the couches, watching Chicago’s snowfall double itself over the course of the day. When Jay’s first instinct was no longer to crawl back into bed and let this day vanish painlessly, they pulled on their coats and hats and gloves, and trekked through the snowy streets to the graveyard where their parents were buried. Will brought flowers and placed them softly down on the white ground. Jay pulled a miniature whisky bottle from his pocket and tucked it behind the flowers. No point in pouring it into the snow, he supposed.

“Someone’ll steal that,” Will said, and Jay shrugged.

“Probably,” he said, and neither one of them said any more about it.

They stood there for a while, silent, introspective, until Jay opened his mouth to suggest going home and instead Will spoke first.

“I love you, Jay,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Jay said, caught off guard by the moment. “I know that.”

“Good,” said Will. “Our family—all of us—we never said it enough, you know?”

“Will—“

“No, Jay,” Will interrupted. “We didn’t. Don’t you ever wonder if they even knew? How we felt—that we’d miss them someday?”

“Will,” said Jay. “We’re at their graves on Christmas Day. If they didn’t know before, they know now.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

“They’re gone, Will,” said Jay. “It has to be.”

Jay gave into the silence that followed, and let his brother take the time he needed before Jay put his hand on Will’s arm and suggested going home.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” Will broke the silence on the freezing walk home.

“Hey, don’t be,” Jay replied, hands buried deep in his pockets, breathing into his scarf to keep his face warm. The sky was growing dark already, and they still hadn’t exchanged the gifts, or thought about prepping dinner. When they reached the door to Will’s apartment, Jay held the door open.

“Hey,” Jay said as his brother stepped past him. “I love you too.”

[buzzdixonwriter]

Bill Clinton: The Agonizing Reappraisal

Friends, Americans, countrymen!   Lend me your ears!  

I come not to merely bury William Jefferson Clinton but to drive a stake through his craven heart, chop off his diseased head, fill his lying mouth with garlic, and bury the pieces in separate crossroads.

And if you think this is coming from a traditional anti-Clinton angle, guess again, Trump chump.

I’m progressive by default, conservative by nature.  I didn’t move, the thrice-cursed GOP moved, and what they now refer to as the radical left or progressive liberalism is what used to be called “Eisenhower Republicans” back when conservatives held an iota of integrity, a shred of dignity, an ounce of compassion, a hint of civic duty.

So you fuckwits on the right can shuffle off and die for all I care.  

This message is for my friends and allies in the progressive camp, of which a number are Democrats.

Folks, the time has come to publicly, formally, and officially dump Bill Clinton on the ash heap of history.

Alas, but extension this means assigning Hillary to Coventry as well; so be it.  Lay down with pigs, get up smelling like pig shit.

Hillary Clinton is indeed blameless of the multitude of crimes, sins, and shortcomings the far right attempted to hang on her -- investigated and exonerated numerous times by her political enemies -- but if she wanted a public career she should have walked away from Bill Clinton decades ago.

She’s got the stink ingrained on her now, and not just the stink but toxic radioactive mold as well.

She can still be a help backstage, mentoring young candidates, offering valuable insight and advice but her public career is over, her time is done.

Period. Full stop.

If that pisses you off, direct your ire at the appropriate target:  William Jefferson Clinton.

This fuckwit screwed the country over by not keeping his dick in his pants when he knew his political enemies were actively gunning for him.

Consider how badly screwed up that is: Imagine driving down the highway a mile or two over the speed limit when you see a police cruiser pull up behind you.

Do you: (1) Drop down to the speed limit, or (2) go faster and start zigzagging in and out of lanes without signaling?

It’s painfully clear William Jefferson Clinton suffers from a narcissistic personality disorder on par with Deplorable Donnie; the difference is Slick Willie could hide it better.

(This is doubtlessly due to their different class backgrounds:  Clinton grew up lower middle class and hence acutely aware of his precarious social status; Donnie grew up with a silver service set shoved in his mouth and an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude of entitlement coupled with a complete lack of empathy and introspection.)

Clinton possessed enough political savvy to know that if he wanted to benefit from public office he needed to -- in a paraphrase from Full Metal Jacket --  “afford the voters with the common courtesy of a reacharound.”

When he kept this in mind, he and Hilary managed to do some appreciable good for the country and their party.

But “:doing good” does no good if you throw away your political capital by giving opponents the opportunity to undo what you did.

Knowing his enemies were gunning for him, knowing what was at stake for himself, his family, his friends and allies, his party, his state, and eventually the country as a whole, William Jefferson Clinton recklessly engaged in conduct that exposed him and others to needless risk and opposition even if such conduct was consensual.

THIS IS THE SIGN OF A PROFOUNDLY DISTURBED PERSONALITY.

No apologies, no sweet talking, no circumlocutions, no mansplaining:  A profoundly disturbed personality.

…and one we as a nation and as progressive must walk away from forever.

Painful Truth #1: William Jefferson Clinton committed perjury and Congress would have been negligent to not impeach him.

Period. Full stop.

He should have resigned long before that.

The Democratic Party should have made him step down.

It would have ended the feverish anti-Clinton sentiment and made Al Gore the seated president in 2000 against GWBush – and doubtlessly given him the edge politically and morally in that contest.

Imagine for a moment how different the world would be on September 12, 2001 if American made a more proportional international law enforcement response to Al-Q’aeda as the criminal gang they were rather than elevate to Nazi-level quasi-statehood in order to launch the GOP’s long lusted after “war forevermore” that Dwight D. Eisenhower warned about.

Imaging achieving the same real, practical goals without destroying three nations -- Iraq, Afghanistan, and the United States -- in the process.

Imagine blocking far right efforts to deregulate banks, industry, and commerce in order to mercilessly prey on consumers, possibly preventing the housing collapse and stock market crash of 2008, or slowing the rapid out of control spiral of pollution and climate change.

We lost all that in no small part because William Jefferson Clinton, for God knows what perverse reason, refused to say he didn’t have sexual relations with Paula Jones.

Remember, what kicked off the Clinton fiasco was Jones being listed in a published article among women William Jefferson Clinton had sexual relations with, or whom he had “approached” (groped) for sexual relations.

Jones said said she went up to Clinton’s room, he dropped his trousers and asked for sex, and she fled.

In her lawsuit against those who published the article, Jones wanted Clinton to testify he had not had sex with her.

Now, a smart politician would never have gotten in such a position to begin with, but even a politician dumb enough to get caught with his pants literally down could still escape the situation by saying:  “My recollection of meeting Ms Jones is markedly different from hers, but I will confirm 100% that I did not have sexual relations with her, that anybody who says we did is a liar, and I hope she wins her lawsuit against those who defamed her.”

And boom! -- it’s over, there’s nowhere to go with that story.

But instead Clinton denied meeting her and refused to sign an affidavit much less testify.  Jones expanded her suit to include him.

The Supreme Court ruled he could be sued in a civil case while serving as president.  Again, a savvy politician would simply refuse to answer the suit, claiming legal principle.  The maximum default judgment at that time capped at $85,000 – a drop in the bucket compared to his subsequent legal bills --  and the matter would be closed.

Instead, Clinton fought.

Evidence of other affairs -- most notably Monica Lewinsky’s infamous stained dress -- came to light. He was questioned by Jones’ lawyers on this, he lied under oath, he got others to lie under oath, it was proven he did so.

Perjury:  Case closed.

(Sidebar A:  The end should have been “It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is”.  Holy shit, that’s as despicably sleazy a move as anything Deplorable Donnie has pulled, and the Democrats should have kicked Slick Willie to the curb then and there. Fortunately, they seem to have learned from this mistake.  Al Franken was a capable senator with a bright [and possibly even presidential] future ahead of him, but when he was caught inappropriately clowning around with a fellow performer, he resigned and the Democratic Party endorsed this as the appropriate response.  The result?  That avenue of inquiry has been forever blocked off, there’s nowhere for the GOP to go with it.  Franken continues to aid and advise the Democratic party behind the scenes, but he’s removed as a lightning rod.)

(Sidebar B: Further proof of Clinton’s profoundly disturbed personality is that (1) after publicly confessing in 1992 to an affair while governor and (2) promising never to do it again, and (3) knowing his enemies would go over everything he did with a fine tooth comb, he nonetheless (4) didn’t instinctively think “This is a honey trap” and press the emergency secret service button when an intern snapped her thong at him in the Oval Office.  That’s either brutal asswipe stupidity of the lowest order or a perverse thrill in dangerous behavior at the expense of others that might as well be brutal asswipe stupidity of the lowest order.)

Painful Truth #2: While the Democratic Party recognized the actual Lewinsky affair, however embarrassing, was trivial, their failure to take Clinton’s lies seriously proved fatal to their 2000-2008 goals.

“Put on our presidential kneepads” soured a lot of swing voters (and more than a few Democrats) from supporting Democratic candidates and fired up the GOP base. 

It was a minor tactical skirmish that ended in an even-draw that led to a catastrophic strategic defeat, all in defense of a man undeserving of defense, a man worthy only of shame, ridicule, approbation, and condemnation followed by lifelong banishment.

Painful Truth #3:  There is a very real possibility that William Jefferson Clinton is a child rapist.

The Epstein case will kick over a lot of rocks, exposing a lot of scummy vermin squirming underneath.

We know Epstein is a pimp who traffics in underage victims.

We know Clinton (and Deplorable Donnie as well; don’t worry, I’m not letting that turd monger off the hook) was a regular and enthusiastic habitué of Epstein’s parties.

We know Clinton to be an untrustworthy liar, a convicted perjurer stripped of his law license for his own perjury and suborning perjury in others.

We cannot believe any claims on innocence on his part.

Not only can we not believe any claims of innocence, we must presume guilt by association.

If you catch a previously convicted mobster associating with other mobsters as they commit crimes, you must assume their guilt as well.  “I was in the room but didn’t participate” just doesn’t fly (harken back to Clinton’s own “I didn’t inhale”).

And by “guilt” I’m not referring to the strict legal definition -- it may indeed prove impossible to link him to a specific crime -- but the fact he willingly and eagerly associated with a known pimp at events where underage victims were sexually assaulted and raped requires us, demands us as Democrats, as progressives, as Americans to hold him culpable for the good of the party, the good of the movement, and the good of the country.

We need a symbol end to an era of bad faith politics, a door closed on a period of win-at-any-cost politics.

That generation has to pass away, replaced by a newer, better rank of public servants.

(I’m no pie-eyed idealist; I know sooner or later they will produce members who will disappoint.  But right now they’re a breath of clean, fresh, disinfecting air and we desperately need them.)

Publicly passing final judgment on Clinton seals off that branch of the contagion.  It demonstrates a willingness to confront the mess in our own house, and in dealing with that, the moral authority to deal with the mess Donnie is making.

Like Bill Cosby -- another infamous William -- Clinton must be forever shunned from the public sphere. He inflicted enough damage on the nation and the world through his perversely selfish and reckless antics.

And should there be evidence enough to convict, then throw that lying child rapist behind bars for the rest of his blighted life.

He can share a cell with Donnie.

 © Buzz Dixon

[wackygoofball]

Gwenspiration: The Wacky Version Vol. 1 - The Fanfics

As threatened/promised, I am tooting the horn in a number of posts, following the most kind call of @jaimebrienneonline.

I decided to begin with fanfic as JB fanfiction was my way into the fandom when a kind voice, long time ago, lured me over to the wonderful world which is JBO. And ever since that day I found both my home and my people. 

I am not going in a particular order because like my non-existent children, I kind of love and love to hate all of my fics equally.

But, for matters of scrolling convenience, I will put this list below a cut:

Childhood Friends has a special place in my heart because it is one of the two fics that got me into the fandom, and it is of the rare species of completed Wacky WIPs. The story marked my first tender steps in the canon as I was still catching up on show and book knowledge but got instantly hooked on the JB dynamic and just *had* to write fanfiction about them, albeit not yet knowing just what the frack Westeros even looked like on a map. I simply was intrigued by the idea of how the lives of our OTP may have played out differently if only they had met at a younger age, only to run into one another time and time again over the years, until at last, the circumstances seem to be in their favor. Writing that fic was a challenge because, for one, it got finished, which is incredibly hard for me to to do, and it is a coming of age story of sorts, which is not necessarily what I am used to writing. Nonetheless, it was a project that got me firmly into the fandom, which is why I am always remembering the process (and the writer’s panic) somewhat fondly, and always smile like an idiot when someone finds that old fic of mine and leaves a kudo or even a comment, reminding me of those early beginnings of my JB shipping career.

Choices likely has to be mentioned in the same vein, despite its crucial difference being that it went on a very, very, veeeeeery long hiatus and yet has to awaken (some prince wanting to give it a smooch to maybe bring it back to life? Would be much appreciated!). It was born out of the wish of exploring the infamous what if of Jaime and Brienne already getting intimate while on the road back to King’s Landing - as a matter of necessity/convenience, only for the misfortunate/very fortunate circumstance that Brienne winds up pregnant after their one time together. I enjoyed/would very much to enjoy again to write the character studies on how they deal not just with the issue of parenthood but also with their insecurities regarding their feelings for one another, which inspires more than one ill-made choice (*roll credits*) for either one of them as neither one dares to call love what actually is just that, hiding instead behind missions and honor, parenthood and duty, and fractured pasts that leave them wondering just who they became thanks to each other.

Colour Verses is a series that was born out of my first ever (I believe) JB Appreciation Week. OMG, it’s been so long. The theme of colors really had me inspired, which is why those pieces, which can be read in succession and independently, have a soft spot in my Wacky heart.

The Shredding Project, I believe, deserves an honorary mention despite its utter lack of completion for some of its parts and a happy ending for some of the tales shredded in this part of the fandom. I have a great passion for fairytales and deconstructing them, which inspired this undertaking of twisting and turning aka shredding all those stories into new models to fit Jaime and Brienne into. In fact, the Shredding Project is much larger than it currently is on AO3, as most of the shredded stories still reside in a large, very large Word file on my computer (42 shreddings up to date with a total of 414k words *whispers* 414k mkaaaay, yes I *am* obsessed), and can be found in the respective thread on JBO, where one can read perhaps not an eloquently put-together retelling of favorite fairytales (and some Disney movies) but at least find a conclusion to every story and thus a happy ending, as befits a fairytale.

Bow Down is another story I would mean to include in this list. It came to mean a lot to me personally because I worked my way through it at a time when I was not really having the time of my life for a number of reasons. Thus, finishing that fic did a lot of things for me - and hopefully also with my oh so patient readers. The basic premise is how things would have developed, had Brienne failed to find Sansa and thus fully dedicate herself to the cause of the Blackfish during the Riverrun Siege whose bitterness is clouding his judgment, leaving Jaime in a tough position to choose between his family and the mannish woman he can’t help but care about as much as he does.

A Tale of Spring is one of those fics I wish to include in that already way too long tooting because a) it is a finished story, which is always a rarity in my Wacky world, and b) it is still a kind of headcanon I would have loved to come about in some capacity, as it leaves room for not just happy endings while at the same time giving space for futures to grow for JB as they are cautious to dream of their future past the Long Night, edging on a Dream of Spring.

Paths is one of those stories I am, yet again, very desperate to get back on track with (I mean, it is supposed to lead somewhere, title has it). This story means a lot to me because I just have so much in my head for how this is meant to conclude and just have to get over that one edge to finally ebb into the narrative direction I need this to go (aka follow the path *badum tssssss*). I suppose the story was very much fuelled by my love for G.I. Jane and the dynamic between Jordan O'Neil and John James Urgayle (and Viggo in those short shorts... way too short shorts... damn). At the same time, my aim with this fic is to show not just how tough JB can be and how much ass they can kick together but also how insecure they are beneath the tough surface and how they actually long for something way outside the line of fire.

Train Acquaintances, by contrast, is a rather self-indulgent fic I started to write and was surprised to have found an audience rather fast. I just really liked the theme of trains as a way for two people to meet while at the same time playing with the overly romanticized notion of trains and deconstructing it somewhat. They are a curious means of transportation, to put it mildly. And to then throw in Jaime trying to act smoothly when he is just acting like a dork most of his time was just too delicious to resist. While it’s been a long time (because my computer ate part of a chapter I found really important and that has frustrated me so much, I can’t even tell you), I remain intrigued writing this story because it has a rather distinct mood from what I normally tend to write. And awkward Jaime is just so much fun to write.

Washed Away is one of those fics I am so desperate to get back to that you woudln’t even believe - because it is the one fic most closely tied to the book canon. Its premise is the Lady Stoneheart situation yet to be resolved, wherein Brienne makes a dangerous gamble to save the man she knows is not guilty of the crimes Lady Stoneheart accuses him of, leaving them both to wrestle not just with the dilemmas of this overall situation but also their conflicting vows and feelings for one another.

In the Eyes of the Seven is one of those fics I am yet again very desperate to get back to (yes, I realize I type this sentence far too often, but it is the truth!) but have not yet found a way to bridge between two important plot points, currently creating a gap that keeps me from moving on to the next chapters. It is one of those narrative places where I nerd around freely and explore some mad medley of historical fiction inserted into the history of Westeros, taking up on the runaway nuns of the Reformation period and re-applying it to the Westerosi context by making it about septons and septas instead. While perhaps not a particularly popular story of mine, it is a story I very much enjoy writing as it gives opportunity for lots of introspection, insecurities, and the wish of both characters to break out of the boundaries of the norms set by a static system leaving no room for the likes of the Kingslayer and a woman fancying herself a sword as much as a book or a dress. In general, there are just so many ideas for it inside my head that I really hope to get back on track with that story because there is just so much more I want to tell the readers about in this strange tale.

May the Norns Bind Their Fate strikes a similar tune for me, as I get to gush about my mediocre-at-best knowledge of Norse mythology (albeit a great interest) and yet again change Westeros to my liking to insert the political system of the Viking era into this society (or rather my wacky interpretation thereof). For me, it is both an experiment in terms of perhaps (big perhaps) turning things a bit more heated than I am used to (for Wacky writes no smut, unless it is a literal accident, which only happened, like, once) and diving deep into aspects such as trauma and grief as well as fate and determinacy, since the idea of seers knowing your future has a very distinct appeal in my view, and how knowing one’s “fate” may affect the outcomes of the events. Thus, taking up on the challenge to deal with that in this fic still has me hooked - and I hope I am not the only one.

Last but not least...

An Honorable Man and a Just Woman is a story I am happy to have found an audience because it really gives me something personally to write it. Considering how sadly things played out in the show, I was in dire need of my own little fix-it and have since taken up on the challenge to entertain those questions of what would have changed had Jaime survived, what would be if he were declared King of the Six Kingdoms. Not only does that leave a humbled Jaime trying to find his place in a world he never thought he would see, having seen his ending long before he rode away from Winterfell, but it also leaves him and Brienne with the reality of what it is like to survive when so many died, and how to cope with how they parted and why. And while there are still so many things left unsaid and feelings left unexpressed, one can only hope that those two honorable and just people will eventually find their way around in the new world they are meant to build.

So yeah, I tooted a lot, and I still left out a whole bunch of my weird fanfic children, but those are the ones I feel a great deal of dedication to, even if, admittedly, a lot of them haven’t seen an update in ages. But rest assured, anyone reading this who dared to jump the Wacky train and read along, knowing very well that this strange woman struggles finishing a WIP most of her days, that I am still dedicated to each of those stories (as I am to any story I write). There are simply technicalities and real life not letting me dedicate as much of my time to it as I would need to finally get that final push ahead on a lot of them.

Be it as it may, in the spirit of Glorious Gwendoline Christie, here’s to my shameless self-promotion!

Stay tuned for the next post about the wackiest of Wacky’s wacky creations.

Until then...

Much love! ♥♥♥

[vexedtonightmares]

- mystery of love: chapter two -

skam nl season three week 2: need a lift?

week 1 

ao3

ZATERDAG 13:27 - That’s a match made in hell

- now playing: imagination by foster the people -

If Lucas killed Jayden, it was a blameless crime, mostly because Jayden was being very annoying and it would be deemed a public service. They were playing video games at his place, and he kept intentionally sabotaging Lucas because he and Kes were on the same team and Lucas wasn’t. Ralph was supposed to be on Lucas’ team because Sander hadn’t been able to make it, but he’d ditched them to hang out with Esra instead. 

Lucas rolled his eyes as he lost for the fourth time in a row, placing the controller on the seat beside him. Kes leaned his head back from where he was sitting on the floor below Jayden and Lucas, grinning broadly. “Sore loser?” he asked, and Lucas flipped him off. 

“It’s hard to win when you’re a one person team,” he said as if he wouldn’t have lost regardless. “You guys play the next round, I need a break.” 

Kes lifted his head back into an upright position, clicking his controller to play a new round. “Whatever you say, dude.”

Immediately, Kes and Jayden got back into the game, cursing each other out and trying to shove the controllers out of each other’s hands. Lucas sank back into the couch cushions pulling out his phone and going to Instagram. Sofie’s message still sat in his requests, unanswered. He figured he wouldn’t be able to get away with another excuse, so he finally accepted it.

sof_heide: Hi Lucas! This is Sofie from the party :) I hope it’s not weird I found you on here, but I had a good time and I’d love to get to know you better! xx

Yeah, he really didn’t want to deal with that right now, but she’d be able to see that he’d read her message, so he had to say something. 

vanderheijden.lucas: hey sofie, it’s not weird don’t worry. sorry i didn’t see your message earlier, i’m not on instagram much :/ it was cool to see you at the culture club yesterday 

He sent his message before he could overthink it, wonder if he seemed too interested or not interested enough. Whatever, it seemed like she’d still be interested no matter what he did. He couldn’t decide yet if that was a good or bad thing. 

Going to the explore page, he typed ‘kaz’ into the search bar, not knowing if he’d find anything, but it seemed unlikely that he wouldn’t have an Instagram account in this day and age. There were a lot of Kaz’s on Instagram, something he should have anticipated, and he scrolled through them to try to find the one he was looking for. He probably should have asked for Kaz’s last name, but then again he didn’t even think he’d told Kaz his name. 

Seven unsuccessful Kaz accounts later, Lucas tried to tune back into the conversation his friends were having, figuring he’d continue his search when he got back home. God knew he had nothing else to do when he was home. 

“…yeah, so that’s what I’m thinking, I guess,” Jayden was saying, and Kes was looking at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah?” Kes confirmed, and Jayden shrugged. “Who’s moving in here then?”

Lucas furrowed his brows, wondering what they were talking about. Was Liv moving out or something? Jayden shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he said, “I haven’t even told Liv and Ralph yet.”

Wait, was Jayden moving out? He should really have been paying more attention. 

Kes laughed, but it was more like a sigh, pushing air from his mouth. “You and Sander… that’s a match made in hell.”

“Shut up, like you and Lucas wouldn’t so the same thing?” Jayden shoved Kes, smirking challengingly. Lucas was still squinting, trying to put the pieces together, when Kes patted him on the knee. 

“Lucas and I would be wonderful roommates, but I love my family too much,” he grinned. 

Lucas forced a smile, accepting Kes’ fist bump. He and Kes probably would be great roommates, given the amount of time Lucas had spent practically living at his place over the years. 

“Why does Sander want to move out anyhow?” Lucas asked, hoping the question hadn’t already been voiced. 

“Same reason I did, I guess. I know he also had a fight with his parents about something, but I don’t know the details,” Jayden answered, “Not that I’m complaining. Now we’ll always have somewhere to hang out without having to worry about Ralph hooking up with dudes all the time.”

Lucas averted his gaze, feeling a prickle of discomfort send a wave of heat throughout his body. Jayden probably wasn’t being homophobic, he was just expressing annoyance at Ralph’s habitual one night stands, right? Either way, it still made Lucas’ stomach roll over itself uncomfortably.

“Speaking of hooking up, how’s it going with Sofie, Luc?” Jayden asked wiggling his eyebrows. 

Lucas schooled his face into indifference. “I’ve been messaging her a little bit.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. 

“Oh? Do you actually see something with her?” Kes asked, probably because as long as they’d known each other Lucas had never actually dated anyone. 

Lucas shrugged noncommittally. “Like I said, I’ve just messaged her a couple times and seen her twice in person.”

Kes raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, dude, but if you’re into her, go for it. You could use a little love in your life.” Kes spoke with a goofy, teasing smile, not knowing how true his words actually were. Everyone that was supposed to love Lucas didn’t anymore, or they never had. 

He looked away, not meeting Kes’ eyes and picking up his controller. “You guys ready to play again? I feel a win coming my way,” he said, feigning confidence. If Kes noticed he’d changed the subject abruptly, he thankfully didn’t say anything about it. 

“In your dreams Van der Heijden,” Jayden said, pressing play and focusing intently on the screen. Lucas looked at him and Kes a moment, smiling to himself. No matter what else he was dealing with, he really was glad to have them as his friends. 

- now playing: paracetamol by declan mckenna -

ZONDAG 10:13 - No pressure 

Lucas sat alone in the kitchen of Liv, Jayden, and Ralph’s flat, coffee in hand. He and Kes had stayed over the night before but Kes had already left and Jayden went to meet Sander to discuss their new place, telling Lucas to stay as long as he wanted. Normally Lucas wouldn’t infringe on anyone’s hospitality, but Liv was at Isa’s and Ralph was still asleep, so he let himself breathe a moment longer.

As if his moment of peace had informed the universe that for one brief moment, things were going all right for Lucas Van der Heijden, Ralph chose that moment to stumble into the kitchen, looking at Lucas in surprise.

“Did we have plans?” Ralph asked, thankfully clothed. 

Lucas shook his head, setting his coffee down. “No, sorry. I slept over with Kes last night, Jayden said I could stay but I really should head home—”

“Lucas, don’t worry about it,” Ralph cut him off, opening the fridge. He looked around before pulling out shredded cheese. He smiled at Lucas, scrunching up his nose, then patted him on the head. “Besides, I enjoy your company much more than Jayden’s. But don’t tell him I said that.”

Lucas mimed zipping his lips, relieved he didn’t have to leave after all. Ralph sat down across from him and began eating the shredded cheese by the handful. Lucas narrowed his eyes, wondering if he should even ask. “Did you want me to make you something to eat?” Lucas offered, figuring this was the best way to say what the fuck without actually saying what the fuck. 

Ralph saw right through him. “Have you never just eaten cheese because life is too short not to?”

“I mean, I guess I have,” Lucas responded, dumbstruck. He’d really never thought he’d have to take an introspective look into his cheese eating habits, but there they were. “I don’t usually put that much thought into it though.”

Ralph merely winked at him and ate another handful of cheese. Lucas looked down into his coffee mug to hide his small smile. 

“So,” Ralph said after a moment, “I need your input on something.”

Lucas lifted his head, raising his eyebrows. He didn’t know what kind of input he was possibly qualified to give, especially to Ralph. “Ok?” 

Ralph scooted his chair over to Lucas’ side of the table, pulling his phone out. “I have three new tinder matches, and I need you to help me choose which one to go out with,” he explained. 

Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This wasn’t the first time he’d looked at Ralph’s tinder with him, but usually there were other people around. This seemed different, almost like Ralph knew something about him no one else did. 

“Um, ok,” Lucas said hoarsely, trying for a smile. Ralph hummed excitedly and pulled up the profiles one by one and Lucas wondered if maybe he would be able to find Kaz on tinder, but then put the thought out of his mind. There was no way he’d be able to find who he was looking for on there without accidentally being found himself. He’d already risked his anonymity with grindr, but thankfully that worked out fairly well so far.

“I don’t know,” Lucas shrugged, after looking at all three guys multiple times. They were all attractive, but he hadn’t expected any less from Ralph. 

“Come on, Lucas, you don’t have to be gay to help me out. Jayden helps me out all the time,” Ralph pleaded, showing him the pictures for a fifth time. 

“He does?”

Ralph squinted, tilting his head to the side. “Well, no, but Noah and Liv do. And Esra.”

“Ralph.” Lucas shook his head in exasperation, but it was a fond sort of exasperation. He wondered what his life would have been like if he was in Liv’s position, and had known Ralph well enough to move in with him and have a sibling like bond. Maybe he would be more comfortable with himself, maybe he would be someone else entirely.

“Speak of the devil…” Ralph trailed off, looking over Lucas’ head. Lucas turned as well, expecting to see Jayden, but seeing Noah instead. 

Noah nodded at them as he walked into the kitchen, looking a little confused by Lucas’ presence and Liv’s absence, but accepting it without comment. 

“She’s at Isa’s,” Ralph supplied helpfully, and Noah just nodded again.

“I know, she told me to meet her here,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His nails were painted a light silvery blue that changed color depending on what angle you looked at it at, and Lucas couldn’t help but feel an ache in his chest. Sure, he’d never been hypermasculine, but he’d always strayed away from that sort of thing just in case anyone thought he was gay. 

When Lucas brought his attention back to Noah’s eyes, he was surprised to see that Noah was already watching him, scrutinizing him. “Your hair’s longer now than the last time I saw you.”

Lucas didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that. It was true, obviously, but he didn’t know whether Noah meant it as an observation or backhanded compliment of sorts. 

“It suits you,” he continued thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee and grimacing. 

An actual compliment then, it seemed. Lucas never had a crush on Noah, too transfixed on Kes, but he could see the appeal. His phone buzzed on the table, snapping his attention away from Noah. It was his mom. He swore and stood up from the table, answering the phone as he walked into the other room. 

“Hello?” he answered, worry lacing his voice. 

“Lucas.” Her voice was soft and he wondered if she’d even meant to call at all. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

She took a moment to respond, and he pictured her staring out the window. “I just wanted to know if you’re ever coming home.”

“Of course I am.” He forced a laugh. “I told you I was sleeping over at Jayden’s place?”

“Oh. Right, you did.”

Lucas cast a glance back at the kitchen, hushing his voice slightly. “Are you ok? Should I call Dr. Visser—?”

“Don’t condescend to me, Lucas,” she interrupted harshly, and his heartbeat picked up pace. 

“I— I’m sorry, that’s not what I was trying to do. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right,” he amended. 

He heard her take a deep breath and he wondered if she was smoking. She did on occasion, even though she wasn’t supposed to and she knew his dad hated it. “It’s ok, I just— I’m your mother, you shouldn’t have to parent me.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“I know.” Another deep breath. “I’ll keep the door unlocked for you, but be home soon please. You probably have homework to get done before the week.”

Lucas closed his eyes gently, leaning his head back against the wall. “Ok, mama, thank you. I’ll see you soon.” He paused, biting his lip. “I love you,” he added, almost as an afterthought, but the beeping on the other end of the line told him the call had already been disconnected. He blinked his eyes slowly, taking a shuddering breath before forcing a look of nonchalance and reentering the kitchen.

“Thanks for letting me stay for a while, Ralph, but I should get home,” he said with a smile that he hoped looked genuine. Ralph and Noah were suspiciously quiet, but Lucas chose to ignore it. “Go with guy number two,” he added, earning a soft smile. 

“You’re welcome here anytime, Lucas,” Ralph said, eyes telling Lucas that he knew too much. Lucas merely nodded, escaping as fast as he could.

When he got to the door, he felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Noah, looking a bit apprehensive. “I know we don’t know each other well,” Noah began, “But if you ever need anything you can call me.”

Lucas smiled tightly. “Thanks.”

Noah didn’t give up so easily. “I mean it. I’ve had my fair share of… family issues… so if you’re ever dealing with something you don’t think anyone will understand, maybe I will.”

“Noah…”

“No pressure.” Noah lifted his hands up, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t have to share anything with me if you don’t want to, but if you do, you know how to find me.”

“Thanks,” Lucas said, but this time he actually meant it, trying to convey that to Noah through his eyes. 

Noah nodded, smiling with the corner of his mouth. “Of course.”

With that, Lucas opened the door and left, finding himself wishing he could have stayed. 

MAANDAG 8:31 - I am into her!

It was too fucking early, way too fucking early. Lucas had barely gotten any sleep the night before, tossing and turning trying to decide if he should call Dr. Visser or not behind his mother’s back. When he’d gotten home she had barely acknowledged his existence, as was usual these days, but he couldn’t fight the feeling that something else was different. He didn’t know if it was an episode or not, but he wanted to be ready if it was, if his mom needed him.

Thankfully Ralph hadn’t said anything to Jayden about the day before, so when Lucas lied and said he made some coffee then left before anyone came home or woke up, Jayden believed him. 

He and Sander were going on and on about their new place and how cool it was going to be, and Kes indulged them, asking for details whenever they stopped to take a breath, but Lucas only listened enough that he wouldn’t get caught off guard by the conversation again.

But then, he looked away from his friends for a moment, and all hope of remaining tuned in to the conversation were lost.

- now playing: bite by troye sivan - 

Kaz was walking across the schoolyard, holding nothing but a paperback book the title of which Lucas couldn’t distinguish at that distance. Lucas was transfixed, felt like Kaz was walking in slow motion or something like this was a scene out of a movie. The sun kissed his face, bathing it in golden light and Lucas swore he could see all of his freckles. 

He was aware he was staring, but he wasn’t really aware until Kaz’s eyes found his and neither one of them looked away. Lucas wondered if Kaz was feeling the same heart stopping feeling that he was. A small smirk graced the corner of Kaz’s mouth and his eyes continued to search Lucas’ face, even as a new figure invaded Lucas’ field of vision, snapping him out of whatever daze he’d been in.

“Hi, Lucas!” It was Sofie, how ironic. 

He smiled in response, glancing back over to where Kaz was now leaning against the wall reading whatever book he’d had with him. 

“Um, I was wondering, well, my friends and I were wondering…” she trailed off, ducking her head, blinking her eyes in a nervous flutter, “We’re hosting a party this Friday, and I was wondering if you’d like to come?”

She looked at Kes, Jayden, and Sander as if just noticing their presence. “You can bring your friends, of course!”

Lucas smiled apologetically. “I’m really sorry but—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, we’re there,” Sander cut in, giving Lucas a pointed stare. 

Sofie blinked, looking from Sander to Sofie. “It’s no big deal if you can’t make it…”

“No worries, we can make it. All of us.” Sander draped an arm around Lucas’ shoulders. “Right?”

“Right,” Lucas found himself saying, unable to force any sort of enthusiasm into his words. 

Sander rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him, he’s worried about a test he has later.”

“Oh,” Sofie sighed in apparent relief, “Well, good luck!”

“Thanks,” Lucas said, trying to make his voice sound warmer. Sofie didn’t deserve to be treated like shit just because he really didn’t want to go to her party. He was sure she was a really nice person, even though he didn’t care enough to find out. 

“I’ll message you the details later this week, yeah?” she confirmed, vibrant and lively once again. 

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Great! Um, I’ll see you later then.” She waved somewhat shyly before walking away, a small bounce in her step. Once she was out of earshot, Sander removed his arm, smacking Lucas on the side of the head. 

“What the fuck?” he asked, and Lucas sighed, preparing an excuse. 

“I’m sorry I just—” he began, but Sander shook his head.

“Don’t bullshit me. If you’re not into her, just say so. Don’t string her along, dude, because she’s clearly into you.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Why did you accept her invitation if you think I’m not into her?”

Sander laughed, shrugging. “You don’t have to come with, but I want to go to her party. Or maybe you should come with so you can tell her you’re not into her in person.”

“I am into her!” Lucas argued. “I just have a lot going on at the moment.”

“Like what?” It was Kes who asked, frowning. Lucas felt guilty immediately. Technically, he did have a lot going on, and most of it hadn’t been shared with Kes, who he was used to sharing everything with. He just felt that Kes must have been getting tired of his constant dumping of family issues, so he dialed it back, determined only to bring it up if it became a major issue.

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Just family stuff, you know,” he said softly, hoping Kes would accept it without argument. The look on Kes’ face said he wasn’t going to let it go forever, but he would now, so Lucas let out a small sigh of relief.

The slightly tense moment was broken when Jayden brought up some story of something that had happened in one of his classes last week, and the four of them were laughing again like the best of friends. Which is what they were, wasn’t it?

DINSDAG 10:30 - No rush

Lucas felt that what he was doing was slightly creepy, but at the same time he was desperate. He just had to wait until Engel was alone, then he’d go talk to her. God, he sounded so creepy, even to himself. 

Janna left first, talking into her phone as she went, and thankfully Isa and Liv left soon after, en route to the bathroom. Engel busied herself with her phone and Lucas took his opportunity, walking up to her with a smile. 

“Hey, Engel,” he said, and she looked up at him in confusion. 

“Hi?”

He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. “I, um, was wondering if you had a list of the people who joined the culture club?”

At the mention of the culture club, her confusion faded away and she perked up to her usual bubbly self. “Of course!” She hesitated. “Wait, why?”

He hadn’t thought that far into it, unfortunately. “I, um,” he began, floundering, “I was talking to this one guy about an idea we had for the club, but I forgot his last name so I couldn’t find his contact to discuss it more with him.” Not the worst excuse he could have thought up. 

“Oh that’s great! I don’t have people’s contact information, though, just names,” she said apologetically, but he shook his head. 

“That’s fine, I’m sure I can find him on Instagram or something,” he said.

She sighed in relief. “Just give me a second, I’m sure I have the list here somewhere.”

“No rush.” He put his hands into his pockets, looking around the room idly. He was half expecting Kaz to show up out of nowhere and see what a creep he was being, but thankfully he didn’t. 

“You’re dating that girl Sofie, right?” Engel asked casually as she searched through one of her notebooks. “She was at the meeting as well.”

“I wouldn’t say dating…” he began, but she let out a soft exclamation before he could attempt to explain. 

“Ah! Found it! Who were you looking for?”

“Um, his name was Kaz I think,” he said, like it wasn’t the only name he’d been thinking about for days. 

She scanned the list in her hands, frown increasing as her eyes went down the page until she landed on a name near the bottom. “There it is! Kaz Janssen. That’s funny actually, he asked to see the list as well.”

“He did?” Lucas’ heart pounded harder against his will. 

“Yeah, he’s new here, so he wanted to try to get to know people in the club better,” she said, “Unless he was trying to flirt with me?”

Jealousy coiled in Lucas’ stomach before he could stop it. “Oh?”

“He’s hot, right?” she asked, but it seemed like she was genuinely asking for his input, as if she couldn’t decide. 

He shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She frowned again, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. Then she shook her head, brushing away whatever had crossed her mind. “Well, there you are! And thanks so much for your dedication to the culture club!”

“Of course,” he said with a genuine smile, starting to back away. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, returning his smile and giving him a small wave goodbye. He waved back and turned around, biting his lip to keep his smile from getting too big. Kaz Janssen. It was a beautiful name, it really was. 

Lucas got to his class early after that, opening up his phone to Instagram and being immediately accosted by a new photo of Sofie. It was like the universe was laughing at him.

He liked it, because he felt like he should, but then he went to type the Kaz’s name into the Instagram search bar, sadly only yielding results that didn’t match the boy he was so enamoured with. Maybe his name was something else on Instagram? Lucas still found it hard to believe that he didn’t have an account. 

Fully aware that his stalking was going to a new level, he simply typed Kaz’s name into the search bar on google, hesitating briefly before pressing enter. But then he thought fuck it, he could just delete his search history later just in case, and pushed the button. 

Unsurprisingly, a lot of results came up and he sifted through them, growing increasingly discouraged with each link he clicked on that had no relation to the Kaz he was looking for. He was about to give up when he reached the link to a blog near the bottom of the page titled The Green Light. It could have been a reference to Lorde’s song, sure, but the quote Kaz had said to Lucas stuck out in his mind, drawing him to believe that this green light referred to the other, more popular one in The Great Gatsby. 

When Lucas clicked on it, the whole page looked like a classic novel, if that was even possible. Everything from the color scheme to the font to the photos on the home page drew Lucas in and reminded him of Kaz, even though they’d only met once. Just looking at the page, Lucas felt like he could tell so much about Kaz. For one thing, he was clearly very artistic. There was a whole gallery of photographs on one of the tabs that Lucas was guessing he took, as well as various series of digitally altered photographs. There were a couple videos, which was how Lucas knew this was definitely the Kaz he was looking for, but he didn’t watch them because he didn’t have headphones at the moment. 

There was only a few more tabs he hadn’t looked at, titled music, words, inspiration, and me. Lucas’ thumb hovered over the me tab, about to click on it when Isa plopped down beside him, looking down to his phone in interest. He quickly shut it off and slipped it into his pocket.   

She eyed him suspiciously. “What were you looking at?” 

“Nothing interesting,” he said with a shrug, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks all the same. 

“Hmmm,” she hummed, leaning in closer to him. “It was porn, wasn’t it?”

“What the fuck? No! You think I’d stream porn on the school wifi?” 

She looked at him like, yes? Obviously?

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you stream porn on the school wifi?”

“Dude. Are you serious? Of course I do,” she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows at him. He scrunched up his nose and looked away. 

“I really don’t know why I’m surprised,” he deadpanned, staring her down until he could feel the inkling of a smile working its way across his face.

She smacked his arm harder than necessary and he frowned at her, smacking her back. “Careful there or you won’t be able to copy my homework anymore.”

Isa retracted her hand immediately, putting a cheesy fake smile on her face. “Careful about what?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes, bumping her shoulder with his until they both melted into hysterics. Their teacher, braless once again, snapped her eyes to the two of them harshly. 

“Do I need to break you two up?” she demanded, and Lucas and Isa shook their heads innocently, ignoring the looks they were getting from Jayden and Janna. Their teacher looked them up and down once frowning. “Just try to keep it down, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered, nodding still. She didn’t look entirely convinced of their innocence, but Lucas had to admit the two of them were a pretty good duo in regards to looking the part. Sure, they’d both done some pretty shitty things in their lives, but you’d never know it just by looking at them. They were the type of people everyone always said were “so cute!” and precious cinnamon rolls or whatever. Lucas and Kes had never laughed harder than the time they’d been at a party and a girl had called him a cinnamon roll to his face.

“You’re a menace, Keijser,” he whispered, because it was still accurate. He made a silent promise to himself to remind her every day from here on out. 

Instead of arguing, Isa simply winked at him and said, “Thank you.”

WOENSDAG 1:02 - A tragic love story

At this point, Lucas was tired enough that he wasn’t even going to try arguing with himself about whether or not he should take another look at Kaz’s blog. He was proud of himself for holding out for so long, but now it was late and he couldn’t sleep and his computer was right there and Kaz was once again on his mind.

Kaz was always on his mind, that much was becoming alarmingly clear. 

Pulling up the blog on his computer, he was drawn in even more than before if possible, relishing in every little detail that Kaz clearly put a lot of time and energy into. He hovered over the me tab again, unsure why he was hesitating. It was just that he wasn’t sure what that tab might contain. He wanted to know Kaz, but he didn’t want to know Kaz like this. He wanted Kaz to tell him all the things that might be stored away in his me tab, not to sit here like a stalker reading them himself.

Instead, he went back to videos and clicked on the first one. In it, Kaz was sitting in front of a wall filled with color coded art, like a rainbow. It was really interesting to look at, so interesting that Lucas briefly forgot to pay attention to Kaz.

Kaz laughed into the camera, face full of light, and Lucas wondered if someone had been there with him or if that’s just what he was like all the time. Once his laughter subsided, Kaz spoke directly to the camera. “I don’t do videos like this often, I prefer to be behind the camera, not in front of it, but it’s my civic duty to inform you of all the reasons why The Great Gatsby is not only the best novel of all time, but also the best film by Baz Luhrmann.”

Lucas smiled at the passion with which he spoke, feeling like they were in the same room together, not on opposite ends of a screen.

Kaz continued speaking, “You’re probably thinking, this guy is an idiot, Moulin Rouge is right there, but trust me, The Great Gatsby is the superior film. Does Moulin Rouge have Spiderman in it? No, checkmate. Now, I know I’m not in America, and I’ve never been to America, so all the symbolism about the American dream and whatnot doesn’t really matter to me, which I think makes the book that much better. I mean, no shade to America, but they think everything is about them. Maybe Fitzgerald did write this masterpiece to be analyzed the way it has been over time, but I still believe that, at its core, The Great Gatsby is a tragic love story. And those are the best kinds of love stories, because those are the love stories we remember. Now moving on to the film—”

Lucas paused the video, searching up the movie in a new tab. He’d never actually seen it, though he vaguely remembered when it came out. There was also something to be said for Leonardo DiCaprio as Jay Gatsby. On an impulse, he bought the movie to stream, unsure why he didn’t just rent it, but also too far in now to go back. 

- now playing: young and beautiful by lana del rey -

The film was gorgeous. Granted, Lucas had never seen any other Baz Luhrmann films, but if they all looked like this he wanted to watch them all immediately. He’d never really been one to appreciate cinema the way it was meant to be appreciated, but this movie was changing his mind. A part of him wanted to watch it with Ralph, knowing he’d love the decadence and the styling. Lucas wasn’t much of a fashion guru, so to speak, but if it weren’t for historical oppression, he’d go back to the twenties right that minute. 

It had been a long while since he’d read the book, so there was a lot he didn’t remember about the plot, and he kept wondering what was so tragic about it, like Kaz had said. He vaguely remembered something significant happening at the end, but he wasn’t sure what it was, so he watched the movie on the edge of his seat. 

Then, a second before it all happened, he started to recall, and with that recollection came tears slipping down his face. The last few minutes of the movie were spent in a teary silence, and Lucas was afraid to breathe lest he let out a sob and awaken his mother. Tragic love story indeed.

He understood what Kaz meant, about why it was so great, the movie as a whole. He wasn’t entirely sold on Daisy and Gatsby’s relationship, though, because in the end Daisy was the reason Gatsby died and she wasn’t even decent enough to call him. Nick and Gatsby should have gotten together, they looked like they had quite a bit of chemistry. Jordan was obviously a lesbian, and Nick was obviously gay, or maybe it was only obvious to him for apparent reasons. 

It was well past three in the morning, Lucas realized, seeing the battery bar on his laptop was nearly completely drained. It was so tempting to watch the movie again, or to finish watching Kaz’s video, but he held off, shutting his computer and plugging it in before his want could get the best of him. 

As he shut off the light he saw mansions and champagne and silk shirts in his mind, smiling at the thought that the twenties were actually closer than he thought, and maybe these ones would be better than those Gatsby, Nick, and Daisy had lived in. Maybe the love stories wouldn’t have to be so tragic anymore.

VRIJDAG 15:48 - You’re not Timotheé Chalamet?

The boys were still texting Lucas, even though he’d only left them a moment ago. They kept reminding him over and over to text Sofie and check in about the address to her party that night, and he really didn’t want to, but he would, if only for them. He paused a few feet away from the bus stop to type so he wouldn’t accidentally wander into oncoming traffic as he was distracted. 

vanderheijden.lucas: hey, sofie, is the party still on for tonight?

Her answer was immediate, much to his annoyance.

sof_heide: Lucas! I’m so sorry, I totally meant to text you earlier! Yes, the party is still on and it’s going to start around 21h!

sof_heide: I’ll send you the address in a bit if that’s ok? My mom won’t let me go out if I don’t do my chores haha

vanderheijden.lucas: no worries! just let me know whenever 

sof_heide: Will do! Can’t wait to see you!

vanderheijden.lucas: Me too :) 

He closed his phone after the final message, cringing inside his head so many times he thought he might go blind from it. Why had he added a smiley face? He cringed one more time for good measure, then walked the last few steps to wait for the bus only to catch the tail end of it pulling away.

“Shit!” he hissed to himself, taking a few steps towards it as if that would make it slow down or turn around. The next bus wasn’t going to be there for an hour, and he really didn’t want to wait around that long. 

Dejected, he sat down on the bench, putting his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long passed until there was a small screech and he popped his head up, wondering if the bus had come early. But no— it wasn’t the bus, it was someone on a motorcycle who’d decided to stop in front of him for some reason. He prayed it wasn’t a kidnapper or serial killer, that was the last thing he needed. 

The person said something he couldn’t hear, given their helmet and he shrugged in confusion, pointing to it. The person seemed to laugh, then removed the helmet and Lucas was struck dumb. Kaz Janssen, in the flesh. 

“Need a lift?” Kaz repeated with that vibrant smile of his, running one hand through his hair, which was a bit curlier than Lucas had ever seen it. 

Lucas knit his brows together. “I didn’t peg you for the motorcycle type.”

“Because you know me so well?” Kaz countered, corner of his mouth quirking up. 

Lucas laughed, shaking his head. They were lucky no one else was on the road at that moment. “All the more reason not to go with you. No one’s getting me to a secondary location.”

“John Mulaney?” Kaz smiled as Lucas nodded, then spread his arms wide. “Technically it’s not a secondary location if it’s the first place we go together.”

Lucas couldn’t argue with that logic. Actually, he mostly just didn’t want to. “You don’t have an extra helmet,” he pointed out regardless, because he’d ridden scooters and bikes without helmets, but motorcycles were a different thing entirely. 

Kaz held out the helmet he’d just been wearing. “For you, sir.”

“But what about you?” Lucas took it hesitantly.

“I’m a pro,” was all Kaz said, revving the engine a few times. Lucas rolled his eyes, but covered his head with the helmet, flipping open the visor partly because he’d always wanted to try that and partly so he could see better to hop onto the back.

“Hold on tight!” Kaz yelled to him, and Lucas did as he was told, heart beating at a rapid pace Lucas prayed Kaz couldn’t feel through his jacket. 

- now playing: lights up by harry styles - 

Riding a motorcycle was unlike anything Lucas had ever done. He’d ridden on the back of Kes and other people’s scooters before, but those were child’s play compared to this. He almost wished he didn’t have a helmet on so he could feel the wind whip through his hair and brush across his face. He tried to keep his eyes ahead of him, but he couldn’t help but steal glances of Kaz every once and a while, smile plastered on his face the entire time. Once Kaz caught him staring, but it only made his smile grow wider, and he said something Lucas couldn’t hear before turning his eyes back forward.

Another thing about motorcycles is that they could go fast. Really fast. Lucas wondered if this was what space travel felt like, just to a smaller degree. It was exhilarating, and it was a feeling he could see himself falling in love with. There was a freedom to it that made him feel a little less constricted and more himself somehow. It was nice, it was really nice. 

The ride ended earlier than Lucas wanted it to and Lucas realized he had no idea where Kaz was taking him. He’d assumed Kaz would take him home, but then he remembered he’d never given an address. 

He hopped off the bike once Kaz put it into park, pulling off the helmet and shaking out his hair. It really was getting long, he noticed, as it fell into his eyes. Kaz got off the bike as well and Lucas handed him the helmet, questions in his eyes.

Kaz nodded for him to follow, explaining as he went. “I don’t know where you live, but I have beer and, if you’re lucky, weed.”

“If I’m lucky?” Lucas asked sarcastically, falling into step beside Kaz. He was taller than Lucas by at least a few inches, just enough that he could probably rest his arm nicely around Lucas’ shoulders. Not that that was what Lucas was thinking about or anything.

They walked up the stairs to the third floor, Kaz turning to speak to Lucas with every step he took. “Well, there are rules here, you see.”

“Oh?”

“First: if you don’t like my music, you’re not invited back, I have the best music of all time,” Kaz began, “Second: you have to help me make dinner, because otherwise I’ll just eat bread for the third night in a row and I assume you have a more refined palate than that. Third: compliment my cat or perish by my sword.”

“You have a cat?” Lucas cooed without even thinking. Luckily, Kaz didn’t seem too put off by it. 

“I do.” He nodded, stopping in front of a door and searching his pockets for his keys. Once he found them, he turned the lock, looking at Lucas once more before opening the door. “Her name is Daisy.”

“Let me guess, Daisy Buchanan?” he asked knowingly. 

Kaz scoffed in faux indignation. “Quote Gatsby one time and all of a sudden it’s your only personality trait.”

“So she’s just named after the flower then?” Lucas giggled, following Kaz inside. 

“Ok, fine, she’s named after Daisy Buchanan, but in my defense, it’s my hyperfixation I get to choose the music.”

Lucas blinked. “Did you just. Rip off the ‘it’s my breakdown I get to choose the music’ meme.”

“You ripped off John Mulaney earlier, Lucas,” Kaz pointed out, throwing his bag on the floor and placing his helmet on a side table. 

Lucas raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning out of the side of his mouth. He didn’t remember ever telling Kaz his name. “Hey, I’m not mad about it, I was just checking.”

“Vibe check,” Kaz said, throwing a pillow at him and earning an eye roll and a full grin.

“Why did I come here again?” Lucas joked. 

“For the cat.”

“Oh, yes, most definitely for the cat.”

Speaking of the cat… wow she was so cute. Lucas had always thought himself more of a dog person, but Daisy was quite the cutie. She was a fairly small black cat with big green eyes, and Lucas was in love. With the cat. Not with anything or anyone else. He snapped a picture of her laying on the couch stretched out, wishing for a moment he could stay there and play with her forever.

After playing with the Daisy for a little while, Lucas followed Kaz as he beckoned him into his bedroom, instantly marveling at the wall he’d seen in the video a few nights ago. Kaz noticed him looking in awe, and smiled. “Do you like it? It took a while, but I’m almost done.”

“It’s incredible. Everything is so well placed. I’d never have the patience for that.” Lucas’ eyes followed red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, and every variation of those colors in between. The walls perpendicular were entirely white and black, respectively. The effect was way cooler in person than in the video.

He turned to look at the rest of the room’s decorations, eyes snagging on a section of the wall that jutted out into the room a little bit. Dozens of cameras lined shelves on that wall from floor to ceiling and Lucas looked at them, curiosity peaked. Kaz picked one up casually. 

“Are you a photographer or something?” Lucas asked, and Kaz shrugged. Lucas picked one up as well, looking to Kaz for permission. He nodded, and Lucas looked at it with interest.

“Something like that. I like to document beautiful things,” Kaz answered, lifting the camera to his eye and snapping a photo of Lucas before he could protest. “Though sometimes I think I don’t even know what beauty is.”

“Do any of us?” Lucas said with a small smile, and Kaz grinned back. It was a lie, though. He was pretty sure he did know what beauty was, and it was Kaz. Lucas set the camera back on its place on the shelf and looked to see where Kaz had gone.

Kaz emerged from behind his bed a moment later, small baggie of weed in his hand. “You’ve earned your privileges, I think,” he said with the uptick of one eyebrow.

They entered the living room once again, and Kaz perched himself on the windowsill, opening the window a crack to let the smoke out. Lucas followed suit, sitting on the opposite end and trying to ignore how close their knees were. 

“I haven’t heard your music to know if it’s actually good or not yet though,” Lucas said as Kaz handed him the joint in his hand. He took a slow drag, raising his eyebrows. 

Kaz considered him carefully. “Tell me about what music you like first.”

Lucas shifted his sitting position and thought about it. “Well, that’s hard. I like too much music.”

“Then tell me one song you’ve had on repeat lately.”

Lucas handed the joint back, biting the inside of his cheek. Then, a song came to him. “George Jeff by Jaden Smith. Honestly, Jaden Smith in general. I’m usually more into alternative music, but once you add a symphonic or electronic quality to hip hop and rap that goes beyond the same four basic beats with a mumble laid over it, you get magic. Plus, I really like his voice.”

- now playing: george jeff by jaden smith -

Kaz licked his bottom lip, grinning in a way that told Lucas whatever he was about to say was going to be sarcastic. “Funny, I would have thought you were a classical music guy.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue because he was. He loved classical music. “I am that too. I’m very versatile, apparently.”

“Do you play any instruments?” Kaz asked with genuine interest.

Lucas shook his head. “No. I wish I did, though.”

“Not even the piano?” Kaz pushed.

“The piano is hard.”

“Wait a minute…” Kaz paused, blowing smoke out the window. Confusion was etched on his face as he leaned a bit closer to Lucas. Lucas’ heart started pumping and he tried desperately not to blush. “You’re not Timotheé Chalamet?” Kaz continued, shit eating grin returning to his beautiful face.

Lucas leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Fuck. Off,” he said, but he was laughing. Then Kaz was laughing, and they both were laughing, and the world laughed with them. 

“You’ve never gotten that before?” Kaz asked. “You’re a spitting image for him in Call Me By Your Name.”

“Why am I not surprised you like that movie.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re pretending not to like it?”

And, well, check and mate.

“You know who else you look like?” Kaz asked, pulling one knee to his chest. Lucas shook his head. “Troye Sivan. Has anyone ever told you that?”

They had actually, if you counted Sofie. Lucas wasn’t quite sure if she did count or not yet. Kaz looked at him pensively. “Longer hair though.”

“It didn’t used to be,” was all Lucas could think to say. Then, he added, “Are you a Troye Sivan fan then? I admit, I don’t really know who he is.”

Kaz grimaced. “Of course you don’t. A travesty, truly. He’s one of the greatest artists of our generation, but so underrated.”

Lucas wholeheartedly agreed. Blue Neighborhood had actually changed his life. It was the first music source he’d seen so much of himself in that it actually kind of scared him. Now, those were his comfort songs, and they played as a soundtrack to his life sometimes.

“He’s not the only underrated musical genius I love, though,” Kaz continued, waiting for Lucas to oblige him and ask who else he was talking about. 

Lucas did, because he wanted to know everything about him. “Oh, yeah? Who else?”

“Rich Brian.”

“Rich Brian?” Lucas had never heard of him. 

“His most recent album— life changing. I want to direct a music video to every song.” Kaz gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, something Lucas was beginning to notice he did whenever he felt true passion for whatever he was speaking about.

“What’s your favorite song off the album?” Lucas asked.

“Yellow, hands down. You said you like symphonic hip hop, right?” Lucas nodded. Kaz grinned even wider, handing Lucas the joint and standing up, grabbing his phone off the coffee table and connecting it to a speaker he had on hand. “Prepare to be amazed,” he said, and hit play.

- now playing: yellow by rich brian -    

The music swept Lucas off his feet, carrying his mind to new places. Maybe it was the weed talking, but he felt like he could feel the music in his bones, understanding why Kaz loved it so much. Then, a few minutes into the song, the violins hit, and Lucas gasped aloud. 

Kaz was clearly awaiting his reaction, and grinned in satisfaction. “Told you.”

“Holy fucking shit,” was all Lucas had the capacity to say, too swept up in everything that was happening even in the smallest intricacies of the music. 

“I know.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“I know.”

They were silent after that, comfortably so, the kind of silent you don’t find with a person until you know them in an intimate way. It shocked Lucas they were at this point already, but he stopped himself from overthinking it. Kaz had made no indication he was at all interested, and even if he was, Lucas wasn’t sure if he could fully allow himself to feel something real. It was best to admire from afar. 

Minutes and hours began to blur together into one big jumble of smoke and laughter and deep conversations that actually weren’t deep at all but said so much at the same time. Kaz kept his music playing and Lucas allowed himself to fall in love with this one small part of Kaz, because he was right and his music taste was amazing.

When they made pasta for dinner, they laughed over adding so many spices that they could barely see the pasta beneath it all, and nearly cried over how bad it tasted. Given the inedible pasta disaster, they ended up eating bread, just as Kaz had claimed he had been for days, but in his defense the bread was delicious. Nothing like their devil pasta that could probably reanimate the dead. 

Sitting on the floor in Kaz’s kitchen, still high from all the weed and all the fun Lucas had been having, he turned the bread over in his hands, smiling into his chest before taking another bite. There was a sudden weight on his shoulder and he startled to see Kaz had rested his head there. 

Freaking out internally, Lucas remained cool and collected externally. “You good?”

Kaz nodded lazily, head almost falling off Lucas’ shoulder. “So tired.”

“Me too,” Lucas agreed, head falling on top of Kaz’s without even realizing it. The two of them sighed, saying nothing more. Neither of them moved either, staying there for a second, for forever. 

Forever ended when Lucas’ phone vibrated loudly in his pocket and he and Kaz both jumped, accidentally knocking their heads together. Lucas blushed and began to apologize, but Kaz brushed it off with a laugh, leaning his head back against the cabinets while Lucas looked at his phone.

Shit. 

He must have not even realized he was getting messages, too high and distracted. The boys had left a great many, and so had Sofie. 

Kes: luc you have the address?

Jayden: i’m ready to partayyy

Sander: cool it man lol

Sander: lucas?

Kes: he’s probably with family if he’s not looking at his phone

Jayden: fair, but text us back sooooon bro

The texts then jumped to hours later, hours later than Lucas even realized it was. It was nearly 21h, fully dark out and everything. Shit. 

Kes: luc? we’re still waiting

Kes: also whose cat is that? are you not home?

Sander: we’re getting worried man

Kes: yeah, we don’t care about the party, just want to know what’s up

Kes: text back when you can please otherwise i’m showing up at your house

Sander: ^^

Jayden: ^^^

There were no texts that they’d actually gone to his house, which was a good sign. He’d figure out an answer while he read whatever Sofie had to say. Her first message was just the address with a smiley face, but then she too descended into worry.

sof_heide: Hey, Lucas, you haven’t confirmed, is everything all right?

sof_heide: If you can’t make it it’s fine, just let me know

sof_heide: Seriously, Lucas? I honestly can’t tell if you’re ignoring me or not

sof_heide: At least tell your friends they can still come, they actually seemed excited

sof_heide: Sorry, that was kind of rude. I don’t know what you have going on in your life. But text me so I know you’re alive, please?

Fuck, he should probably respond to her first, especially now that she could see he’d read her messages.

vanderheijden.lucas: hey, sofie, i’m so sorry, something came up with my family and i wasn’t on my phone. i don’t think i’ll be able to make it :(

Her response was immediate.

sof_heide: Don’t worry about it! There will be other parties, I hope everything is all right :(

vanderheijden.lucas: thanks, i mean it. do you mind if i still pass along the address to my friends, though? you’re right, they were excited

sof_heide: Of course! Wish you could come, but I understand, trust me.

Somehow it made it worse that she was so understanding. He almost wished she would have cursed him out and said she never wanted to see him again. He opened up his message with the boys, hoping they would accept his excuse without complaint. 

Lucas: hey guys, sorry, i’ve been dealing with some family stuff and i can’t make it to the party.

Lucas: sofie gave me the address though, and you guys are free to go without me

Lucas: [attachment: address]

Kes: bro, we’re not worried about some party we’re worried about you

Jayden: speak for yourself

Sander: j, really?

Jayden: i was joking jeez

Kes: anyway, i’m not really in a party mood anymore either, so i think i’ll pass too

Sander: ditto, i gotta deal with the move and everything anyway

Jayden: you guys are lame, but right

Jayden: shit i have to tell ralph and liv i’m moving out

Kes: sometimes i worry about your lack of brain cells

Jayden: fuck off

“All good?” Kaz asked, drawing Lucas back to the present. “You’ve been typing for a while.”

Lucas sighed through a laugh, rubbing one of his temples with the heel of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just my friends being idiots.”

“They sound wonderful,” Kaz laughed, sound vibrating from the position his head was tilted back at. Lucas wondered how long he could get away with staying there with Kaz, sitting on the kitchen floor talking about nothing and eating bread. 

Kaz opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Kaz frowned, standing slowly and making his way over. Lucas stood from the floor, trying to get a view without being seen in case it was a serial killer. 

He heard a higher, melodic voice join Kaz’s in the entryway and exhaled. Maybe Kaz had a roommate? Or maybe he’d ordered food while Lucas was distracted by his phone. 

Lucas’ head snapped up as a girl entered the kitchen, Kaz on her heels with a sheepish expression on his face. She took in Lucas, then frowned, brows creasing. “Who are you?” she asked.

He could ask her the same question. “I go to school with Kaz,” Lucas said, not sure what else to say. 

To his surprise, her frown reversed itself immediately. “Oh!” She turned to smile at Kaz, who looked extremely uncomfortable. “I thought you said you hadn’t made any friends?”

Kaz shrugged, meeting Lucas’ eyes and nodding his head to follow. Lucas understood, but at the same time he didn’t. That was definitely the cue to leave, but who was this girl?

“Um, I have to be going, I promised my mom I’d be home by 22h, and I want to catch an earlier bus just in case it takes a while,” he said, walking past the girl. 

“Oh,” she pouted, “That’s too bad… it was nice to meet you though, uh, what’s your name?”

“Lucas.”

“It was nice to meet you Lucas!” She pulled him into a quick hug, and Lucas shot a panicked glance in Kaz’s direction, who did nothing to help, looking away the minute their eyes met. “I’m Mila,” she said when they broke apart. “Nice to meet you Mila,” he said politely, skirting around her to the door. 

Kaz stepped outside with him, shutting the door behind them. “Sorry about that,” he said, but his voice lacked all the feeling it usually did. 

“It’s fine,” Lucas said, glancing through the window and narrowly avoiding eye contact with Mila. “Who…?” he trailed off, trying to look Kaz in the eyes. 

Kaz didn’t answer, looking him up and down once. “I’ll see you at school, alright?” “Um, ok.” It was a dismissal, but Lucas still didn’t know why. 

Kaz turned back to the door and Lucas started to walk away, only making it about two steps before Kaz called his name. “Lucas?”

Lucas turned around, raising his eyebrows. “I had a really great time tonight,” Kaz continued, softer version of his usual smile gracing his face. Lucas wanted to bottle this one up and keep it around for whenever he wanted to be wrapped in a smile that felt like a warm hug. 

“Me too,” Lucas answered honestly, “I’ll see you at school.”

Kaz nodded once, then went inside. Lucas stood there a moment, letting himself enjoy the moment. Then, he made the mistake of looking through the window. Mila was still in the same place, and Kaz joined her a second later. The second they were alone together, Mila wrapped her arms around Kaz’s neck, pulling him down to meet her in a soft but deep kiss. 

Lucas swore the world fell out from under him, but no, he was still there, he was still standing. He walked down the stairs stiffly, numbly, millions of feelings rushing through him all at once. He hadn’t imagined it all with Kaz, he hadn’t. If anything, Kaz was more into it, more flirty than he was, because he’d been steeling himself for something bad to happen.

Maybe Baz Luhrmann was right and love stories were supposed to be tragic after all. Or maybe it was just that no one made love stories for people like him. 

- now playing: badbye by rm ft. eaeon -

[joel-furniss-blog]

Destroying Art

Artwork is centred around creation. The act of making art is exactly that, to make, to bind raw resources both physical and mental and distil them into a finished product. Whether the laying of paint, melding of clay, marking of charcoal, or whatever in between and beyond, art has always been about creating. Originally what was created was something of aesthetical import, something beautiful to excite the senses, but under the progression of society past tradition art was being made that did not excite the eyes but instead flared the mind, the takeover of conceptual art.

The forebearer of conceptual arts lofty goals came in the form of anti-art, a topic I’ve been discussing at length in recent research due to its contextual relevance of my work. Recently I’ve begun questioning my place (if any) in the artworld and the overall pushed notion of the fabled ‘professional artist’ my tutors hold in such high esteem, mainly wondering if that’s a title suited to myself. Perhaps the title of artist isn’t my suit, but rather that of an anti-artist? And if I wish to become the antithesis of an artist, I should not seek to make art, but to destroy it.

I’ve been fascinated with the whim of what could be considered the ultimate artistic subversion for a while now, since last year where I repurposed materials from semester one to continue with in the second semester. The act of reducing my previous work’s sentimental and artistic values to aid my future work as a form of upcycling felt satisfying in an odd way, mainly for its oxymoronic nature. Art is often thought as a culturally sacred ideal, often highly valued (although the work of an art student holds noticeably less value than anything in Sotheby’s) so the act of ruining and repurposing it seems irreverent to the artist who made it and the potential viewer. However, if an artwork remains to the artists who made I, it’s entirely in their right to desecrate, decimate, or otherwise destroy their belongings.

And some artists have indeed done exactly that. Past examples include famous artists often seen as masters of their craft which deem their work unsatisfactory enough to destroy, as an attempt to save themselves the perceived embarrassment of having to display them. Michelangelo, unhappy with his statue The Deposition (1547-55), violently attacked it with a hammer, severing Christ’s leg in the process which remains missing. Claude Monet found many of his revered Water Lily paintings unfit for exhibition and had them demolished, with plans to destroy more before his death. Georgia O’Keefe, before an 80’s solo exhibition at the Whitney Museum, trimmed her catalogue, much like Monet insisting that some were not at her ‘level’.

Examples of artist’s rendering their work inert through repurposing and upscaling is likewise present, typically stemming from a financial lacking. Pablo Picasso’s The Old Guitarist was painted on an already complete canvas, as was Vincent van Gogh’s Patch of Grass, each example theorised as a decision made due to the artist’s inadequate funds at the time, an example of necessary upcycling. Other examples include the covering of minute Easter Eggs, such as Kazimir Malevich’s early Suprematism/monochrome painting which has recently revealed as being painted atop a Cubo-Futurist design featuring the description: ‘Battle of negroes in a dark cave.’, a reference to Alphonse Allais’ all-black comic panel titled similarly, which itself is a reference Paul Bihaud’s also similarly named proto-minimalist painting.

While interesting examples, these all stem not from a need or exploration of destruction, but from the artist’s largest enemy, their ego. Deemed unworthy by the creators themselves in either fits of rage, elderly introspection, monetary restrictions, or simple pride, they dismantled and devalued their own works because of self-defined sense of place as an artist, their own ego holding them to a standard which is literally destructive. I should note however while some injustice is felt from the fact that these works are lost, ultimately, it’s the artist’s opinion and decision, which I personally believe is paramount to an art piece.

Destroying one’s own art for pride’s sake has been done by many artist’s, but what of the opposite, destroying one’s own art for the sake of art itself. As previously stated, doing so would subvert art’s creative power, but now we know it also subverts the source of art’s creative power, the artist’s own ego. Despite art’s relationship with the viewer, which typically decides its value, art can also be viewed as a sole extension of the artist’s self and thus destroying it is a self-destruction, an infanticide of the work or furtherly a suicide of the artist. It’s an interesting theme for its subversive and contradictory aspects, it raises questions about art’s value, the relationship between artist and audience, and the overall place of the artist.

Before I list some important samples of artists destroying their own work, I’d like to briefly highlight some examples of artist destroying the works of other artists, a similarly artistic sacrilege yet lacking the interference of the ego to focus solely on the profane idea of ruining art. A nice example is Erased de Kooning Drawing (1953) when Robert Rauschenberg took a painting from artist friend Willem de Kooning and completely erased every trace of it from the canvas, leaving a mere textured plain with little hints of the paintings past. A more contemporary example is when brothers Jake and Dinos Chapman purchased a mint set of Francisco Goya’s revered Disasters of War prints and ‘rectified’ them via inclusions of clown makeup, cartoonish grins, and Mickey Mouse-esque heads, which many saw as an act of artistic vandalism. While not entirely relevant to the ideas I seek I still hold an appreciation for the bold artistic tactics employed shown, questioning art’s value and role into society and whether the destruction of art is art within itself.

As I’ve drawn examples of artist’s destroying their own work out of status and artist destroying other people’s works out of artistic intention, I’d like to finally broach those artists who subvert the ego through anti-art philosophies and conceptual grounds and display through performance or adjacent recordings. An early example is the task undertaken by American painter John Baldessari in his aptly titled Cremation Project (1970) in which he took a total of 123 paintings made between May 1953 and March 1966 and incinerated them in a crematorium, documenting the whole process through photographs and slides of the works. As a final installation Baldessari baked a small portion of the ash into cookies (which he referred to as ‘corpus wafers’), forged a commemorative bronze plaque dating the ‘birth’ and ‘death’ of the works, and published an affidavit in the San Diego Union newspaper noting the work’s destruction, a sort of artistic obituary. The event itself is not only an example of grand artistic suicide/spectacle but also delves into concepts of morality by using the crematorium as a space/material, but also cycles as seen in the cookies representing cycles of digestion (the paintings and the cremator) and excretion (the ash).

An example close to Baldessari but more contemporary and personal is that of Young British Artist Michael Landy who for his work Break Down (2001). For the ambitious project he catalogued all 7,227 of his worldly belongings including all his food, his clothes, furniture, art materials, his art collection (including works by Tracy Emin and Damien Hirst), books, his car, and even his vital records including his birth certificate and passport. He then organised his possessions into categories and systematically destroyed them all in a two-week period using a reverse-assembly line track in which a series of workers individually shredded, smashed, and crushed them into debris. The process was recorded as part of a documentary and open to the public, attracting 45,000 viewers and ultimately amounting to a six-tonne pile of granulated waste either recycled or sent to landfill and a 300-page book showcasing a full inventory of his belongings. An intentional reaction to consumerist society, the performance also holds some relevance toward my focus as Landy disposed of not only his own physical artworks but also those in his collection, some of which would be considered precious today. It suggests that art is a consumer product like food and clothes, that assigning it a monetary value actually devalues it to a mere product, and not something that incites thought or excites the senses.

An even more recent and largely banal example is when in 2018 a print of street artist Banksy’s Girl With Balloon was presented for auction at Sotheby’s in a suspiciously large frame. Sold for a record sum of £1,042,000, moments after the gavel banged the work began shredding itself using a mechanism built into the frame. Playfully titled a prank by the media, Sotheby’s commented that they had no knowledge of the auto-destruction and championed it as "the first artwork in history to have been created live during an auction" while the work was sold for the original price and gained a new-found publicity as a result. With the publicity the work came under scrutiny, and considering the unusual thickness of frame compared to the piece, the unnoticed weight of the shredder, the artwork conveniently halting halfway despite originally rehearsals fully shredding it, and speculation the video recording the event was filmed by someone in Banksy’s circle, it’s easy to see where the conspiracy took root. Given Banksy’s supposed sell-out status I personally choose to believe that he and Sotheby’s were in cahoots around this prank, and if it is true it shows how the destruction of art can be bastardized. As a rebellious act, an extension of taboo and contradictory self-destruction, it loses some validity when its endorsed by one of the most elite establishments in the artworld, its as if the Queen was the manager for the Sex Pistols.

Despite some critique for the subject, I hold an appreciation for all previously discussed works mainly for their sheer contraction ethic. I love contradiction, as a way to goad and reveal root meanings and problems I find it a useful tool and aids my quest for subversion. Destroying artwork is a contradiction, a confusing farce. Why destroy something that took time, effort, and passion for someone to make? But remember that destroying an artwork in itself takes time, effort, and passion as detailed by my examples (and state-sponsorship in one case). I shall continue to experiment with the theory and practice of decimating and destroying art, but I might not take it to the extremes set by Landy.

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHARLI XCX & CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS - GONE

[7.79]

We do NOT fucking hate these people...

Elisabeth Sanders: I have no idea if this song is good or bad, all I know is that I am a homosexual. [10]

Alfred Soto: She triumphed at Pitchfork Festival against every one of my expectations: a diva who pirouetted, thrusted, and sashayed like a star with no interest in behind-the-scenes song doctoring. She played "Gone" in vivider incarnation; she sung "I fucking hate these people" as a shared joke between her and the festival's largest queer audience. The boom boom clap of the percussion keeps out of the way, but I wish it presented an obstacle over which she could hurdle. [7]

Nellie Gayle: Social anxiety does not exactly read as a the prefect pretense for a banger pop song, but then again, Charli XCX has a certain gift for emotional subterfuge. 'Gone' is a collaboration between Charli and a more subdued pop star friend, Christine & the Queens. The two wrestle between seething anger at fake social niceties and and a deeper issue - the desire to be loved and seen, even if by a group of people you couldn't care less about. It's comforting to know that even a seasoned partygirl like Charli XCX can feel the same debilitating and restrictive sense of social "unbelonging" - a scene she depicts fairly literally in the accompanying music video which features her in bondage. The jump between this wallflower characteristic and the club-ready beat feels like a perfect metaphor for Charli's career and persona itself. As pop music evolves and begins to cater to an even more confessional and vulnerable audience of millennials, it makes sense its most forward thinking vanguards would keep the pace by divulging their deepest longing while also maintaining a danceable beat. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: Sharp, rubbery bass backflips, pirouettes and twists as soapy, seething synths and steel tipped drums shimmy across the shoulders as Christine and Charli spin through as they become intertwined as one. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: What's that? Charli XCX writing a song about loneliness and social anxiety -- but somehow making it work as a duet? More like Charli doing this again, except this time instead of ruminating about the cosmos, commiserating about lost love, or contemplating redemption, she and Chris are plotting their escape. They spend the entire track pouring gasoline on their worries and stresses, until 3:04, when they finally erupt into flames. And then they're literally gone, leaving behind only the glitched screaming ghosts of their pop consciousness, any chance at salvation vanishing with them. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Charli XCX's trajectory since the release of Pop 2 has been confusing. Over the past year and a half, she's released 15-or-so singles/features, running the gamut from remixes of experimental rappers to big shiny club collabs with Diplo, Lizzo, and Troye Sivan. It's largely been good material (save for that Diplo Spice Girls remix), but the songs have kind of felt like diversions from the goals set out by Pop 2's post-PC MUSIC synthesis of pop artifice into sincere emotion. This is entirely her right-- if Charli just remade Pop 2 until she retired, it wouldn't have the same deconstructive power it had when it first came out. Yet even the best of her singles from last year (songs like "5 in the Morning" and her remix of Tommy Genesis' "100 Bad") felt somewhat unambitious-- playgrounds in the wreckage of pop, rather than attempts to build a new level upon it. "Gone," then, is that new level. It's the best of all possible worlds: the shiny synths and hard-hitting rhythms of "Nuclear Seasons"-era Charli, the glitchy breakdowns of her PC Music collabs, and the open, collaborative feeling of her wilderness year. "Gone" encapsulates Charli's appeal in a compact 4 minute salvo, taking a conventional core lyrical concept-- dancing the social anxiety away-- and twisting it to her will. Chris makes for perhaps the best partner Charli's had on her pop mission: her voice is clearer and more sincere, the perfect tool to clear out any suggestion of irony. But Charli herself is the key to why "Gone" works. She's the glue that holds together the disjointed impulses of the track, like she always is, but here she's also constantly moving it forward. Her vocals here are perhaps the best they've ever sounded, aloof and emotive all at once, and the fragmented lyrical picture that she and Chris paint is vivid. It took her a while, but "Gone" reveals a revitalized Charli XCX, capable of pop mastery once again. [10]

Oliver Maier: "Gone"'s release feels timed to ensure that Pop 2 fans don't abandon hope for Charli's album after the disappointing "Blame It On Your Love", with metallic globs of bass and sparkling synth arpeggios hearkening back to the palette of the 2017 mixtape. However, it's actually Christine and the Queens who gives the stronger performance here; Charli excels in emotional extremes and bratty earworms, but the purgatorial feeling of anxiety that "Gone" reckons with -- as well as the song's cavernous arrangement and less immediate hook -- are better suited to Chris' subtler wheelhouse. The breakdown in the last minute is a little superfluous, more a signifier of a willingness to experiment than a successful experiment in and of itself, but "Gone" still provides a brighter forecast for Charli than we had a few weeks ago. [6]

Joshua Copperman: So I did the dumb remix thing again. The Katy Perry one was a reorder of different parts, but this one adds more instrumentation and a four-on-the-floor kick that takes Charli back to 2009 instead of 1999. Despite my favorite performance I've heard Christine give ("do they wish to run through mee," the plainspoken way she says "baby" just before the breakdown), and the clear vocal chemistry between her and Charli, this song has so much empty space when a melody like that requires bombast. That breakdown feels like someone trying to recreate NSYNC's "Pop" using "Call Your Girlfriend" samples on a broken MPC. Couple that with the ugly flanging on Charli and Christine's voices, and any momentum and goodwill feels squandered. "Gone" is so strong until that point that it's still extremely listenable, but extremely listenable feels disappointing when it's this close to being great. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: I can't think of a more appropriate artist to enter the "crying on the dance floor" pantheon than Charli XCX: pop's resident party girl saying that she "fucking hates" the people at this party is not an artistic confession to be taken lightly. Although the marketing for this track has been informed by the tired "most personal album yet" cliche, Charli has thankfully pulled off the introspective turn by maintaining her PC Music inspirations, metallic synths bouncing off the edges of the song and giving the message of grappling with anxiety some much-needed bite. The presence of a feature is another XCX signature, and Christine and the Queens is a welcome addition: for once, a Charli track clearly shows the collaborator's influence, in this case with its clipped melodies and off-kilter yet evocative lyrics. [8]

Will Rivitz: "Backseat," off 2017's Pop 2, cascaded into perfection on the strength of its final minute ripping the preceding three into shreds. "Gone," in doing exactly that again, but even more transcendentally sublimely this time (and with a transcendentally sublime beginning three-quarters to match, something its predecessor missed by a hair), is by extension better by about one degree. And I gave "Backseat" a [9], so... [10]

Joshua Lu: In light of the multitudinous takes on social anxiety pop stars have churned out in recent years, "Gone" feels surprisingly honest. Anxiety is seen as illogical (Charli's cry of "they don't care" seemingly comes out of nowhere, which is where these feelings often come from), shameful (the song opens with an apology), and maddening (the entirety of the prechorus and Christine's verse is filled with an untempered rage), and the song's unapologetic portrayal of these aspects acts as an effective catharsis. It hits harder when casted over the stutter-step instrumental, filled with uncomfortable white space and coarse industrial noises that put the listener on edge. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A song about being impossibly and destructively tired, so much so that one can't help but be vulnerable as a last ditch effort to maintain sanity. The production captures it perfectly: steely and anthemic and spacious, it encourages one to sing along in a sort of therapeutic karaoke session. The outro is a cute release--a moment to decompress by way of A.G. Cook's love for Scritti Politti. [7]

Michael Hong: Like the best Charli XCX tracks, "Gone" deals with solitude in crowded spaces, no matter the number of collaborators involved in the track. The industrial soundscape threatens to cave in at any moment -- something that fueled by the pair's anxieties does inevitably occur, and yet remains this moment of euphoric bliss. While Charli and Chris pose several questions across the track, none are really answered. Instead, the two end with a shared statement, "don't search me in here, I'm already gone, baby," and by tossing aside the anxiety of the party, the two find peace outside of the crowd. In a crowded field of tracks about wanting to leave the party, "Gone" is one of the most captivating because of Charli's introspection and ability to bring her dystopian future into the present. [7]

Kylo Nocom: This song is a fever dream of DJ Mustard stabs warped into freestyle-esque basslines, Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis communicated through modernized rhythms. "Gone" shines in stark contrast to the notable collaboration Charli's done with a certain other '80s fanatic back in late 2017, substituting emotional atmospherics for feverish danceability. Charli's unstoppable pop glee is bared down to the essentials, stripped of the dumbness that felt defining of her singles the past two years; Christine's dense songwriting and anxious percussive affinities are polished up and displayed proudly here, with no signs of the occasionally campy production cheapness that defined her 2018 album's weaker missteps. "Gone" pays empathetic attention to the overstimulation some feel at huge parties, and the bouncing, metallic chorus shivers with a knowing sensory discomfort that eventually culminates in a gloriously alien glitch breakdown. [8]

Alex Clifton: A contender for Song of the Summer that isn't "Old Town Road" (which I love dearly but does not work on its own as a party playlist). Charli and Chris are always Interesting Artists, never boring and always looking forward, and this is a perfect marriage of their strengths and sounds. It has the electro production Charli favours but never gets too overwhelming; it has a good dose of Chris's quirk and gravitas but retains a lighter touch. Moreover it's just a fun song--I can only imagine what it was like to record this in the studio, and that enthusiasm spills over to the listener. Like Jane Austen's prose, "Gone" is complex and layered but performed with ease. It's one of the hardest tricks in the book, but Charli and Chris have absolutely nailed it. [8]

Iris Xie: "Gone" listens like the measured dissertation of an almost ideal pop song in a post-PC Music world that is more open about mental health, attachment trauma, and how it damages relationships. Out of the two, Letissier is the one who delivers the vocals with the exact emotion required to hit catharsis, due to her visceral and forceful cadence that is in tune with the chorus's frankness: "I feel so unstable, fucking hate these people / How they're making me feel lately." The post-chorus is beautiful though, with one of my favorite pop-R&B vocal tropes where they both catch on the fourth word of each line, "Why do we love--" before Charli and Letissier exhale with a sharp glide before jumping back into step with the stuttering beat, with "--if we're so mistaken?" Another treat is served with the sudden drop-off into "Why do we keep when the water runs? / Ne me cherche pas, je ne suis plus là, baby," a dreamy and sad breakdown that then breaks down into more jagged edges and clipped and chewed up repetitions. This song could only be written by people who love pop music so, so deeply that they have command of masterful hooks and turns of phrase and expectations. Unfortunately, I also don't like it as much as I should, because for all of what it does right, it still lacks dynamism and range to make it stick in a way that really makes me overjoyed for it, because I feel both of their solo work was a lot sharper and more evocative, and I find the sound more muddled here, even amongst all of their loving approaches. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: One of my favorite songs is The Tycho Brahe's "Steel Wheels," a song about defeat and cutting ties to pursue other defeat. "Gone" is a lot like that song, attached to a lesser song: yet another false, poppily marketed take on social anxiety. When I'm socially phobic, which is almost all the time, it's never "those people" I hate -- I don't hate anyone without a good reason, and doing so would just add guilt and make me feel worse -- but myself. It seems too simple to posit that one song is Chris's contribution and the other's Charli's, but more to the point, I actually can't tell which is whose. Neither artist seems fully themselves, vocally or stylistically. Chris's strengths are staccato lyrics and precise bits of introspection: needles to the exact point that hurts. Charli's strength is sweepingly cathartic songs, emotions hemorrhaging out of the music and the skin. "Gone" is the midpoint of those strengths, playing to neither. [6]

William John: A favourite moment of mine in the Christine and the Queens catalogue is early single "Nuit 17 à 52", which, in its English adaptation, features a speaker in a "lace-like" state of being, waiting "for the rain to come through". It's an image of defencelessness that's so brusque it requires gentle piano chords to soften the mood. Water provides no solace to the song's protagonist; the fifty-second, pivotal night of melodrama fails to leave her mind. This is an image Christine and the Queens returns to for her contribution to Charli XCX's new single - interviews have made it clear that she penned the chorus, but it's obvious to anyone familiar with the charming peculiarities of her brand of franglais. This time the punishment of water is accompanied by inquisition - the metaphor is not used as a mere acknowledgement of self-flagellating tendencies, but and a need to know why they might arise is attached. The contention is that in the quest to know more about oneself, water can be framed not as a suffocating force, but as one of cleansing and catharsis; that in daring to be vulnerable, we open ourselves up to freedom and greatness. Enlisting a partner-in-crime to assist with such a quest doesn't hurt, and there's been few moments in pop this year as thrilling as the way these two jointly bellow "loathe" before the song gives way to its chirpy coda, as together they will themselves toward liberation. [9]

Jackie Powell: The production on "Gone" matches the exact emotional plot of the song itself. The bass synths and percussive claps are accurately abrasive and in your face. The vocal performances that both XCX and Christine give are impassioned. While the chorus might be a bit muffled and not as enunciated as I would have liked, they achieve a goal that all artists should strive for⁠--the ability to transfer their emotions through their lyrics and sounds into the soul of the listener. The mixing from their chest into their head voices that both singers do on this track brings out some sort of euphoria in me. Charli's previous singles "1999" and "Blame it on Your Love" have been catchy, but maybe not as substantive as Charli stans have wanted. I understand her strategy. It reminds me of Carly Rae Jepsen's approach to how she released "Dedicated." Both artists released advance singles that were a bit lighter in content and sound. And then of course, we heard "No Drug Like Me". The third single put out to the world was the sucker punch, the sly off-speed pitch that hits right in zone after two high fastballs that don't quite elicit a flinch. The 52-second outro in "Gone" was confusing when I first heard it, and maybe it should be a tad shorter, but I finally understand the reason it exists to begin with. If you listen closely, Charli and Christine's voices sound as though they are gargling water or are putting their faces into the water that they are claiming is still running. They make their point though, we've got to question why the water is running and it's up to us to stop it. It's uncomfortable, but we have the power to stop it. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]