#it's like gymnastics except the audience jumps too

[elesianne]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 10: Winter Ball

Summary: Findis has been asked to help her nieces and nephews but together a nice dance performance for Finwë’s winter ball. So far, the only result is  chaos.

This takes place when all of Finwë's granchildren are young and the house of Finwë is still relatively conflict-free, thus I used Quenya names. You can check them here.

Rating: General audiences; AO3 link if you want to read there

Findis can't help sighing as she looks over the scene in her father's great hall. It is already decorated for the winter ball with plentiful bundles of evergreen and swathes of glittering fabrics. What furniture has been left in the room has been pushed back to the walls, transforming it into a ballroom.

The centre of the room is filled with all of her nieces and nephews dancing, or at least it should be – what the children and young people are actually doing can hardly be called dancing.

Findis should have known that her latest instruction to 'form up pairs and practise the first set of steps on your own for a while' could only be followed by chaos.

Turukáno is the one trying the most, dutiful boy, but his valiant attempts at performing the dance steps correctly are thwarted by his partner of the moment, his sister. Írissë, who comes up all the way to his waist, is making up a dance of her own, one determined step at a time. The result is that it looks like they're dragging each other around the dance floor. The comical sight is rounded out by little Arakáno sitting on Turukáno's shoulders, tugging at his hair every now and then and overall treating his brother like a horse.

Turukáno's other brother is also putting in a little bit of effort to dance. He talks with his oldest cousin while they dance, which would not be a problem except that Findekáno has never been able to talk without gesticulating with his hands. For that his and Maitimo's dancing also has a distinctly comical air.

Makalaurë has again, for perhaps the hundredth time, slipped away from the improvised dancefloor to talk with the musicians, and – is now actually playing a harp, Findis sees, and sighs. Makalaurë plays it well, of course, but Finwë did specifically ask that all his grandchildren take part in the performance as dancers, not musicians.

Fëanáro's redheaded twins are the ones who were, perhaps surprisingly, most excited about dancing at the beginning of rehearsals. It is too bad that they grew bored after just a couple of hours and have been a hazard to everyone else ever since, nearly bowling over everyone in their own, rather combative version of the dance.

But even they have to take quick action every now and then to save themselves from their closest-in-age cousins, Arafinwë's middle children. Angaráto and Aikanáro seem determined to prove that the golden house of Arafinwë can be every bit as chaotic and energetic as Fëanáro's. Findis doesn't know whether to call their 'dancing' athletic or gymnastic, but it certainly does involve many moves that have more in common with those disciplines than dancing.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, who are not even pretending to dance themselves, are urging and daring their younger cousins on to ever more foolhardy jumps, leaps, flips and somersaults. Findis supposes that she should be grateful that none of them are actually fighting each other.

Carnistir appears to have disappeared altogether.

Findaráto and little Artanis have made up their own dance too, full of dramatic lifts and flourishes, if admittedly grateful. It is sweet, but not what was requested.

Findis despairs of it all, she really does. This chaos is the result of two days of rehearsing… What will come of the winter ball where all of Finwë's grandchildren are supposed to perform a nicely choreographed dance together?

'I can't help feeling that I have failed as their teacher', Findis confesses to her father. He has come to observe the rehearsals. He is also the one who appointed Findis to the position of temporary dancing mistress to this pack of little and less-little hellions.

Finwë beams. 'I don't know what you're talking about', he says. 'Aren't they all magnificent?'

'Certainly', Findis says, though after these two days, she hardly agrees. She whistles loudly. 'If I could have your attention, everyone! Let's take a break. No, better – everyone, go run around the palace five times and then let us continue trying to pretend to be civilised people capable of putting together a performance. And someone please find Carnistir.'

*

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you liked this little fic, please feel free to comment/reply and reblog :)

Banner photo by Nicola Pavan on Unsplash.

[rueluxprince]

Code Geass: Akito the Exiled review:

The thing about Lelouch is that he is hyper competent to the point of being overpowered. Give him an army and he’s very hard pressed to lose. The writers in the original series had to throw curveballs left and right at him (mostly a Suzaku in a Lancelot, then it’s metaphysical Geass nonsense, then it’s nuclear warheads), just to curb Lelouch’s trajectory somewhat. We know what he’s capable of. He conquers the world by the end of the series for god’s sake. So when you put him into literally any prequel/sequel adjacent Code Geass plot-line that is not solely about him, you have to do some severe writing gymnastics to not have Lelouch bulldoze over the entire story.

Case in point: Julius Kingsley.

By the time Julius Kingsley is introduced in Akito the Exiled, we have already established our central conflict. On one side is Akito and the Euro-Universe and that rag tag group of soldiers, on the other is Shin Hyuga Shiang and Euro-Britannia. One side is good the other is bad. There’s angsty interpersonal relationships between the two sides, more metaphysical Geass nonsense is introduced, a lot of EU political intrigue is there too. We know our two sides, we know what they are capable of, game set go.

Except Lelouch and Suzaku gets airdropped right in the middle of it. Because fanservice. The creators are basically saying: “if you keep on watching this movie series about a bunch of random Europeans whom you’ve never met and don’t really care much about. We will give you: Lelouch being an absolute Magnificent Bastard. Suzaku as Knight of Seven but on Lelouch’s “side”. Lelouch fighting for Britannia because we know y’all have been writing a lot of “What if Lelouch remained a prince” fan-fictions and this should satisfy you at least a little. All done in newer animation and in High Definition. So watch the series please!” And we all went, yeah okay we’ll watch the series.

And the writers ran into a problem immediately as Julius Kingsley got going. A massive problem. Because if Julius Kingsley is going to be as brilliant as Lelouch, and he will, because he is Lelouch, then Kingsley is going to wipe the chessboard clean all by himself. Lelouch has proven himself to be Greatest Of All Time. He is going to defeat Akito and Leila’s forces, Akito has a Geass that makes him go berserk? Well Kingsley has Suzaku “I have the enemy battalion surrounded by my one Knightmare” Kururugi. Then, as Shin starts wilding with his whole kill-everyone-and-their-mom thing, stomp down his coup as well. Shin has a Geass that exclusively kills people well Julius also has a Geass that can kill people, and a brilliant strategic mind, and unilateral authority to do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s going to takeover Euro-Britannia and overhaul it’s entire bureaucracy just to wrap it up in a pretty little bow for the Emperor.

The story thus becomes useless. You’ve wasted two movies worth of character establishment and animation. Julius Kingsley will get out under your pen and he will make the world his.

And so the writers quickly nerfs him twenty minutes in. Y’all got a small sip of Lelouch being brilliant! That’s enough now! He’s going to have a mental breakdown due to mindfuckery bullshit and be taken out of the story! Because he’s too powerful otherwise! Thank you for your patronage! Goodbye! Which leaves the audience feeling cheated and unfulfilled and very very bewildered.

So we are in a double bind. I want to see exclusively Lelouch being the brilliant asshole he is. The creators want to tell a story with these new characters. No one is satisfied in the end.

(Side note 1: Same thing happened with the new Ressurection movie. Lelouch has Cornelia, both Suzaku and Kallen, Anya and Jeremiah and Sayoko and Llyod and Cecile. He can take over a nation half awake with those powerhouses behind him. And so the writers gave Shamna an overpowered Geass that can “see six hours into the future” just to even the playing field. Else the fight would’ve been over in twenty minutes.)

(Side note 2: Yeah I know that Julius can’t use his Geass, but hey, you could get Suzaku to jump in front of him if Shin orders Julius to die, taking the order. It would serve so many different narative purposes. 1. who’s absolute command is stronger, Lelouch’s live on or Shin’s die now. Battle of the Geass. 2. serves as a metaphor for Suzaku’s inner turmoil, he wants to die but everyone he loves wants him to live and how does he reconcile that. 3. shows that even when Suzaku hates Lelouch with his entire being, he would still die for him.)

(Side note 3: I mean, it’s not a bad story if Julius gets out under the writers and bulldoze over the entire story. It’s honestly a great way to show how brilliant a commander Leila could be. She could go underground to preserve her forces so our group of war orphan pilots survive, or orchestrate political turmoil in Euro-Britannia to keep Kingsley off her back, or divert his military forces away from her E.U. and into Africa. Kingsley is an unstoppable force but it does not mean it will be a bad ending.)

(Side note 4: how would this series end in this half meta half headcanon? Kingsley takes back Euro-Britannia from Shin and gets most of Northern Africa from the E.U., before the Emperor calls him off with a Zoom call. He is also informed that he is needed urgently back in Pendragon, and would be flying back the day before the victory parade in St. Petersburg. Julius is so excited to see the emperor he doesn’t even feel bumbed that he’s going to miss the chanting crowds he’s been promised. He goes into the throne room, and we are treated to a disturbingly heartwarming scene between Emperor Charles and Julius. Like, Charles going full “I’m glad you’ve returned safe and sound. I’m very proud of you. You’ve brought me honor” fond father mode. And Julius is almost deliriously happy to hear it. Then the emperor goes “your reward. The dukedom of [insert place name here]. And some rest. You’ve worked hard these past months Julius. You deserve both.” Then he activates his Geass, and Julius Kingsley collapses before he could get a word of protest out. Suzaku catches him. Last shot is Suzaku cradling Kingsley’s prone form, staring at his eyepatch. Credits.)

[rwbyvein]

Arc-en-Ciel:  Gentlemen:  Part III

Weiss stood as she always did, beautiful, elegant, with a charming grace and stateliness. She took a step forward as an elegant dancer, her body swaying in perfect symmetry. Her steps slow, and perfect, drawing the eye to her entire form. She started to move just slightly with the movement, but it's as if the movement started at the top of her body and extended down to her heels.

She was a performer, an expert at drawing the audience's attention, and all eyes seemed locked upon her.

She extended her arms and spun around. The spin not terribly quick, but any dancer can tell you the slow ones are harder to perform. She had a goal. What Yang said reverberated within her: don't be afraid to take your time; let the anticipation build. This a performance as any other she had performed, and it was going to lead to a rapturous climax as the others had. She started to shrug with the rhythym. Every time she did her sleaves moved an inch away from the neck. Closer and closer to falling off on it's own... and then she stopped, staring Jaune in the eyes.

In one swift, spiral motion, she pulled it off her shoulders and spun around several times, each time the sleeves moving further and further from her body. She threw them into the air and it floated over to where Jaune was seated, which he quickly grabbed from the air. Weiss, in turn, blew him a kiss, one he pantomimed catching, though too enraptured to do anything with it.

She bounced with the music and reached to her belt, gently tugging it every time she moved. She undid the belt, and with another spin launched it into the air, this one landing on Ruby's head.

Yang: Ruby. You've got something in your hair.

Ruby: *enthralled stares*

Weiss's body began to undulate with the music, as if she were in it's thrall, like the others were in hers. Hidden in the movement she began to unzip her dress, until it started to slip. She caught it, and spun around a couple more times, before one large, languid wave that caused it to pool at her feet. She stepped out of her dress, and spun around. She stared at Jaune, undulating to the music, and pulled the slip over her head, launching it high into the air. She stepped towards Jaune in the most beautiful lingerie he had ever seen. One final wave started at the top of her body going all the way down to her bottom, and she bowed forward, using her practice with performances to hide her laboured breath.

She walked towards Jaune's couch, exaggerating her sashay as much as she could. She did a final, slow spin in front of him before landing on the couch in his arms.

Nora: In the spirit of... Pyrrha... *gestures to Pyrrha* I think we should let Pyrrha go next.

Ruby: Aww...

Pyrrha: *looks at her with a pleading gaze*

Ruby: Fiine.

Yang: Go ahead.

And Pyrrha did. She removed her cuisses and vanbraces. She had been spending her time polishing a pole she found. She planted it in the ground, using her semblance to hold it in place, and in a single motion swung around it, her heels her full six feet from the pole. She wrapped her leg a round the pole, and inverted, removing first one glove and then the other. She spun around, this time ending upright, with her arms holding onto the pole above her, and kicked off her boots. The two landing perfectly beside each other. She spun around, standing on the ground, and slowly began to remove her thigh-highs. She threw the two into the air, and spun around the pole again. This time they landed perfectly folded, together, beside her boots.

She paused, upside down with her legs wrapped around the pole, and undid her cuirass. It split, and fell off her body, caught by her hands and thrown over next to her boots. Below her cuirass was a bodice, which she began to unlace. She pulled one leg from the pole, and taking a great step stood upright on the ground. Her bodice unlaced, she threw it into the air, landing on Weiss, next to Jaune. She danced side to side with the movement, and leaned back almost all the way to the ground. When she stood up her sash had been undone. She turned away from them, dropping her skirt, and flicking it with her foot to Jaune. She then turned around, did a sultry walk up to Jaune, still moving to the movement, and kissed him passionately. She then slipped in beside him on the couch, on the opposite side of Weiss.

Ruby: *holds her hand into the air*

Yang: Alright. *swats ruby's butt, sending into the centre of the carpet*

Ruby: Alright, I really have no idea what I'm doing.

Yang: You'll do fine, Rubes! We believe in you.

Ruby began stepping side-to-side with the music, arms moving up and down, left and right. She brought her arms in to her cape and turned into rose petals, flying up into the air. She reverted for a moment, let the cape go, and turned back into rose petals, flying to the ground. The cape drifted back and forth as she resumed her attempted dance. Her hands dropped down to the side of her skirt, unzipping it. Once again she turned into rose petals flying around the area in a circle. She reverted at the furthest end just long enough to drop her skirt, leaving it to fall to the ground behind her as she resumed her attempted dance.

She undid her belt, and threw it to the side, trying to sway to the music. She brought her hands to her bodice and started to unlace it as she swayed to the music. She turned into rose petals, flying at Jaune. She reverted just before him long enough to throw him her bodice, and then flew around the carpet once again before reverting. She then pulled her blouse over her head, throwing it into the air, hands held up and to the side as if in a triumphant pose. She then turned into rose petals, flying at Jaune, reverting to land sideways, head in Weiss's lap, torso in Jaune's, legs in Pyrrha's.

Ruby: RWBY FOR EVER!

Weiss: *gently pets Ruby's head*

Ruby: So, how did I do?

Weiss: I sincerely doubt there has ever been another strip dance like that.

Jaune: It was... amazing...

Pyrrha: You did lovely. Are we comfortable?

Ruby: About as comfortable as I thought it would be... except your skin..

Ruby: *looks at Weiss and then Pyrrha*

Ruby: it's so smoothe.

Pyrrha: Yours are lovely.

Ruby: Thank you.

Weiss: So, who's next?!

Nora: Woo! Can someone hit me with some thunder?

Ren: I do not think that would be the best idea.

Nora: Aww... Ruby got to do it!

Ren: *silent stare*

Nora: Alright, alright.

Nora started swaying side-to-side. She quickly removed each individual piece of clothing as she swayed, (down to underwear), and then jumped onto the couch beside Ren, snuggling up to him.

Weiss: Quick and too the point.

Pyrrha: She still looked so sexy.

Weiss: *stares at Pyrrha*

Pyrrha: I'm not as innocent as people seem to think.

Weiss: Well, please think of me in the future.

Yang: Night's not done yet!

Yang: *slaps Blake on the ass, sending her onto the carpet*

Blake moved with what could only be described as feline grace, moving as the most elegant ballerinas wished they could. It seemed like a choreographed gymnastic routine, traveling about the carpet. They didn't even see her losing her clothes, just seeing her in less and less, as if her clothing simply evaporated into darkness. In the end, she stood, proud, in her underwear, and images flashed before her eyes. Images of her life in Vale and Beacon... always hiding who she was.

Here she was, in naught but her underwear, ears proudly on display. She felt safer here, in this warehouse, in her underwear, than she did walking freely, (if secretly), among the kingdom.

Yang: My turn. And I might be the only one here who's ever watched a strip show before. Let'me show you how it's supposed to be done, not that I'm faulting anything I've seen here. It was absolutely incredible.

Nora: Show us your tits!

Pyrrha: Shake it baby!

Yang: Oh, you guys really want to see it?

Jaune: Good god, yes.

Yang starts to shake her body to the music. Every movement sultry and salacious... as if she was a woman who knew what strip teases should look like. They did these movements for one simple purpose, they worked, and they worked well. It was as if her clothing simply dripped from her body, one by one, piece by piece, until, like the rest, she was in her underwear. She walked up to Blake and grabbed her booty in her hand, pulling her to the couch with Jaune, Weiss, Pyrrha, and Ruby.

Jaune: *raises his index finger to her, wanting to say something*

Yang: *picks up Weiss and takes her place on the couch, placing Weiss in her lap*

Blake: *snuggles up to Pyrrha to the point she practically took up the same space as her*

Nora: We should do this more often!

Ren: *kisses Nora on the top of her head*

Nora: Yeah... yeah...

Weiss: I have never felt this way at any other point in my life.

Jaune: I agree. I've never felt you like this at any other point in my life.

Weiss: *swats him with her free hand*

Jaune: *reaches over and grabs it*

Jaune: *leans in until his face is but an inch from hers, pausing a moment before kissing her*

Ruby (scrunched up awkwardly in Jaune's lap): I really don't know what to do right now.

Pyrrha: *grabs Ruby's hand, pulling her over*

Pyrrha: *kisses Ruby deep on the lips*

Yang: I think it's time we took this up to the suites. And don't worry about drinks, I made sure the suites were stocked as well.

JRWBYP: *begins to untangle themselves from the couch, standing up.

NR: *stands up from their couch*

Yang (shouting at the band): Feel free to drink whatever you want, girls!

Front Woman: I always love working for her. You heard her, drink to your heart's content.

[eryiss]

Raijinshuu Appreciation Week: The Acrobat’s Performance

Extortion's made with the audience's trance, Justice is served in the acrobat's performance.

Summary: Bickslow is called onto his perfect solo-mission, performing in a carnival as an acrobat while he finds the thief who has been stealing from the patrons. But when he discovers that there is more going on than previously thought, the acrobat needs to bring Fairy Tail's unique form of justice to the ringleader.

This is the second of three one-shots I’ve written for @raijinshuuappreciation week, which you can read on FanFiction, Archive of Our Own and under the cut. Happy Reading.

The Acrobat's Performance

Bickslow rarely managed to take solo mission, the Raijinshuu's busy schedule and tendency to take long missions meant it was nearly impossible. It was a shame, he really did enjoy taking a quick mission himself. Not that he didn't enjoy going on missions with his team; they were his best friends and he would never entertain the idea of leaving them. Simply, he liked going off on a mission himself and beating up some criminals himself from time to time.

So, when the opportunity presented itself to take a mission, Bickslow had leapt at the chance.

And what an opportunity it was! The stars seemed to have aligned with this mission. Not only had his team decided to take a few weeks off after a particularly long mission, giving him more than enough time to take a solo, but a job had been posted on the notice board that was perfect for him. It was fate.

The mission was spectacular. A thief had been bothering patrons of a nearby carnival, pretending to be a visitor before temporarily paralysing people and stealing anything they had of worth as they left the circus after the main show. The mission called for a mage who could not only deal with the thief, but also could go undercover as a performer so they could assess the crowd and find the thief in question. It spoke to Bickslow's very soul. A mission where he could make a spectacle of himself, wear ridiculously gaudy clothing, show off his exceptional skills in gymnastics and be applauded by an adoring crowd: it was perfect. He'd taken the job without hesitation, rushed towards the carnival and explained he'd be taking up the request. That very night, he was called into the tent for his first performance.

Before a crowd of cheering onlookers, he was in his element. He wore a sleeveless spandex shirt, bright blue tights and a pair of gloves for grip. Both hands were pressed against a balance-beam, the man in a rigid hand stand with his legs spread in a perfect spilt. As the crowd hooted, he slowly removed one hand from the beam and raised it in the air, the crowd loving the near impossibility of the pose. It had been far too long since he'd shown off his athleticism.

He wasn't just having fun, though. He'd choreographed his routine so he could get a good look at every member of the crowd, being able to scout out everyone there to find the thief. For the people outside of the shows, Poppo and Puppu were whizzing around the carnival scouting everyone else; they'd annoyed Freed and got him into trouble, so they weren't allowed to be part of his routine.

So far, he hadn't seen anyone who was suspicious. Most people had fairly clean souls, the worse he'd seen so far was a low level of guilt, a soul tinted with minor betrayal. The guy had probably cheated on a lover or screwed a friend over; not bad enough to be a thief.

He needed to get a look at the other side of the crowd, so slowly lowered his raised hand again and placed it on the beam. With fluid movements and not a hint of the intense strain on his arms, he turned the movement into a simple cartwheel that took him off the beam. He performed an overly extravagant bow to the crowd, eyes never leaving the crowd as he looked for a corrupted soul in the jungle of cheers. So far nothing.

"I'd like to introduce you all to a couple of friends of mine." He shouted to the crowd. "Meet Pappa, Peppe and Pippi."

From behind a curtain of the tent, the three wooden dolls flew out. They swirled around, releasing a small amount of Bickslow's magic to leave bright blue trails behind them to distract the crowd. As the dolls danced, it gave Bickslow the opportunity to focus truly on the crowd. He wasn't just looking for souls, he also kept an eye out for people's facial expressions of people faking enjoyment or not trying at all; he found many and made a shortlist of people to keep an eye on.

His dolls could only distract the crowd for so long. He walked to a metal bar, suspended high in the air with enchantments. His dolls followed him as he leapt up, grabbing the bar with both hands and began swinging on it. He moved his hips in the direction of his swings, getting enough momentum so his legs reached above the bar at the high point of a swing.

As his height reached the apex of his swing, he removed his grasp on the bar and leapt forward. Two of the dolls sprung forward, Bickslow landing with one foot on each. Pappa, the third doll, flew behind his head and met his hand, leaving him in a crab position while floating in the air with one hand held aloft. With a small push from Pappa, his body was pushed forward so he was standing straight on Pippi and Peppe, not showing any imbalance as his dolls flew him around.

From the high up position, he got a better look at his shortlist of potential thieves. They were all looking at him, and he had the chance to check their souls. After seeing most of their souls were bright and unburdened, just two were left.

He pushed his foot down against Peppe, using the force to jump up and leave the platforms of his dolls. Airborne, he brought his foot over his head and performed and impressive flip. He landed on the sandy ground with one foot, smirking. All he had to do now was see which of the two was the thief, just a split second of eye contact with both men and he could confirm his suspicious and act on them.

Easy as a mid-air somersault.

They were either side of the circus tent, but that worked in his favour. Walking to the edge of the ring in front of one of his suspects, he performed a few stretches. He feigned the need to limber up, but it granted him the chance to catch his suspect's eyes and read his guilt. He couldn't be sure of the specifics, but he felt guilt for his treatment of someone before they died, meaning he wasn't the thief.

With that conclusion, he needed to be sure his other suspect was guilty. With quick movements, he began to perform a triple back-flip to the other side of the ring. Once he stopped, with chest heaving slightly, he caught the mans eyes. His guilt was from thievery, he was the criminal he had been called there for.

But he wasn't just there to find out who had been harassing the robbing the customers. He needed to apprehend them as well, and that was where the fun was really going to begin. He sent a pulse to his five dolls, recalling them to his side just in case things didn't go quite as planned. Once he knew the dolls were coming, he addressed the crowd with a grin.

"For my next little trick, I'm gonna need a little help from a member of the audience." He grinned, watching as some members got excited while others shelled up. His thief didn't react. "Don't worry, my little assistants will pick out the perfect participants."

He sent out Pappa, Peppe and Pippi towards the crowd, wordlessly telling the three of them to float around the crowd as if they were picking someone out at random. They followed the instruction, flickering around the loud group of spectators until they all floated towards the thief, pulling to a stop and hovering over them and floating around in a circle. The thief looked up at them with the smallest amount of panic, all eyes in the tent now looking at him. Bickslow grinned and walked back to that side of the ring.

"Looks like we've got our participant. Come down and we'll have a little fun." He smirked, immediately seeing him open his mouth to protest. Bickslow couldn't have that. "But before you do, I'd make sure that shiny little ring is safe. A place like this, who knows what could go missing?"

There. Just enough of a suggestion that he knew what the man was doing to bring him towards the mage.

Bickslow grinned as the thief walked down the stairs of the seating, the dolls following behind him; any chances the man had of running out would be stopped by an angry little doll. The thief seemed to know this, so climbed over the small dividing wall to the ring and beside Bickslow. The mage's tongue slipped out a little as he looked the man up and down, knowing exactly what he needed to do to deal with the situation effectively. First, he needed to deal with the crowd.

"Aw, you look petrified. Don't worry, I ain't gonna make you do any flips or anything." He grinned, patting the mans back with more force than needed. "You just need to toss me a couple things, that's it."

He walked to the back of the ring and picked up four juggling pins, tucking two under his arms and juggling mindlessly with the other two as he walked back to the thief. After placing the pins down beside the thief, he took a steel cylinder and a sturdy plank of wood from the side of the ring and placed them both on the balance beam.

With his next performance now set up, he walked back to the thief. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and grasped it with enough strength to make him squirm slightly. The crowd couldn't see, but he was showing the thief he knew exactly what he had done.

"All you gotta do is toss the pins to me when I say. And don't worry if my babies start to spiral ya, its just them saying hi." He gripped the mans shoulder tighter. "Although, be careful when you throw me the pins. These little guys are connected to me, have the same reflexes. Say a pin hits my in the stomach, one of my dolls might wince and hit ya in the eye. Hope you got good aim."

A threat now established that would deter the thief from trying to 'accidentally' knock Bickslow off and flee in the confusion, he hopped onto the balance beam. He leant the plank of wood on the cylinder and placed a foot on it, quickly moving his other foot to the other side of the plank. He was now balancing on the plank that was wobbling slightly, suspended at the top of the cylinder precariously. The crowd watched as Bickslow steadied himself, unaware that the dolls – now all five of them having returned – had formed a circle around the thief and were slowly spiralling him. The thief had noticed, however, and was watching the dolls with caution.

"Come on kid." Bickslow grinned. "Crowd a'waiting~"

Seemingly trapped in the situation, the thief picked up one of the pins by his feet and tossed it towards Bickslow with an underarm throw. Bickslow caught it with ease, managing to keep balanced on the precarious piece of wood. He tossed it in the air and caught it once, nodding to the thief for him to throw it again.

As the pin became airborne, Bickslow made eye contact with the man again. This time, instead of just taking a short glimpse at his soul, he established a link with the thief. It was just enough for him to access the thief's mind and leave a message.

"We both know who you are and what you've been doing." Bickslow implanted in the mans mind, noticing him wince at the foreign voice in his mind. "Don't react, just throw the next pin."

The thief picked up the third pin and tossed it to Bickslow, who managed to catch it with his right hand and juggled the three items at once. The performer could hear the cheers of his adoring crowd and couldn't help but feel a little bitter that they couldn't know just how impressive it was. Not only was he juggling three pins while balancing, he was also maintaining a pretty powerful spell and having a conversation with a thief through his mind. He should have been covered in roses thrown by the crowd for his skills, and only the criminal could vouch for how impressive he was being.

After he got into a groove with juggling the three pins – he needed to make sure the audience were both entertained and distracted, after all – he looked back to the thief. He continued his message when he had the chance.

"The way I see it, you're kinda screwed right now." Bickslow grinned. "You're thinking of all the ways you can get outta this, but I'm gonna save you the trouble. Right now, my babies are perfectly positioned in their Baryon Formation, with you right in the middle. I've never actually used it with someone there, but I'm gonna guess being at the catalyst of a high powered magical beam, it won't be nice. And it definitely won't be pretty, probably would ruin my show. I think we both wanna avoid that."

Bickslow nodded to the final pin that the thief was gripping with whitening knuckles. The thief tossed towards him and he managed to catch it, adding it to the juggling loop. The crowd cheered and applauded at this, but Bickslow had to ignore them as he sent another message into the mans thoughts.

"So, this I what's gonna happen. When I stop, I'm gonna give you an excuse to leave. You're gonna walk directly to the gates, there's a couple rune-knights hanging around waiting for ya. You confess to them and let them deal with your ass." He noticed the thief flinch slightly. "And don't try running off. I'm gonna send one of my babies with ya, so you're not gonna be able to slip out with the army chasing ya. Capiche?"

When the thief nodded – and the intimidated expression on his face told Bickslow he would follow through with the deal – Bickslow smirked and looked back to the crowd. He called one of his babies over and had it knock away the pins as they were airborne. With the pins now laying on the ground, Bickslow had to complete his act.

Still balancing on the plank, he slowly leant down and placed his right hand in the centre and grinned. With an enormous amount of strain in his arm, his legs slowly lifted from the plank and performed a one-handed handstand on the wobbling surface. The crowd went wild for that.

Yeah. He was a badass!

Quickly, he placed his free hand on the rigid balance beam and grabbed onto it. With the same level of speed, he moved his other hand onto the beam and turned to the position his routine has began with. He pushed down and used it to springboard himself upwards into a final flip. The crowd cheered again and Bickslow bowed to every section of the crowd, making sure that the thief was still entrapped by his dolls. When he saw the man still being spiralled by his babies, he decided he would allow himself to relish in the cheers. He had, after all, quite possible saved everyone here from losing their valuable possessions.

"And a hand for my assistant." He motioned to the thief. "As a thank-you for your help, you can take one of my dolls to the food tent and get anything you want for free. Only catch is that the place closes in like ten minutes, so you better hurry."

The applaud died down as Bickslow approached the thief, the Baryon formation breaking as he patted the man on the back. He took a glance at Pappa, wordlessly telling the doll he would be in charge of escorting the thief to the knights. He also gave the possessed doll the permission the be forceful with the thief if he was acting out, and that it should alert the knights itself. He doubted it would be needed, the thief seemed pretty shaken up, so would probably do anything Bickslow said because of this. It was always wise o have a contingency plan, though.

With a final overly aggressive slap on the back, Bickslow sent the thief packing with Pappa floating along beside him. Bickslow grinned and decided that, now his mission was coming to an end, he needed to make the best of the crowd while he had it.

The mage performed a quick set of backflips that took him to the back of the ring. He gave one final, extravagant bow, saluted to the audience and let the curtain fall before him, letting the strain on his muscles and exhaustion for the intensive performance take over as he walked to a bench to recuperate.

Defeating a thief while performing in spandex. He was such a fucking badass!

"Here is your payment, feel free to check its all there. And, again, thank you for what you've done tonight."

Bickslow grinned at the praise from the ringleader of the carnival, who was holding up a bulging bag of jewels as part of his payment; he also got to keep the costume they'd made for him, a reward he was ecstatic about. The ringleader had claimed Bickslow had earned it, he'd taken down the thief that was affecting their business with minimal effort and mess. And he'd put on a show that the audience seemed to enjoy, so he had claimed that Bickslow deserved a little more than what was posted on the job poster. Bickslow wasn't going to fight that.

After the performance had ended and he'd recovered, Bickslow had been told the thief had followed his instructions and handed himself in. The rune-knights had taken him to a nearby jail and he'd be put on trial. Bickslow claimed he was happy to help and the remaining rune-knight left.

"And you're sure I can't convince you to do a couple more shows. You're a real crowd pleaser." The ringleader laughed. "If you work with our contortionist, you could make a pretty great double act. You might enjoy it."

"No can do, I'm afraid. I enjoy being a mage plenty much." Bickslow chuckled. "It was fun showing off again. Hardly ever get to use it."

"Well, I'm glad I can give you that at least." The ringleader chuckled. "I'll let you see yourself out. And thanks again."

Bickslow nodded and took the bag of jewels out of the ringleader's hand, turning to leave. As he did, he caught the mans eyes directly and saw directly into his soul. It was tainted with viciousness, stemming from manipulation, extortion, robbery and cruelty. The mage became completely aware of the environment he was in, his eyes sadly settling on the desk of the ringleader's caravan. Right before the mirror, the very same ring that the thief had been wearing.

"Dammit." He sighed. "I really did like you."

He turned his body back to the ringleader, all mirth in his expression gone. The only way he could have got the ring is on the walk from the tent to the knights. Bickslow knew that the ringleader hadn't been at his performance, so he'd either stolen off a man he assumed was innocent, or knew he was the thief in advance.

The expression on the ringleader's face turning from a pleasant smile to a narrowed eye sneer told Bickslow all he needed to know. Not only did the ringleader know the thief, he was in on it. And Bickslow was being scammed.

"Let me guess." Bickslow spoke again. "You go from town to town. A couple days into being some place, to find a guy down on his luck or a thief or whatever. You make a deal, you lure a couple people away from the crowds every night, have your 'hired help' steal from them and split the profits. But you don't tell him that, once you get enough from an area and you're close to leaving, you get a mage from a random guild to deal with them. You look all innocent 'cause you dealt with it, your hired help is no longer an issue and you get away scot free. You probably know where the guy lived, right? You can get back his share of the profit."

"You're smarter than you look, acrobat." The ringleader grinned. "But you were very fast to come up with something like that. A criminal mind, perhaps. Maybe you're more like me than you think."

Bickslow's jaw clenched slightly at that, the ringleader having hit a nerve. Yes, perhaps the mage did have the remnants of a criminal mind from his past, but he was not the same. Bickslow's soul was tainted with the guilt of his actions, which he'd done out of need. This man was vicious, and his crimes were done because of greed.

"That explains the guy's soul then. It was guilty. He was probably living on the streets and then you show up and offer him a way to turn his life around. Exploiting the needy." He laughed a little, disgusted. "You're a little bit fucked up."

"That's an interpretation, I suppose." The ringleader grinned. "But what are you gonna do? You ain't the first time a mage found out what I'm doing, and you wouldn't be the first to fight back, but I'm still doing it. And, well, you just did a pretty intensive show. Do you really have the energy to get into a fight?"

"I thought it was weird you wanted someone to perform an act. You do it to tire us out, in case of resistance right?" Bickslow groaned as the realisation hit him. He really was being scammed, and by a pro no less. "That's why you give such a big-ass reward for a pretty simple mission. You probably fill everyone with the crap about how good their act was. You inflate our egos, make us so preoccupied with the praise that we don't realise what's going on. You've really got this whole thing figured out, haven't ya?

The ring leader didn't reply. He took the cane he had previously been spinning around the main tent and twisted the head, revealing a long sword similar to Freed's. With a glow of the mans eyes, it light aflame and began to roar. The ringleader smirked.

"I have. I've planned for every eventuality. And you can either leave, forget about this and let me leave or you can fight me, lose and see why my soul is so vicious. Or maybe, you can pretend to leave, report me and, once I find out, I'll hunt you down and burn you alive."

The ringleader truly had planned this out. But he had missed out a couple of things that would eventually lead to his downfall. Bickslow smirked and called his dolls to his side, preparing for a fight that he hoped would be avoidable. Now he himself was ready, he walked close to the ringleader and right in front of the flaming sword.

"You like listing things huh? So I'm gonna list the ways this has gone very badly for you." Bickslow's tongue left his mouth again, a sign of his confidence in his situation. "One: a fire sword ain't scaring a Fairy Tail mage. We've all been burnt by the Fire-Cracker so often that it doesn't really do much anymore. Two: you really should check out the guild's you send the jobs to, we're kinda the kings of going against logic and what you'll expect. That means, I've got a whole lot more options on what to do now. And three: you think I'm tired? I'm a member of the Raijinsuu, one of the strongest teams of the strongest guild. We go and do S-class missions every damn week. That thing I did out there, it wasn't strenuous, it was a fucking warm up."

With the same speed and strength of his performance, he slammed his fist into the mans jaw. With his disorientation, he grabbed the man by the wrist and attempted to wrestle the sword from his hands. When met with resistance, he quickly snapped the mans wrist so he could no longer hold it. The force was revenge for treating him like an idiot.

The sword was thrown to the side and Bickslow quickly took the man in a sharp headlock, applying just enough pressure on his throat to partially block his breathing. He tried to fight against the grasp, but Bickslow's superior stature meant it wasn't worth the effort.

"We're gonna take a nice, romantic walk to jail town, okay." Bickslow taunted. "And while we're there, you're gonna confess to everything you've done and your gonna get locked up in a cage. And make sure they know you hire people who need the money, it'll lower the guys sentence a little."

"Like hell I will." He groaned. "I have a small army out there, what do-"

"No you don't. I can see your soul, baby. I know when you ain't telling the truth. Your troop doesn't have a damn clue about what you're doing. That why all the fancy shit you get from the scheme is in your own caravan. If they knew, you'd scatter it around and keep it as far away from you as you could." Bickslow grinned. "Nah, you're screwed Baby. So, how about that date huh? I've heard interrogation rooms are the new candle lit dinners. Just a shame I won't be joining ya."

The ringleader tried to struggle again, so Bickslow tightened his grip around the mans neck and subdued him slightly. He called his babies to surround the ringleader, circling again. This time, he instructed them to make the trails of energy as they spun, making them on the brink of the Baryon formation without releasing the beam, meaning his babies acted as a mobile cage.

"You should be honoured, never used my babies like this before. So, I guess you're my first time." He taunted. "I think I'll call it Entrapment Formation. I feel like bondage is too on the nose."

Bickslow continued to taunt the now incapacitated ringleader as he guided him out of the caravan, his dolls chanting Entrapment a few times in giddiness for their new spell. As he left the carnival grounds, he made sure to go the most public route he could. Kind of like a walk of shame, further retribution for treating Bickslow like he was some moron. The feeling of petty vengeance was enough to bring the grin on his face fully.

What had begun as a simple mission to take out some thief had ended up in him bringing down a pretty big scammer who manipulated and used people for his own gain. All while wearing bejewelled spandex tights and performing for his adoring crowd.

Yeah. He was the biggest badass in town!

[popmusicu]

Our standars for male artists are (sometimes) too low

Before you come at me saying "not all men". Yes, indeed. That's the point of what I want to say today. Also, i want to clarify that i'm not putting blame on male artists but on us as public.

First at all, something i've noticed but I wasn´t really aware before, it's that most of male pop musicians hasn't changue anything about the things they do while performing in... lot of years. It's kind of okey until you compare them with female popular singers and you notice the enormous difference in the way they present their music to an audience.

Some examples, the last years most of the type of performance i've seen from men (in the western side of the world) are just them singing with a guitar, standing or sitting in a chair. Few of them put on a cool performance, dancing or trying to do something new. I would like to say this is exagerating but you also can see it in the way they dress; except for Lil Nas, every man on MET Gala 2021 looked lame af. But as I said, it's not exactly bad, because even if i personally dont like it they decide what to do and how to dress, and it's not like they havent worked hard to make music.

The thing is, they are famous doing the bare minimun while women have had to pull out any existent concept just to make a little noise in music industry. If you look at the most popular female singers like Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Ariana Grande, Camila Cabello, Billie Eilish none of them do the same thing, not even close and have had to make their own signature style to make a good show, and if they don't vary from time to time they could lose some popularity . For example, even if Doja cat had to sing "Say so"  7465384 times, she changued the genre of the song everytime to keep a cool presentation.

But that this happens it's entirely our fault as public and our internal misogyny, because at the end, it's people who make an artist popular and and we have chosen which artists become popular or not . Pop music isn't the only subject where we can see the impact of this cultural thing; the past Olympic games brought up the discussion again things like why female gymnasts have to performance with music and making some dance moves to get better points, while male gymnast just  only have to do the routine with jumps. Somehow we are always expecting more from women than men.

Ant it's not like men with unique concepts and performances don't exist around the world or aren't popular; there's a reason why MJ and Queen are a legends but I feel like contemporary artists with that characteristics arent that mainstream as them, even though plataform as Spotify and TikTok make easier to find new musicians. Kpop groups are pretty amazing in performance too (the kpop industry also demands more from girlgroups tho) but the xenophobia and toxic masculinity in western keep them away from the recognition they deserve.

So to end this, we obviouly can't control what we like or not, but I think it's necessary to question ourselves in what we expect from artists depending of their gender. 

-María Jesús Garrido Muñoz

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Raising the Bar

Author: https://gala0apples.tumblr.com/

Recipient: http://samijen.tumblr.com

Summary: AHWU has gotten much more entertaining since they added the mailbag section. It’s pretty hard to beat a bouncy castle. Isn’t it?

Warnings: the rating is NC17. This fic contains under-negotiated kink.

Wordcount: 3223

Ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12916137

It’s not like any of the main room are avoidant of mail-day poor life choices. Maybe Geoff-- His soul is so crushed there’s no room left for shenanigans. But Ryan has a truly formidable weapon collection that he likes to juggle at random. Gavin keeps creating games that are half for Olympic hopefuls, half for the kinkily masochistic. Jeremy can admit he’s made a few bad choices when it comes to food. That all said, Jeremy never expected to enter the poor decision realm of whether it’s appropriate to bust a nut at work.

His weakness for Michael is well-known on many levels. The audience knows of it on the level of him never actively proclaiming hate for Michael, which he does with Geoff and Gavin, and in this case the absence of the standard negative is a rare positive. Gavin knows it in that he acts like he’s discovered a cheat code; attempt to bet Michael with half a dozen ludicrous and dangerous activities and a few will trickle down to Jeremy. The deepest level is Geoff being the only one in the office to know he’s bi, and more than that, has feelings about the perpetually single Michael Jones.

It all comes down to chance. If Jack or Ryan had opened it, it probably would have been tossed straight away. If Gavin, another weird against OSHA game. But it’s Michael who opens the small package addressed to the main room. It’s Michael who pulls out a black leather collar. And it’s Michael who decides that, just like the nurse outfit, the boxers at RTX 2015, and the lady killer sweater, this is something that the audience wants to see. For some reason unknown even to God, he puts it on.

Jeremy is electrocuted into dead silence as Michael straps the leather around his own neck. Anything he could say would only draw attention to himself, but it’s not for self-preservation that he doesn’t speak. His brain just drops the feed to his mouth. He doesn’t even blame his poor overloaded think-box. Who could manage coherence with a thin inch of black bisecting Michael’s neck, meeting in the middle of his adam’s apple by way of a large silver ring? It’s just impossible.

Eventually self preservation kicks in. Jeremy retreats from the main camera area to his desk so he can start setting up the transport needed in GTA. It’s basically busywork until Jack and Trevor and Matt get in, but it gives him good reason to be at his computer instead of wandering through the room contributing comments and opening presents like he normally would.

In an instant it happens. Michael looks over and notices that Jeremy is hard before Jeremy can notice that Michael is looking at him. Jeremy turns his chair the moment he sees Michael’s focus of attention, but it’s too late. He’s been outed. To Michael, of all conceivable people. It’s Jeremy’s worst nightmare. Maybe he would have come out eventually. Jon and Mariel both managed with no big fuss. But that would definitely have waited until Jeremy felt like he’d gotten over him, until he had nothing to hide anymore. This is nowhere close to that time.

Michael’s reaction is... not what Jeremy would have expected. First he makes a groan of disgust, and Jeremy feels like he’s covered in lightning. All of his skin is crawling, and an instant headache is coming on. Michael’s going to point out exactly what has disgusted him, and Jeremy’s going to have to go jump off of a bridge. But he’s going to be a goddamn man about it. He twists his chair back to look in Michael’s direction, as do a few of the other guys in the room. If Michael’s going to call him out, he’s going to do it holding eye contact. Except instead Michael throws a hand to his stomach, and curls over himself. “Oh, fuck. Ughh. I’m constipated as fuck.”

“Oh no, boi,” Gavin says.

Michael turns to look Jeremy directly in the eye. “I’m going to the shitter. Might not come out until something happens.”

That means something, right? It has to mean something. Jeremy’s got a life long relationship with Fate saying it’s something, and after Fate has pulled through on the big stuff, like winning bronze at the biggest gymnastics event he ever attended, and a job at Rooster Teeth, Jeremy tries to listen to the sense that certain things are meant to be.

There’s not a lot of stealth ways to directly follow Michael out of the room, but Jeremy tries to brainstorm. He considers for the briefest of moments making a big deal of taking a camera with him like he’s gonna go cause a ruckus somewhere, but that’s rejected. What if Gavin or Trevor wants to join in? Jeremy also rejects the idea of claiming he has a meeting. It just raises too many questions, like what is it that can’t be said by text or slack, that only pertains to him. Not to mention the other party might be asked something and, fairly, be completely clueless and not cover for him. In the end it’s easiest to just leave the room without saying anything at all.

Michael is not actually in the nearest washroom. For a moment Jeremy feels sick. Sad and pathetic. Is he really that desperate that he interpreted Michael needing to have a dump as being all about him? Talk about stereotypical queer, picking up signals that aren’t there from the straight boy. Except, no. If Michael really did just need to crap instead of trading handjobs, he totally would be in one of these stalls, making it reek. The only thing that makes sense is he must have taken advantage of Rooster Teeth being a more multi-platform company than ever. The live action production staff have tiny bathrooms with individual toilets and showers for when the slime or blood or dirt has to go under the collar and past the hems.

With the confidence that only the horny can have, Jeremy knocks on the first locked door and calls out in a fierce whisper “Michael?” Fuck, please let him be right. Please let him be right.

His answer comes in the form of the door clicking as it unlocks. Jeremy’s stomach hurts. He’s on the precipice of success, yeah. But that only means if Michael pulls out a camera to document the joke -or even more terrifyingly, it is queerbait and now he’s going to kick the shit out of him- this is the moment he falls off the cliff into brutal jagged rocks. But there’s no way, right? He’s corrected Gavin’s pronouns for Kdin, he’s laughed at Geoff’s circlejerk stories, he’s never been weird around Max Krumke or Patrick. He can’t be Westboro Church in a New Jersey package. “Michael?”

“Hey,” Michael says in return. This doesn’t look like a set up. Michael seems totally normal, apart from the fetish-wear that Jeremy is having trouble looking away from. The anxiety melts away as quickly as it flared up.

“Was that a summons, or just overshare about your bowels?”

Michael drops onto his knees, light coloured denim totally incongruous with the faux woodgrain linoleum. He arches his head back so the leather cinched around his throat is bared. The light makes the O-ring glint. “What do you think?”

Jeremy is frozen for an eternity, the lifespan of a star. There’s no way this is actually happening, right? Fate guiding him towards goodness or not, this is insane.

Jeremy suddenly thinks of two thick bands of tough leather wrapped around both of Michael’s biceps, the muscles he’s working so hard to enhance. They would pin Michael’s arms to his side, and a strap connecting them across his back would prevent him from struggling for leverage. That mental image is the last straw. Jeremy shrugs off his overshirt, and impatiently tugs the hem out of his jeans so the undershirt can go next. He might not need to get naked right away, but he can at least flash some skin in a way that Michael might be into. He knows barrel chested isn’t a body type for everyone, but considering Michael’s actively working towards it, Jeremy’s feeling pretty confident. Pretty hot.

Michael knee walks a few steps closer until he’s within touching distance. It’s not quite crawling to master, but it’s a hell of a lot more than Jeremy could have reasonably expected. Michael snakes his arms around Jeremy’s hips to grab his ass and pull him in closer. Like he would have resisted. Michael breathes heavily on his groin, face a weight on his upper thigh. Jeremy bites his lips as he feels the noticeable difference in temperature. Even if Michael nopes out in the next second, Jeremy will always have this sensation. He’ll jerk off to Michael’s hot breath gliding over his dick for the next twenty years.

Jeremy runs his fingers through Michael’s hair -not the loose mass of curls it used to be, but it’s still got some texture- before letting his right hand drift lower to Michael’s neck. The collar feels as prominent as it looked. It’s a ridge against Michael’s throat that separates the valleys between normal and kinky. In this moment he feels like he could stand like this for hours, holding Michael in place with a simmer of lust never quite boiling over. That’s the kind of kink, though, that needs a lot of negotiation first. Daydreams aside, Jeremy knows that’s not what’s going on here. He pulls his hand back up and uses both to push Michael’s head away from his junk. Not that he really wants to escape that hot air, but he needs the room to get his pants down.

It’s the work of seconds to get his dick out. Michael’s face looks so good, freckled and waiting, that Jeremy almost hates to bring him back close and obscure it. He’s a little too into this, he thinks. He cares more than Michael does. But he’s dominant, and that feeling of desperation to control and protect is never going to go away, so better to just deal with it. Sooner or later he’ll find someone who wants to be the recipient of all those strong feelings. Until then Jeremy knows he needs to chill the fuck out, and offer only as much dominance as his partner will accept.

Michael doesn’t have much finesse. There’s not a lot of technique, like concentrating on the head, or following the veins. What he does have working in his favour is an apparent lack of reflex. It makes sense, Jeremy figures with the tiny fraction of brain he has that’s not fixated on the experience. How many early days videos are there of Michael eating some horrifying crap and downing it without blinking while people like Burnie and Gav die one bite in? His throat must be hella desensitized. Still, Jeremy doesn’t feel too bad for not making the logic leap of ‘can drink a full bottle of barbeque sauce without gagging’ to ‘can swallow my cock without gagging’. In fact, he’s sort of happy he didn’t waste months daydreaming all iterations of it. Michael’s skill is a pleasant surprise. You could even say a mind fuck, based on the way Jeremy thinks his entire conscious being might fucking combust and burn to nothing. Michael’s nose is against his pubes, literally there, which means he’s easily accepting six inches of cock.

With the last vestiges of brainpower he pulls out. He needs to make sure Michael is okay with this, that it’s not just what he thinks Jeremy wants. What if he actually hates deepthroating, but previous lovers have demanded it? It’s only hot to demand when both parties have agreed to put demanding on the table.

“Should we- shit, fuuuck.” Michael’s chosen to ignore Jeremy’s move of pulling out, he’s gone right back to sucking him. It’s a bit of a struggle to focus, but Jeremy continues his line of thought. “Should we pick safewords or something?” All the porn that Jeremy watches that’s not completely ludicrous and terrible have subs picking them out, even if they never use them.

Michael’s the one to move away this time, just enough so to look Jeremy in the face so he can see his unimpressed raised eyebrows. “I’m blowing you, we’re not dripping hot candlewax up my asshole. We’re fine.”

“Okay. Uh, but-”

Michael doesn’t let him stay on that track any longer. He resumes the blowjob and it cuts all of Jeremy’s coherence. See, the problem -does it count as a problem if it’s awesome?- is this time it’s different. Michael’s started like, humming or talking to himself or something. Jeremy would find it endearing, the way Michael’s never stops talking, if he wasn’t gripping the sink counter trying to not fall over. The vibrations- christ on a dinner plate, Jeremy can feel every single vibration.

He loses control for a moment when he comes. Yet another thing they didn’t lay down guidelines for; fluid exchange. Only in this case Jeremy doesn’t give Michael much of a choice. He slips his fingertips between the collar and Michael’s neck and all but holds him in place. Jeremy can feel Michael’s throat quivering as he swallows. It might be one of the best orgasms of his life, or at least one most true to his kinky fantasies.

Of course, next up is making this as good for Michael as it has been for him. Jeremy’s mind runs wild with scenarios. He wants to tie Michael with both their belts like a really thick shibari and blow him. He wants to make Michael keep blowing him until he gets hard again and can fuck him. He wants Michael to be submissive enough to be okay with not coming because his master did. He wants to spank Jersey Boy until he comes from sensation alone, crying, body confused if it’s in agony or ecstasy. However, none of those have been negotiated for, and Jeremy’s well aware that they’re odd enough choices that he can’t just start doing one.

“Stand up, man.”

Michael does, still licking his lips. Licking up the spunk that overflowed from his open mouth. Honest to god, Jeremy might have to draw this from memory at home tonight. Jeremy unbuckles Michael’s belt and tugs down his jeans. That Michael’s letting him be a little rough isn’t surprising at this point, but it still thrills him.

Barring other, more extreme options, Jeremy decides on a handjob. Who doesn’t like a handjob? He spits into his hand to ease the stroke, but Michael is evidently the kind of guy who produces precome like a mo’fo. Each pass from head to base and back Michael feels a little wetter. As he gets closer to the edge he curls down on himself again, this time a genuine movement. His forehead ends up buried in Jeremy’s shoulder and they have enough height difference that it’s actually a significant bend. For the second time today, Jeremy has to bite the inside of his cheek as he feels Michael’s hot damp breath heat his skin. A newfound kink of his, apparently, though god knows how he’ll search for it on XTube.

Jeremy’s careful about the angle of Michael’s cock when he comes. Thank the Gods of Quick Cleanup, it ends up mostly on the floor instead of on their clothes.

Michael doesn’t seem to be one for a long afterglow. Or maybe it’s just the circumstances. Either way, he’s picking up his jeans far before Jeremy’s ready to stop looking at his hot, spent body. It’s Jeremy’s cue to rinse his hands in the sink and start fixing his own clothes. His undershirt gets stuck to his sweaty skin, and it’s a bitch and a half to tug it into place.

There they are, both standing dressed and ready for life to go on. Except Jeremy’s not completely sure how to make that happen. “What do we do now?”

“Well you should go find some shit to explain why you’ve been gone, and I’m gonna play Crossy Road on my phone for ten minutes to really drive home the illusion of ass-shattering fast food shits.”

“Um, okay. Yeah that makes sense.” Fuck, what did he even say when he left the room? It was less than twenty minutes ago, but his brain has offloaded that memory to better imprint this one.

Michael watches for a minute then continues, “but that’s clearly not what you meant, because you’re still standing here, so, what?”

Man is this not the sweetest post-orgasm pillow talk Jeremy’s ever had. And definitely nothing like how his aftercare kink fantasies go either. “I dunno.”

“Jeremy!” Michael snaps.

“Look, do you want to play video games after work maybe. Or maybe more sex?”

“Depends. Do you want me to keep the collar?”

How in the sweet fucking hell is Jeremy supposed to answer that? The honest answer is Jeremy has spent the last ten years gathering a porn collection where two or more individuals do brutal shit, exert each other enough that it has to end with cuddling and soothing words and spreading arnica over the worst of the bruises. But if Michael doesn’t lean that way -and honestly all accounts point to Michael having more of a dressing up fetish than anything else- it might be off-putting as fuck. Why else would he ask, if it wasn’t a deal maker or breaker?

Jeremy goes with honesty, as clueless as it makes him seem. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Michael makes a face at him. “Step one. If you want us to do shit, be more fucking decisive.”

Uggggh. Here goes nothing, and by nothing he means his sex life and his future of being happy. “Fine. Have it around your neck and wear something that goes with it, when I come over at nine.”

Michael laughs, a big smirking thrilled chuckle, like it’s the middle of Off Topic and someone just fucked up pouring their beer. “That’s more like it, Lil J.”

Jeremy knows he’s sealed his professional doom. He’s absolutely going to flub a hundred times the rest of the day, every time he thinks about Michael naked except for a collar and wristcuffs thick like the sweat bracelets he always used to wear when Jeremy was still a fan. Or maybe it’ll be leather with leather, the collar and jeans tight enough to show off his ass and a GTA style bomber jacket with no shirt underneath. Or hell, maybe Michael’s got a slutty club kid persona; the collar and a mesh shirt and electric blue short shorts. It seems unlikely, but so did the latex fetish nurse outfit.

“Earth to Lil J. Go the fuck back to work, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Yeah, he’s already doing it. There goes any nice future YouTube comments for today’s uploadable content. Still, it’s a small price to pay for knowing Michael’s got the residue of his come on his tongue until he drinks his next beer, and that that and more will happen tonight.

[multifandom-damnation]

I never wanted to change

In my life, I’ve found that you have to unlearn a lot.

I never expected my life to change so much. I’m 17 and already, I’ve gone through changes that other boys my age could only marvel at.

I’ve never wanted to change, but to better suit the people around me- I’ve had to.

It seems cruel. You spend so much of your life trying to please people, and then it’s all turned around and you end up changing who you are to please others.

My hands, the same, but much different.

My words? Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m the one saying them. They seem so odd to me, like ill-fitting teeth.

I don’t know how to fix it, really. People tell me to fight, but I never wanted that. I just wanted to be left alone.

That’s all I still want.

I never wanted to fight, not for me, not for the city, not for anyone. I just wanted to be a normal kid, going to school, cheating on tests, pranking teachers with whoopee cushions and stink bombs, changing the speakers to play “The Macarena” for the recess bells. Competing in gymnastics tournaments, going ice skating at Christmas, studying for finals, going to the circus and watching the jugglers making balls fall in different patterns and acrobats fly across the stadium with every daring leap.

I think my life started to change when Dick’s parents fell those agonising feet to the hard circus floor and collapsed in a silent and unmoving pile of blood and tears and broken bones-

I could never remember which sound was worse- the crunch of their bodies as they collided with the woodwork or Dick’s bawling pleas for them to wake up.

I look down over the city, my city, and I realise that I’ve changed with it. That fast food place had never been there. Neither had that office building.  And Wayne Enterprises had never been so large or so brightly lit.

The idea that we are all meant for “something greater” is foolish. Childish, even. The card’s we are dealt are the cards we must play. Thinking you can change your hand is just wishful thinking. I can do anything I want with my metaphorical cards, except change them.

But just because I ‘can’ doesn’t mean I ‘should’.

I leap off the building I was perched on, like a bird, like a bat, and fell the 20 meters into open air so I can open my wings and glide through the streets from far above. I’m on patrol and even though deep thinking and reminiscing is encouraged in our little family, I have work to do.

Work like protecting my city. The city I only ever wanted to see from the streets and pathways with my feet firmly rooted to the ground. Only wanted to watch the heroes beat up criminals and stop crime. Only wanted to understand why they did what they did within the safety of my room and four walls.

But I found out too much, got in too deep and I had to change everything about myself in order to survive.

An alarm goes off and I land, searching for the disturbance. The Gotham city bank has its windows smashed and lights flashing. My eyepiece detects 12 armoured men, 8 armed hostiles, 4 unarmed and shovelling stacks of money into duffle bags to be loaded onto a cart then shoved in the back of a van.

An average bank robbery then. Nothing interesting.

I stand on the edge of the roof, five seconds away from dropping off and gliding to the bank to smash through a window and land on the ground.

Gunfire explodes through the air, the scent of gunpowder strong, even from here.

A flaming arrow flies through a window and screams could be heard as it burst inside. Heat and whistles on my right and a flaming woman is carrying a rowdy redhead by his shoulders. He’s shooting arrows into the building. Roy and Kori

A whistle on my left and Red Hood lands a few feet from me. “We got this covered” Came through my com and a salute is the only recognition I get as Jason jumps off the building to follow Arsenal and Starfire, guns already firing.

I can’t be bothered telling him to go in non-lethal.

I wonder when that changed?

I shrug it off, instead spinning on my heel and talking off in the other direction.

Almost double checking to make sure I the Outlaws are alright, I soar through the musky Gotham air to land on a perch far enough away that the sounds of gunshots and screaming were just a distant memory. I can’t be bothered checking to see if they can handle it. I never have. I wonder now if that’s weird. Shouldn’t I be concerned for my brother and his merry band of renegades?

No. Jason has never been the type to need people to worry about him. He would never appreciate it. He would much rather solve his problems with bullet casings and fists, only worrying about the damage done to his bloodied knuckles after the fact.

I’m on a fire escape, perched on the ladders top rung of unit 486. The sound of car alarms and sirens echo far below me, the gunshots from Jason’s position disappearing on the wind.

I can hardly see the roads below me. I wonder what it would like to fall, to leap off the building and plummet to a deep and endless slumber before I pull up at the last minute to wind whistling in my ears, leaves and grime flying up to meet me as I land safely on the dirty streets of Gotham.

Although, I have a feeling that if I were to jump, I would hear nothing but the ring of a circus song like the dreaded toll of church bells, the shocked gasping of the audience like a tidal wave of despair and the screams of my brother like an oncoming storm as he finds me in a pool of my own blood and broken bones and begs me to wake up.

I wonder how Dick can fly the way he does when everyone he loves is always falling.

I have a feeling he doesn’t do it very well.

There is always a blank hesitation behind his confident eyes when he sees one of us leap off a building too merrily, before his eyes sparkle as though the darkness had never been there in the first place when he assuredly follows us down to the rapidly approaching pavement with a bright smile plastered on his face like a galaxy of stars.

A scream echoes from an alleyway, and I let go of the ladder to fly towards it. A flash of yellow and green soars past me before I could, and I watch as the last flecks of Damian’s costume disappear behind the walls of the alley. I hear the quick hiss of blades and the glinting of swords in the darkness.

I used to worry that Damian would tarnish the name of Robin, like reddening rust ghosting over diligently polished steel. But now I know that he can use whatever he wants because Robin needed to change.

For better or for worse, I could never decide.

The screaming had stopped, replaced with hushed thank you’s and the zing of Damian’s grapple. I didn’t bother looking, didn’t bother listening for the police sirens of police cars when the GCPD finally come down. It was always funny to watch them rage over how the bat-brats had taken another catch, but I wasn’t in the mood tonight.

I just wanted this night to be over so I could fall into the dark embrace of my bed and stop thinking.

That could mean one of two things, I realise now.

It could mean falling into the warm folds of my covers, the blissful softness that my pillows allow and the peaceful silence that is an empty Wayne Manor in the much too early hours of the morning. It could mean a night of heavenly darkness and the forgotten moments between falling asleep and waking up, or the cosy afterglow of a successful night of patrol that leads to comforting dreams full of soft colours and cloud jumping like a blessing from Hypnos.

Or it could mean the agonizing screaming as my own mortality rushes up to meet me, the darkness enveloping me like a suffocating and unescapable gas that takes my breath away and turns the world chrome. It could mean falling into sleeps warm embrace, only to have my doom reach me and to never wake up again, or to have everything that makes me who I am ripped away like paper in a shredder until I literally do stop thinking and my body dissolves into the ether.

The concrete floor looks in inviting, like a spring-loaded pad for a gymnastics trick.

Looking around, I realise that everything I can see is… momentary? The buildings, the statues, the cars, the roads, the homes, the families- all temporary.

Nothing ever seems to stay the same. Thinks are always changing. Always decaying.

Everything is temporary.

My life is temporary.

I’m temporary.

I’m flying before I know it, sailing through the dark skies. Maybe I’ll see Bruce on patrol. Maybe Alfred convinced him to stay in. Maybe Dick took on the cowl and became the Dark Knight for the midnight hours.

No, I see his bright blues flipping around and showing off to the stars. I can help but laugh as I hear his whoops of joy as he relishes the freedom he has when he is out here, in the darkness, with nobody but the cosmos and the smiling eyes of the dead watching him from their place in the sky.

I touch down on a construction site to watch him, one that hadn’t seen work in months due to Gotham’s poor weather and unsanitary conditions.

It’s Gotham. What else do you expect?

I watch Dick twist and turn until he summersaults high into the air and falls down over the edge of a roof, the manic giggling of an over-excitable child echoing through the street. At least he enjoys these late nights. At least he’s ok.

My com beeps, and a message quietly comes through. It’s Bruce.

“Quiet night tonight.” Same tired, gravelly voice. At least that hasn’t changed. “Come back in half an hour and maybe you can get an extra hours sleep tonight.”

“Affirmative.”

“Okie Dokie!”

“Of course, Father.”

“We clocked out ages ago. Night B.”

“I’m just doing some late night jumps. I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Yes, sir. Steph, who say ‘okie dokie’ ever?”

“I do, Cass! It’s funny. Make fun of Harper! Who the hell says ‘affirmative”?

“Shut it blondie, a superior came into work today and I had to say that about 50 times. I’m stuck in the mode.”

“Sure Harpo, if that’s what you’re telling people.”

“I swear to god Steph don’t make me zap you- “

“Girls! That’s enough.”

The same routine. Out of all the things in my life that are changing, I hope this isn’t one of them. I hope this is the one, everlasting constant.

I don’t need to reply. They know I’m here, know that I’m too tired to care and too tired to speak. I can only think. Sometimes, I feel like my own thoughts are my own undoing.

My “Kryptonite” as Kon would say. He would laugh. I’d just roll my eyes and silently agree.

My life is an hourglass. Constantly turning and turning, grains falling towards the end, only to be swept up and turned around to start again in a continuous pattern of pain and fear and suffering as my grains of sand reached the very last turn.

It is a blinking star. In one cosmic moment, I will be blown out like a candle wick by the universe and have everything end around me like the snuffing of a flame as the world ends to a gruesome and non-existent chalk.

It is an ocean. Waves come in to rip away any fleeting moment that might bring any sort of light, any happiness and just drags it back out to drown in the murky depths and transform into a nightmare of despair and overpowering fear.

It is a storm. Clouds draw me in with the enticing of sweet melodies and sunshine, warping into a dark and painful scream as I try to claw my way through the sickly sweet explosions of both distress and melancholy as the eye swallows me whole.

My life is the blink of an eye.

Soon, it will be 2050 and I’ll still be the same person and I don’t know if I’ll be happy then or if I’ll just be the same as I always have been.

Full of highs and lows.

But my life isn’t all bad.

Of course, it’s mostly full of lows, lows so deep that sometimes I can never see myself crawling out. But where the lows are bleak and deadly, there are always highs that float me back towards the light.

My life is a fireplace. Flames that lick and burn, I am the warm and deadly encounter when you get too close, comforting and secure in the way I glow. I am the heat that radiates off of wooden logs and crackles in your ears like a softly spoken melody.

It is a cup of coffee. An exponentially warm porcelain that you hold in your hand and keeps you company on cold nights alone in the dark or mornings where your only company is the rising sun. I am the steam that rises up to fog your glasses, obscuring your sight of what you don’t want to see.

It is a stream. A babbling brook, flowing in a constant and reassuring pattern from the beginning to the end, gentle and soft in the roaring of the soft lapping waves as you dip your feet into the water and the cool and calming nature runs between your toes.

It is a book. Different with every page you turn, yet more and more of the same. I am the gasping amazement and the soft tears that blur the words as you turn faster and faster to get to the end and find out why you picked up the book in the first place.

I’m tired, but I don’t care. I want to stay with my city the little while longer.

My city, more earth than air. Soil and trees reaching up to the clouds and snow peaked mountains and mist in your lungs. It’s tangible.

All my life, I had thought that when I die, I will go somewhere like this. Somewhere tangible. But what if there is no afterlife? What if I don’t go anywhere? What if I just… stop?

I try not to think like that, but sometimes doubt creeps up on me.

My com beeps, and I don’t even need to answer to know it’s Dick. “Hey Timmy,” he yawned, fondness dripping through his voice like warm honey, “Why don’t you come home now?”

“Give me 5.”

“Sure. I’ll leave your window open. See you when you get home Tim.”

The city expanded out before me, and I free fell off the scaffolding until I am at a distance to the floor so I can open my wings, wind whipping through my hair and whistling through my ears like the Pied Piper.

The streets are empty. Shutters are closed and lights are off in homes. A baby cries every now and again, and a parent’s grumble is the only reply as they get out of their warm and cosy bed to tend to their bundle of joy.

These people, the ones behind the closed shutters and darkened rooms are the ones I fight for. The reason I stick around and fight.

Death has never been something I have wanted, but it is all around me. It follows me like an inky mist that will one-day swallow me whole and reunite me with those I have lost. Even though death is such a common thing, I still want to save others from that fate.

I still want to fight for my right to live. I still want to fight for the life I deserve. I still want to fight for my family, for the ones I love.

I still want to fight to keep my head above the water.

It's been a slow night for me. I think I might head home.

The lights of the Manor were on when I get there, illuminating the house like a beacon. A beacon of hope in the dark night. How ironic.

Sliding in through my bedroom window, I could smell Alfred’s hot chocolate from the kitchen.

If I didn’t have any reason for me to exist before, there is no way I’m missing out of a cup of Alfie’s hot chocolate.

I can hear Dick laughing, the keys on the piano playing a soft melody through the marbled foyers. The chandelier is working again, light spilling in through the gap beneath my door. Harper must have fixed it. Clapping and feet stomping on the floor and Damian’s strangled but laughed protests give way that the girls are trying to get Damian to dance. Fat chance.

A tentative knock on my door and some shuffling bring me out of my reverie. “Hey Tim, you in there?” It’s Cullen. Harper must have brought him on her way home. “I think I heard you come in. If you are, I was just asking if you wanted to come down and join us? Alfred is making hot chocolate and Dick convinced Bruce to play the piano. It’s really fun.” A pause “If you’re not there, I suppose I’m just talking to myself, huh?” Silence and retreating footsteps. He’s a good kid.

I’d better go and join them.

Life is only a temporary thing in the great span of the universe. Once the Grim Reaper comes to welcome me, I will greet death as the old friend that it is. But until then, the world still needs a little bit more Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

And I will still be here to give the world what it needs. I never wanted to change. But after a night of reflection?

I’m glad I have.

Because I’m nothing if not a Bat. And Bats?

Bats never give up

Hi! So, this is a gift to @identityconstellations , who was feeling a little down and existential, so I thought I would write this to cheer her up. If Tim turned out suicidal, that was not the intention, so I apologise. I love you Stell x I used her words from a conversation we had and tried to incorporate it. This is also the first time I’ve ever written a 1st-person perspective fic, and I have to say that I’m actually really proud. I know it’s shit, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. (Thanks to @zinziinziiin and @the-casual-cheesecake for attempting to edit this monstrosity. I know I fucked it up and ruined Tim, but I hope I fixed it somewhat) Bye!

[artificialqueens]

late bloomer chapter seven (trixya) - ladyalix

finally getting back to this! should be one more chapter after this plus an epilogue! remember to leave a comment at ladyalix on AO3 and say hi at @zamclodchikova here on tumblr!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Katya’s heart was racing the way it always did before a big gymnastics meet. It was funny how much sex was like gymnastics - not just in the crude logistics of course, but in the way it could consume you until you neglected everything and everyone else around you. How you still wanted it. The drugs had been like that too. Katya still smoked, of course. She was smoking a joint right now. But the harder stuff - it was all part of Katya’s unfounded craving for the joy, the freedom, that came during the brief airborne moments before she came crashing down and looked into the faces of the judges. She couldn’t believe Trixie didn’t know about Sasha. How they would have liked each other - the only two people who ever got Katya to laugh, really laugh. Trixie wondered, though, about Katya’s past, about why she never spoke about her life in Russia; Katya knew that. It was so much easier to let people wonder. It was why probably half the people in this gallery had a different story of who Katya was. Some said she was a Romanov heiress, others said she got into hooking to finance her flat because she couldn’t possibly make money from her art career. Some people looked at her with disdain, others with envy, and still others with respect or lust or just curiosity. And yet no one, not even Trixie, knew the real Katya. Katya wasn’t sure she knew the real Katya.

Shit wasn’t supposed to happen between her and Alaska and… yet it did. That is not to say it wasn’t consensual. It was, it very much was. But as soon as they finished, as the night drew to a close and Katya realised with a pang that Trixie was probably standing alone without a clue where her girlfriend was, she knew she had fucked up the best thing that had happened to her since she was seventeen. Was she afraid of it happening again? Was she protecting herself by destroying that tenuous grasp at happiness? What the fuck was wrong with her?

“If you want to get out of here so we can do this a little more, um, classily, like not in a fucking bathroom, we can,” the singer was saying. Her head hurt. She fucked up, she fucked up, she fucked up.

“I’m fine,” she said icily. “I have to go and apologise to Trixie.” Alaska’s eyebrows shot up. “You and Trixie - that girl, Trixie - you’re - “ she sputtered. This made everything worse, that she’d been misleading. That Alaska genuinely didn’t mean to cause harm.

But she didn’t apologize to Trixie. She didn’t even say anything to Trixie. It was raining outside now, heavy sweet-smelling rain that flattened Trixie’s curls and made her look ridiculous. It would have been funny if Katya didn’t feel terrible. This kind of rain was uniquely Parisian, the way it made the sidewalks glow and the buildings run together like a watercolour painting. She hadn’t known this kind of rain when she was in Boston or in Russia, and it always made her think of her first year in Paris. She was perhaps more of a mess than she was now, if that was possible. A skinny alcoholic lesbian who could barely speak French, whose English still betrayed her status as the wrong kind of expat. At twenty she had given up on enough dreams, felt lost and lonely and little enough still that the rain only made her melancholy. Everything was supposed to be better now, wasn’t it? “Should we get a cab?” asked Trixie, shaking Katya out of her memories. “I don’t want to get my dress all gross.” “I suppose so.” When the taxi finally arrived, they sat in silence in the backseat, an uncomfortable distance between them that had not been there ever before. Trixie kept looking out the window at the droplets of rain running down the glass like falling stars. “I know,” Trixie said softly, still avoiding eye contact. “Know what?” Katya asked, fully aware of what the American meant. “I know shit went on with you and the singer tonight. You’re a terrible liar, Katya.” Katya tried hard not to look Trixie in her eyes but she couldn’t help herself; the mixture of hurt and bitter humor made her heart sink. “Are you mad, Trixie? Because you have every right to be. I am so sorry.” Her words sounded hollow, false, as if they came from someone else. Against her better judgement, maybe because she was high or because she was good at digging herself into deeper holes, she kept talking. “I’ve never been good at holding on to good things. It’s like, like I have to fuck things up when they make me too happy. I can’t let myself be happy and I ruin everyone else’s happiness alongside it. That’s why I’ve not been in a relationship in so long - not since I was seventeen.” Katya stopped herself just in time, biting her lip until she tasted blood. Trixie was staring at her now. Katya remembered fleetingly how she had always been the one to try to catch the American’s eyes before. “Okay,” she was saying now. “What the fuck happened when you were seventeen? Because maybe I’d have a little more insight about why I’m being treated like you’re in high school and I’m your fucking toy.” Katya took a deep breath. It looked like she was about to tell Trixie what she hadn’t told anyone in - gosh, was it really seventeen years? It felt like yesterday sometimes, on particularly lonely nights, and other times like a whole other lifetime. “Okay,” she said shakily. “So, you know I was a gymnast in Russia.” Trixie nodded solemnly. Ordinarily she might’ve made a joke about how bendy Katya was during sex or about how she’d gotten old and out of shape; no such joke left her lips. Instead Trixie said, simply, “continue.” “There was this - this girl, on my gymnastics team. Sasha Velour.” Katya closed her eyes for a moment. Saying her old flame’s full name out loud felt like pulling out your favourite book from a dusty shelf after misplacing it for years. She could almost see clearly the sharp features, the thick eyebrows and cropped hair and full lips, almost hear her soft voice crooning “Katinka, we will be together forever.” Katya’s eyes stung, but she forced herself to continue. “I was only a girl then, you know. And I’d never been in love before, never found any of my male classmates attractive, so when I met Sasha it was only then I thought I wasn’t totally… broken. Everything made sense. And, um, we spent all of our time together, and one thing led to another. I’m sure she wasn’t quite as taken with me as I was with her but being with her, it was - it was magic.” Realizing her audience, she added quickly, “just like you. You and Sasha were the only women in all these years who ever made me feel this way.” “Anyway, our coaches found out the summer the two of us were supposed to go to Sydney for the Olympics. As was the law, we were both disqualified and banned from training or competing, and my parents kicked me out of their house. I was homeless for about a year, selling drugs and sex until I got to Boston, and I never heard from Sasha after that. To this day I never knew who turned us in and I’ve never let myself admit it, but there’s always been the suspicion that Sasha betrayed me herself. No one else knew.” Katya finished her story in one breath, trying to sound nonchalant and detached and over it and failing miserably. Trixie’s beautiful brown eyes were wide with a sympathy Katya didn’t deserve. “Oh my God,” she murmured, “that’s… that’s… awful. And that’s why you’ve been so weird about us?” “I guess so,” said Katya hoarsely, “but I don’t want to put all the blame on her. Plenty of people have been heartbroken before and don’t act the way that I do.” “Well, thank you for telling me, Katya. It helps me understand a lot of things. Except - you said that I made you feel that way too.” “Exactly, and that’s why I freaked out,” said Katya. “Not that that’s any excuse, but -” she stopped as Trixie’s hand met hers, the first physical touch since they’d gotten to the gallery. “What if we take things slower?” Trixie proposed cautiously. “It seems like jumping into being in love was what set you off. Why don’t we, like, start over, get to know each other a little better? We don’t have to be a thing right now. Because I don’t think I’m ready either, if you’re going to keep doing this, to be honest. So let’s just… take this slow.” Katya squeezed her kind of-maybe-sort of girlfriend’s hand back.

“I don’t deserve you, Trixie. I really don’t.”

[calvin-af-crone]

Part 1 I remember when he did Coachella and he got mixed reviews and some of the reviews also mentioned it was almost like he wasn't there and a blog I followed which was excellent and very knowledgeable when it came to dance music the blog was AllCalvinHarris. I loved reading her take on things unfortunately she isn't as active as before. I am not quoting her because it was so long ago but she said the music should be the forefront so Calvin being like a silhouette

Part 2 and doing very little talking is exactly what a DJ letting the show/music speak for themselves and the audience rave and the music works the magic. i think she mentioned the DJ himself should not be the spotlight of the show. I don't know she put it much better than myself. She also said a lot of critics just don't understand/like what DJ's do versus live artists/bands. I guess a survey from the crowd would gives us a better idea how he did and if they enjoyed it.

I miss Eva @allcalvinharris, too. She was/is a European EDM Purist. As a participant in early raves, I frankly never looked at the DJ. The entire experience was based on getting high, being taken away by the music, & attaining a mindless euphoric state. At the festivals I’ve attended w/ 60-to-120 thousand others, the stage was so fucking far away the performers were tiny. And even when there were huge screens to provide closeups—unless the artist was known for putting on a show—I didn’t watch because the music was everything. When I recall the Grateful Dead performances I’ve witnessed they didn’t do shit—just stood there playing their instruments & singing into the mics while their music & lyrics blew minds. 

I watched the Coachella Livestream on YouTube—gawd, that feels so long ago—& Major Lazer’s performance really irritated the fuck out of me. Diplo & the others took turns behind the deck & prancing around the stage hollering commands at the audience. “Move to the left!” “Move to the right!” If I’d been there, I would have been shouting, “Shut the FUCK UP!” Like don’t tell me how to enjoy myself, you frickin’ poseurs. 

But times change & people have begun to expect more interaction. Diplo struts along the front of his deck, takes off his shirt, & hangs from the light beams like a gymnast. Dillon Francis cavorts like a maniac & tosses Gerald into the crowd to be torn into crepe paper bits. At a recent joint performance, Dillion even got DJ Snake to jump up & dance badly w/ him. 

No doubt, The National reviewer’s opinion of Calvin’s remoteness was affected by having watched the Chainsmokers the previous night. Their music was called derivative but “they made up for it by pulling out all the bells & whistles”. I have no idea what that meant because no details were provided except they ordered the crowd to “Jump to the left.” Apparently, the first DJ to get 60,000 people to line dance to Time Warp will become a superstar.   

[fantastica-daily]

Marneen Lynne Fields Interview – The Singing Stunt Woman

What drew you to stunt work in the first place?

 My brother, Bobby Fields who was one year older than me, met a stuntman named Paul Stader who was Carey Grant's stunt double. Paul owned a stunt training school in Santa Monica that most of the famous stunt men in the industry trained at. The second Bobby, who was a 6'3" football player stepped into the school he saw students doing high falls from the twenty-foot rafter, backward falls off the ladders, and being flipped onto their backs doing fight scenes. Bobby said, "My sister is perfect for this," and he sent me down to the stunt school to audition for Paul Stader. 

I was a 5'3" Class One advanced all-around college gymnast, the number one gymnast at Utah State University and ranked 3rd in the entire state of Utah. I was one of three women in the United States who received a full-ride athletic scholarship in gymnastics to USU in 1976, they didn't award many athletic scholarships to women in gymnastics back then. Paul recognized the champion gymnast and exceptional athlete in me. He took me under his wing making sure I received the best training and he became 100% instrumental in getting me my first twenty-five, very dangerous, stunt jobs and stunt-acting jobs on primetime TV shows and in feature films. Paul Stader discovered me and had the power to put me on the map as one of the top stunt women in the world in the mid-1970s, Wikipedia listing me as one of the most famous stunt women of the 1970s and 1980s. From 1976 to 1991 the world saw my versatility and talent step into the shoes of 100 of the world's most famous actresses of the day and perform death defying feats for them and for myself when I landed a stunt acting, and that was exciting.

 What did you love about stunt work - and what did you not like?

 To be completely honest with your readers there wasn't much I loved about stunt work no matter how much recognition and applause I received on a set each time I performed. As the human cannonball gymnast and high diver I was, stunts were incredibly stressful and heart-wrenching for me. It upset me terribly to perform these difficult and dangerous things as I was unable to separate the reality from fantasy in my mind, these experiences became very real for me. After all, I was born with the extreme sensitivity that all great musical artists and composers vie for, so I was not cut out for the stunt arena. That was Bobby's ace card, and he threw it to me, and it changed my true calling in life, but as you read on, you'll see God found a way to make sure I landed where I was supposed to be in life as there are no accidents. The first thing I learned when I started doing stunts was all the mats from gymnastics were taken away and I'd now be falling onto my back and stomach onto the concrete, wooden tables, hard dirt grounds, linoleum floors, brick walls, boxes, thin layers of sand, and into trees. For fifteen years, my body was slammed hard onto these types of surfaces as I was expected to fall from high distances traveling at high speeds while landing within confined dimensions hitting my mark so as not to go out of frame of the camera. I was always told to not look at the camera, not get the clothing I was wearing that matched the actresses dirty (even if I was running through a dirty mine field of explosions), and not to break any objects I had to hold while performing the stunt. Luckily for me, I was a one-take wonder back in those days because they didn't look well upon a stunt person taking more than one take to perform these highly dexterous and dangerous feats. There I'd stand, usually in high heels, wearing a crazy pinned to tightly wig that matched the actresses hair when not donning a bad haircut or dye job, and dressed in clothes that were usually too tight for me because I had a little boy's football girdle, knees pads, and elbow pads underneath. I felt like a clown, even though I was an amazing champion.

Now that I got my dislikes out of the way, here's what I loved about stunt work. I loved acting. I like to say that I was Angelina Jolie before she was, in smaller roles of course, but never-the-less performing all my own stunts when cast in a stunt acting role. I had been performing in large productions on stage for three years minoring in Theater Arts and Dance at USU before Hollywood discovered me. I loved to apply my actor's technique to all my performances, while also pretending I was the character of the actresses I was doubling during my stunt performances. I would watch their every move mimicking their walk and gestures as thoroughly as I could, something I was also taught to do at the stunt school. I loved the scream or gasp I was able to perform during the stunts and fight scenes to sell them to the max. I loved playing all the characters through the actresses, and when I would sit at the make-up mirror or in my dressing room in my twenties, I had dreams of becoming the next Dustin Hoffman as I would pretend I was the actress in that role and not the stunt girl. My favorite part about doing stunts were the crowds that would gather around to watch me perform these amazing things, sometimes 100 or more people standing around staring up at me to watch me fall or dive and then applauding me like crazy afterward, that was something to relish because my talent had thrilled them to appreciate my work to that extent. My gymnastics training gave gracefulness to my stunts, something you didn't usually see since I was the only female gymnast (to my knowledge) from the national level making a living doing stunts in those days. I was truly poetry in motion in a lot of my stunt performances. It's important to note that it was my great extensive training that saved my life and gave me the ability to perform what I did without injury those years. My biggest moment of personal recognition came when I was awarded a Fall Girl license plate by famous stunt coordinator, J.P. Bill Catching and the Stuntman's Association and coined "Hollywood's Original Fall Girl," a title that sticks with me today. I truly love and appreciate that honor. I also cherish the respect I've earned in the industry for being a stuntwoman.

 Do you think the advent of CG has harmed the stunt-work profession?

 When I was competing in gymnastics there were no spring floors (they were just coming on the scene), my legs did it all. I taught myself backward flip flops on the hard wood floor in the Jr. high school gymnasium. I used a twisting belt on a trampoline once at gymnastics camp to perfect my back flip with a full twist on floor exercise. As a pioneering stuntwoman, I got to use an airbag for a three-story high fall off the side of a house in Malibu one time for the MOW, Death Ray 2000. Another time I performed a twenty-five feet head first high fall off a swinging catwalk at the top of the boiler room of the Queen Mary for Goliath Awaits into only a bunch of blankets the stunt coordinator threw on the floor because they couldn't get a small mattress through the hatch door for me to land on. One night I ran and stood on the ledge of the First Interstate Bank Building in downtown Los Angeles in a sheer negligee and fluffy slippers without a cable, then jumped feet first off the building into only boxes twenty-five or thirty feet below for the suicide scene in the "Depth of Beauty" episode of Quincy. Lynda Carter of Wonder Woman beat me up in the "Mind Stealers" episode of her series. There was no jerk off cable or mini trampoline for me, once again, it was my power tumbler legs that made the scene look like she had superhuman strength throwing me across the room. In take after take, I flipped over her sofas landing on my back on the hardwood floor as she pretended to throw me as hard as she could. In a lot of ways CG (computer graphics) and some of the equipment I've mentioned has added a layer of excitement and protection to stunt work. So, personally, I don't think that CG has harmed the stunt profession, but I do think that it has taken away some of the realism, while at the same time making it possible to showcase more outrageous, elaborate, and incredibly unbelievable stunts allowing the audience to enter a unique and unlimited realm of adventure like we've all seen in the Marvel and DC movies.

 What are some of your favorite non-stunt acting roles?

 From 1976 to 1991 every SAG actress job I was cast in for the 100 feature films and prime time TV shows I appeared in, regardless of if it was a large speaking role or not, as a co-star, guest star, character actress, cameo actress, or stunt actress, also involved me performing stunts on some level. During those years, I also appeared in fifteen small theater productions throughout the Los Angeles area in lead and large co-star roles, and those were the only straight acting jobs I landed, as were all theatrical productions I appeared in at USU from 1973 to 1976. I landed a wonderful role on a TV series at Universal Studios titled, Otherworld the "Princess Metra" episode where I played a Microwoman who's children were taken from her but my highly emotional dialogue scene with tears was cut. Same with the big-budget Airport '79 the Concord also out of Universal Studios, my dialogue scene was cut. It made no difference that I loved acting more than I loved doing stunts, first and foremost, I landed these roles because I could also do the stunt. By the mid-1980s I had become the first stuntwoman to come from the pure stunt arena to make the break into becoming a respected SAG actress, and I landed the coveted Page 3 of Star Magazine under the title, "Marneen Fields: Shapely Stunt Gal is Now an Actress."

Fifteen of my best performances took place in casting director offices with the executive producers, directors, and scriptwriters present, and believe me, getting that far is an amazing accomplishment in and of itself. Casting directors look at over 1,000 headshots for each role, maybe eight to fifteen actors get called in to read, then only two are taken to the producers. I had career breaking moments where I got to be one of two taken to the producers and the other actress beat me out every time (laughs). I was up for the reoccurring role of the hooker Mika on the TV series Santa Barbara, and the role of the bag lady in the Lou Diamond Phillips' feature Transit, along with nearly a dozen others. Although I was a fine highly trained character actress, I got beat out on these occasions because the other actresses were more the real McCoy's. They were not a character-actresses trying to portray the character like I was, they looked more the part than I did. I would have picked them over me each time also. I've cried many tears, and the boulevard of broken dreams is a terrible reality in my life. It just wasn't in the cards for me to land those career breaking roles. Some actors are lucky, some are not. Having made nearly a million dollars since 1976 on my SAG card I can't really say I've been unlucky.

 I should mention for the 150 things I've landed since 1976, I have not landed another 200 I've auditioned for, both on stage in theatrical productions, and in films, TV shows, web series, commercials, etc. Would you like to know the main reason why? The large agencies have everything under package deals and even though actors are called in to audition for the smaller roles they really don't have a chance over actors who usually get picked just because they are signed by the major agencies. The big agencies control Hollywood and who becomes mega. I've been successful in the motion picture business because I had gymnastic, diving, swimming, and fight scene talents other female actors in the screen actor's guild didn't have during those years. I could land and spin on a dime at the call of action in my prime so I was in demand and never had to hustle work, my unbelievable physical talent and reputation preceded me. Everything snowballed, and my phone rang off the hook each week for work for fifteen years. Then one day, my phone stopped ringing as quickly as it had started…

 When you got injured, is that what drew you to writing and singing - or were those interests already there?

 Ever since I was a small child all I ever wanted to do was sing. I remember vividly the two days in elementary school when they passed around the Row, Row, Row Your Boat song to sing in a round, and when they passed out the musical instruments. I got to school late the day they passed out the musical instruments and the only instrument that was left was the gigantic string bass so that became my instrument. My dad got me a little red wagon and I rolled the giant bass to school and back home to practice each week. Kids I went to elementary school with still remember me rolling the bass around the neighborhood. As a young teenage sweeping the garage one day I heard, I Love You More Today Than Yesterday by the Spiral Staircase. It was that day I knew I wanted to sing and dance for the rest of my life, as I broke out in song dancing around the garage with the broom after singing I Love You More… at the top of my lungs. To me, it was the greatest and most perfect love song in the world. I was a scholar student all through school and a child prodigy in math doing algebra with high school kids at nine years old, but I never enjoyed writing. After my near fatal car accident by an uninsured motorist and over a decade of resulting life-threatening abdominal operations, I had dreams of becoming a writer, but each time I'd sit down to write, a song would come on the radio and I'd have to get up and mimic the singer performing the song. Those were the years Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey came on the scene. I'd never heard anyone as great as those two (except Barbra Streisand) and I had to learn every song they released. I'm an alto-soprano with nearly the same tonal register as Whitney Houston. I wish today more than anything that I just had a weekly singing gig performing Ella Fitzgerald blues type songs, other favorite songs of mine, and some of my own songs in a nightclub, it's the only thing I really love doing and feel my singing voice is my greatest talent. One thing was for sure, after my personal life imitated my career life of surviving onscreen disasters, I would be forced to lose everything I had worked and trained diligently for. Instead of phony movie fight scenes with Freddy Kreuger and his long fingernails, I now performed the ultimate fight for my life for over a decade.

 Who are some of the most famous people you've worked with? Anyone stand out, or do you have a fun anecdote you can share?

 I especially loved when director Michael O'Herlihy told me I was prettier than Priscilla Presley when I doubled her on the "Manhunter" episode of The Fall Guy. I just shook my head, no way, no one was ever prettier than Priscilla, especially me, but it was sure nice to hear. I performed an extremely dangerous feet-first jump being pushed out of a taxiing jet with a roll across the runway at night for the "3-Day Affair with a 30-Day Escrow" episode of The Rockford Files. It was crazy. I landed and performed the high-speed roll with no injury. 

Props brought in a small 1 ft. high block for the actress I was doubling to jump into the scene from to look like she had made the jump and not me. She jumped off the block and buckled over in screaming pain. She had sprained her ankle badly and had to be taken away on a gurney. I felt so bad for her. I was thrilled to be cast and have the challenge of performing a karate fight in high heels with Stacy Keach himself on the "Dead Man's Run" episode of The New Mike Hammer. While we were rehearsing the fight Stacy put his open palm up facing me as a guide for me to kick towards. Oops, I nicked his hand with the tip of my heel. Wow! He reeled at me with the most intense and angry eyes, and rightfully so, Stacy can't have the stunt girl actually kicking him with her high heels. In my defense, I must add, anyone ever performed a karate fight in a low-lit room in high heels? It's not the most steady surface to stand on. Scenes like this one were how my gymnastic balance beam skills came in handy in my stunt work because 95% of the time I had to perform these unbelievable things in high heels or slippery footwear. For a fun anecdote, I doubled Brett Somers getting scooped up onto the back of a camel in the dark while holding a shotgun in "The Magnificent Warriors" episode of Battlestar Galactica. Silly feminine me, I had beautiful long artificial fingernails put on that same afternoon. You guessed it: those fingernails got ripped right off my fingers as I grabbed to hold on with one arm for my dear life while riding lickety-split behind the hump of a camel in a chase scene. My favorite actresses to double were: Michelle Philips, Jane Seymour, and Shirley Jones, they were great. [Check out Marneen’s IMDb credits here. ]

 What's your career focus now and what would you like our readers to know about?

 I love singing and composing pop-blues-soft rock brokenhearted love ballads, and songs about love, inspiration, and God. I'll sing anytime, anywhere, it's my passion and what I find most challenging and rewarding as an artist. My true story, Cartwheels & Halos: The True Marneen Lynne Fields Story is a main focus and I'm pitching proposals to agents and publishers now. The book is incredibly inspiring and empowering as I share how I found my true calling in the wake of my childhood dreams of music during terrible tragedy, and how finding God saved my life. I've also written my dear mother, Ruby Marie Farris-Fields true horror story about her survival of nine years of homelessness while battling schizophrenia and multiple cancers before being found through Missing Persons and brought home to safety. The film has a potentially Academy Award caliber lead role and it's WGA registered. I've been very close to selling the film, and want a big star in the title role. Earlier this year I released a book on the craft of acting on Amazon and Smashwords that's getting 5-Star reviews titled, The Illusive Craft of Acting: An Actors Preparation Process. I've been a student of the craft of acting for forty-six years trained by several celebrity acting coaches and my college professors since 1973. So all of that is plenty to focus on for now along with any SAG acting roles or speaking engagements I get offered.

  Given your wide-ranging career and your perspective on the entertainment business, what advice would you give to young women getting started now?

 Keep your inspiration and never lose belief in your talents no matter what. Get the best education you can afford and keep educating yourself. Respect the work and learn the various creative crafts for the careers in the arts you want to pursue. It's a life's work. Watch lots of movies and TV shows and listen to lots of music to see what's selling. Learn your special character niche and where you'd like to market yourself. Practice, rehearse, rehearse, audition, audition, perform, perform, always give 100%. Don't give up on your dreams. All the world is a stage, play the game, follow the rules, and hope to win. [Here's the link to purchase Marneen’s book from Smashwords.]

[actual-bill-potts]

On the Companions, and How to Define Them

In my psychology class last year, we learned about an experiment that examined individualistic vs. collectivistic cultures, and I think it works as an apt analogy for how Davies and Moffat approach companions.

This experiment compared American and Japanese students. It asked them to describe themselves, first objectively and then how they saw themselves around different people. The Japanese students were puzzled by the first task, while Americans had a harder time with the second, the implication being that those from societies that prize individuality see themselves separate from the people around them, while those from cultures that value working together and harmony will view themselves in relation to the people around them. To reiterate: this is exactly what is happening in Moffat and Davies Who.

I rewatched “The Beast Below” recently, and was struck by the sheer awkwardness involved in a lot of Eleven and Amy’s interactions. He’s a little cruel, she’s a little standoffish, and they don’t seem to have that lovely click Donna and Ten, for example, had from the beginning. But that is purposeful on Moffat’s part; where Davies makes the companions old friends from the beginning, Moffat builds relationships from the ground up.

Look at, for example, Rose. No matter where in her run we see her, we know immediately who she is. She’s gutsy, she’s working-class, she has an obnoxious mother, she was in gymnastics as a kid, her favorite color is pink, she’s kind, she acts fast in a crisis, she doesn’t like school, she works at a department school, she has lots of friends, and she’s unsatisfied with her life. I can reel those off, twelve years after it first aired, with very little trouble, because that’s who Rose is. She changes and she grows, she stops being unsatisfied with life, but we as the audience know pretty well how she’ll react to any given scenario. You may like her, you may not, but you know her.

The same is true for Martha and Donna. Martha is a doctor, smart, ambitious, selfless, perfectionistic, patient, practical, middle-class. Donna is a temp, adores her grandfather, insecure, loud, bossy, enraged by injustice, protective of children, blunt, short-tempered.

But then we get to Amy. She’s a kissogram, she’s an orphan, and she has a boyfriend. Other than that? Amy is brave, except when confronted by Weeping Angels—then she devolves into an incapable mess. She is terrible at relationships—then she talks down a suicidal man. She’s hot-tempered and fiery, until the Doctor scolds her, upon which she shows admirable restraint and says…nothing. “Misogyny!” shout the haters. “Eye candy! Sexy Lamp!”

But what the haters don’t see is that Moffat’s companions, while nebulous when looked at without context, come into sharp relief against the backdrop of their relationships. They are completely different with different people because Moffat Who is very collectivistic; where Davies creates memorable characters within five minutes and makes us fall in love with them immediately, Moffat introduces us to relationships, defining the people we meet by how they interact with others. "We’re the Thin Fat Gay Married Anglican Marines. Why would we need names as well?” the Fat One says in “A Good Man Goes to War.” Indeed.

To take a representative example, in series 5 (Moffat's first series), only "Time of Angels" and "The Beast Below" don't have a big plot point surrounding a relationship. The rest do: Amy/Rory, Eleven/River, Amy's crush on the Doctor, Craig/Sophie, Amy/Vincent, Amy and Bracewell, Guido and Isabella, and the Mack family. By contrast, in series 1, Davies' first, only "Father's Day," "Boom Town," and "The Empty Child"/"The Doctor Dances" involve relationships that aren't Nine/Rose—and TEC/TDD were written by Moffat. In addition, every Moffat companion to date has had a serious romantic relationship that lasts at least one season and is treated as an important part of their arc. In the Davies era, on the other hand, only Rose has one that lasts for more than two episodes. Martha suddenly starts dating Tom and equally suddenly marries Mickey, and Donna is engaged to an arachnophile and then marries a computer simulation. Neither has much screen time dedicated to romance.

Looking at Amy again, this relationship theme holds true. Amy has a set of basic traits that are displayed differently to different people. For instance, she is recklessly brave in the presence of others—particularly, in the presence of Eleven and Rory. She lost her entire family for a season and then lost her child, so when she’s isolated it takes all that bravery for her to keep from breaking. Amy Pond can waltz right into vampire school, sass a bunch of Daleks, and shoot a tranquilizer gun at a bunch of dinosaurs. But lock her away from the Doctor and Rory, or put one of them in danger, and she loses the ability to cope. Hence her sobbing during “Day of the Moon,” her instant capitulation to the Angels once Rory’s gone, the shaken response to the Dream Lord: Amelia Pond cannot take being alone. Who is Amelia Pond? That question becomes a lot easier when you frame it as: who is Amelia Pond with her friends? Who is she when alone?

This system works well for other traits too. Amy is flirty, except with her husband. With him she is serious. This is because her sexuality is her defense mechanism against those who ridicule her mind: she will be noticed for something. Call her crazy and she’ll be sexy to make up for it. Rory always takes her seriously and she does him the courtesy of doing likewise. With the Doctor, it’s not until mid-series 6 that she is truly done being afraid that he’ll abandon her, upon which she stops flirting with him as well. Thus the sudden drop in innuendo and general sexiness in the last half of her run: it’s not because she’s married, it’s because she interacts with Rory more.

The system holds true with Clara as well. Part of the problem with her introduction in series 7 was that time jumped too fast. Moffat’s characters depend on relationships, but we didn’t see enough of Clara’s relationship with the Doctor to be able to truly define her. Where Amy and the Doctor grew slowly more comfortable with each other and we saw some inconsistencies disappear while others grew stronger, with Clara we didn’t see enough of the beginning awkwardness to know what is “normal” for Clara and what is her being bros/romantic/sexually ambiguous partner-for-life with somebody. That changed in series 8 because Danny Pink made an appearance.

See, with Danny, Clara takes the lead in the relationship. She asks him out, she leaves when he annoys her, she comes back confidently, she flirts and flirts again when he fails to pick it up the first time. With the Doctor, on the other hand, she’s physically brave but a total coward when it comes to actually discussing anything important. Inconsistency? No. It’s just the same trait expressed differently around different people. Clara lies to Danny—about what she’s doing. She lies to the Doctor—about who she’s with. Again, same basic characteristic, different relationship. This is where having that extra connection for Clara is extremely helpful in ascertaining her true nature: when all we see is the Clara around the Doctor, we can’t be sure if that’s the Clara in her natural habitat. Once we see her with somebody else, we realize—or have our suspicions confirmed—that Clara, more than most, wants control over people’s perceptions of her and changes her behavior based on that.

We see this same sort of thing with Bill. Moffat improved on Clara’s introduction by a) letting us see the evolution of the Doctor and Bill’s relationship over a few months, and b) giving her another relationship right away. Bill is a dynamic character but again there are inconsistencies: Bill is sharp and asks questions nobody else would think to ask, except when her crush tells her to look into a scary puddle. Where was the skepticism then? The answer: she’s skeptical with her professor, but naive with her gf. I’ll expect to see more of that as Bill’s arc continues: she’ll be an idiot around romantic interests, sharp as a tack around the Doctor, and we’ll get to know her better as the Doctor and Nardole do.

Moffat and Davies aren’t any better or worse than each other; they merely define their characters using different parameters. Davies sees his characters as individuals, consistent both externally and internally. Moffat defines his characters by those around them, consistent with internal logic but varying depending on external circumstances. All the companions are beautiful, dynamic people with fascinating and complex relationships, and we as a fandom should recognize the fundamental difference between Moffat and Davies and acknowledge that their differences do not mean that one or the other is lesser.

[lawlight-week]

Lawlight Week Exchange

Title: Hear, Heart, the Beat of Goodnight

Name of creator: @silvia-aivlis

Created for: @mr-frog-man

Prompt: Coffee shop banter (This turns out to be an AU involving coffee shops and proceeds from bickering to banter… eventually. :p)

Characters: Main - Light Yagami, L Lawliet; secondary - Touta Matsuda, Hideki Ide; more making an appearance or being mentioned

Rating, warnings and no. of words (for fics): General; no warning unless you count s l o o o o w buildup; 7048

Hear, Heart, the Beat of Goodnight

‘Here’s hope that tomorrow you’ll realise coffee-making is a human art. Someone who just relies on a cheap, lifeless machine cannot become a real coffee master.’

‘Mind how you talk about My Wammy’s invention. He made a name with his coffee in London long before your father was born. I’ve been learning from the best since the age of ten.’

*

No one could explain why the two cafés at the twelve-level Heartbeat shopping mall were both located on the same floor with less than five metres distance between them. Nor did anyone know why there had to be two open cafés selling coffees and muffins when there was not even a proper restaurant in the shopping complex.

The arrangement simply did not sound reasonable business-wise, but it must be said that the owners of Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner were very kind people and had always wished the other café the best form of peace.

‘Rest in peace’.

Their wishes gained a new fervour when Investigation, the town’s best-selling newspaper, published the following article:

EXCLUSIVE:

Heartbeat revamp post-Yotsuba purchase

Add bistro, cut café

Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner have long been the only choices for hungry shoppers at the labyrinth that is Heartbeat. The lack of diversity has been the complaint of many. NOT ANYMORE! Your faithful Investigators, Shuichi Aizawa and Kanzo Mogi, are able to confirm the upcoming addition of a gourmet restaurant in the town’s largest shopping mall. Yotsuba Corporation, the new owner of Heartbeat, has plans to improve…

… ‘We don’t want two similar cafés. One is perfectly enough and the other will be replaced by Yotsuba Gourmet, which will provide more seats and a larger variety of food choices with increased space and investment.’ Arayoshi Hatori, Yotsuba’s Vice President of Marketing, claimed the land owner will decide which café needs to say goodbye in the next month. ‘Quality and popularity are essential criteria for consideration when we make plans for any premises under Yotsuba’s wing.’

Who will stay and who will fade? Our fellow Investigators will be checking on the ‘quality’ and ‘popularity’ of Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner in this upcoming month. The battle is on. Stay tuned to see who will survive!

‘Worthless paper. As if they actually had any influence on Yotsuba’s decision.’ At Kira Kira Café, Teru Mikami closed his issue of Investigation muttered contemptuously.

‘Light, what should we do?’ Misa Amane asked.

With hearts in their eyes, she and Kiyomi Takada (the newest of the four full-time workers) watched Light Yagami, the handsome owner of Kira Kira Café in his late twenties, rest his chin on the back of one hand while contemplating an answer. ‘A newspaper may not influence Yotsuba directly, but it can influence the public, and consumers’ opinion may affect our business and shape Yotsuba’s opinion.’ Light reasoned. ‘I wonder how Investigation is planning to do this ‘checking’. Anyhow, we have to…’

‘A wise business decision. I’ve always thought there’s no need for two coffee shops so close to each other.’ On the other side of Heartbeat 3/F, Nate River of Wammy’s Coffee Corner offered his very sensible comment regarding the Yotsuba Corporation’s business plan.

‘And that’s all you have to say? That it’s good we’re facing a survival crisis right now?’

Nate took a little time to play his hair (which, for some reason, was white despite his young age) before responding, ‘… there won’t be a crisis if we win, Mihael.’

Mihael Keehl sprang up and Mail Jeevas, who was sitting next to him, yelped in pain when Mihael’s left shoulder haphazardly bumped into his right arm.

But before Mihael could open his mouth, the last and eldest participant in this conversation spoke. ‘We should make Wammy’s as popular as possible, serving the best coffee and snacks we can. Let the reporters and other people “check on” us and attest to our superiority over Kira Kira. Anyhow, we have to…’ The dark bags under his eyes might have made another person look exhausted, but they totally failed to hide the sharpness in L Lawliet’s gaze towards the ‘enemy’s territory’.

Neither café had walls and L’s unfriendly regard soon met its rival in Light’s intense glare. Neither person bothered to greet or acknowledge the other’s existence in any way.

‘… we have to send them packing.’

*

‘I saw that Mrs Yagami was very interested in Wammy’s seven types of latte this afternoon, but was too polite to actually ask.’

‘She was just interested in the drawings on your banner. And that wasn’t even your own doing. You just asked that Linda girl whom River knows to draw for you.’

‘But can’t Master Kira Kira actually keep mama’s attention with his own coffee?’

‘She just happened to look around when I talked with my sister. And I should mention that Sayu doesn’t drink coffee except those that I make. She hates everything that’s on sale elsewhere but begs me to make her café au lait every day in high school. That’s why I began making coffee and getting better day by day at such a young age.’

*

Same as many people who visited Heartbeat for the first time, the two men ogled at Kira Kira Café on their left and Wammy’s Coffee Corner on their right, seemingly unsure which way they should head for.

‘Hey, since these two cafés have to kill the other if they want to stay after the revamp, what d’you think they’ll do? Maybe wage a price war?’ The slightly taller man wore his large rucksack in the front instead of at the back, and although he was busy searching for something inside the bag’s main pocket, it did not hinder his passion for gossip.

The other man, shorter but with shoulders a little broader, did not carry a bag but had a digital camera around his neck—a tourist?—and he was quick at dismissal. ‘No, that’d just look desperate… What are you looking for?’

Staggering as he dug into the rucksack aggressively, the taller man collided with two other walkers (who entered Kira Kira and Wammy’s, respectively) before answering, ‘I can’t find my pen… where is it?’

‘Mind you don’t drop anything or bump into more people.’

The banal exchange would have completely escaped everyone’s attention—no one would have cared enough to question why a tourist would need a pen in the middle of a shopping mall—but all was changed when a 91 mm × 55 mm piece of paper chose this exact moment to leap out of the rucksack. Its spectacular consecutive somersaults would put most Olympic gymnasts to shame, but what truly captured the audience’s attention was the large, red logo blazoned on it. When it finally landed on the corridor between the two coffee shops, there was no mistaking what it was.

The signature magnifying glass printed on every issue of Investigation.

Reacting as quickly as he could, its owner stooped and covered the logo with one palm. He then cautiously picked it up, confirmed that the name Touta Matsuda was still attached to the other side of the card (as if it could run away), and slipped it back into his rucksack.

When he stood up, Matsuda gave a tentative thump-up to his fellow Investigator, but Hideki Ide rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘Fool, you immediately trying to cover the logo just makes us more suspicious! If anyone has seen it, we can’t even pretend to have just received the business card from a random reporter!’

Matsuda shuddered. ‘But we’re supposed to be “secret customers”… well, no one has been looking, right?’

If anyone had really been looking, it would have been easy to recognise the card’s prominent logo—the corridor was very narrow and there was nothing between it and either café, after all. Gulping at the dangerous prospect, Matsuda looked around nervously.

A bespectacled, stern-looking waiter in Kira Kira was busy talking to a customer (answering queries?), while a lanky boy wearing a pair of goggles and looking like he had just entered adulthood was cleaning a desk in Wammy’s. None of them had actually noticed his business card giving a gymnastic performance, right?

‘Let’s hope so. Anyway we should start. Which one should we try first? And I still have no idea how we’re going to visit two coffee shops in one afternoon without arousing suspicion.’

‘Don’t worry about looking suspicious all the time, or you’ll look even more suspicious!’

‘And who just did the most suspicious thing not a minute ago?’

‘Ahem.’ Both Matsuda and Ide jumped. Amid their whispered argument, they had not noticed the approach of the goggled waiter from Wammy’s. ‘Sorry. Is there anything I can help? Maybe you’d like a cuppa coffee? We’ve got excellent cappuccino.’

One hand gesturing towards Wammy’s invitingly, Mail put his other hand on Matsuda’s shoulder and began leading the two ‘tourists’ to the entrance.

Matsuda and Ide had no choice but to walk in. They missed Mail feigning holding a magnifying glass at their back, but certainly could not miss the barista who looked like he had not slept for a year, who had seen Mail’s signal and who then proceeded to recommend Wammy’s various kinds of espresso to the two undercover reporters.

They ordered the recommended cappuccino and were seated at a pair of black and white single seater sofas. The drinks arrived quickly, but the coffee mugs had not even touched their lips when a chirpy female voice reached their table.

‘What’s so special about cold brew coffee, then?’

Matsuda and Ide’s attention was immediately caught by Misa who, though wearing a waitress uniform, was sitting on a red plush chair just next to the entrance of Kira Kira Café, with a glass of cold coffee in her hand. She asked her question in a raised voice, ensuring that everyone at Wammy’s could hear her every word clearly.

So did the person who replied to Misa. ‘Cold brew coffee is made by steeping coffee ground in cold water. Compared to iced coffee which is just hot coffee cooled down, cold brew coffee is sweeter, less bitter and more mellow on the stomach. Since it doesn’t need ice to cool the coffee, it is also less watery. This is another important factor why cold brew tastes so good!’

L narrowed his eyes at the sight of Light Yagami answering Misa Amane’s (undoubtedly staged) question with a smug smile on his face. The young owner of Kira Kira Café had stepped out of his usual spot behind the barista table, leaving Teru Mikami (who had finished his conversation with the customer) to perform pouring some precious cold brew into glasses as ostentatiously as possible.

‘Cold brew takes a long time to prepare. That’s why it’s usually more rare and expensive, but Kira Kira Café has developed its own unique way to make cold brew coffee efficiently and at a low cost. It is the only place in the entire Heartbeat plaza where you can taste this delicacy!’ With a grandiose arm movement, Light concluded his pompous speech, drawing applause from Misa, all other women and a couple of men in Kira Kira and—to L’s annoyance—one of the Investigation reporters at the other side of the aisle.

‘Matsuda, what’re you doing?’ Even Ide could not suppress a grimace.

‘He’s such a good speaker! I wish I could speak that well too!’ Matsuda finally tasted the cappuccino in front of him, but his unfocused gaze suggested cold brew fantasies. L just wished he could steep the reporter (and the entire Kira Kira Café) in Antarctica for a cup of cold brew malignance.

Taking after Light’s example (not that L would admit it), L slid out of Wammy’s barista station and made his way towards Matsuda and Ide. Nate caught on immediately, exchanged a high five with L and went to fill in.

It took less than five seconds for L to reach the reporters’ table. ‘Actually you can make cold brew at home as well. What you need is just time, not any elaborate equipment. It’s not that difficult. There’re plenty of recipes on the Internet you can google.’ He spoke in a low voice because unlike someone, he did not need to be heard by people in the opposite shop.

He took a second to smile innocently at The Someone (earning a death glare in return). Then, to the shock of his audience, he shook his shoes off and stepped onto a grey single seater. Crouching in his seat, he placed the objects in his hand (which Nate had just given him in their high five) on the table—a few coffee beans and a miniature coffee machine.

‘A lot of coffee tastes bitter due to a lack of precision in grinding and brewing. Coffee making is about science, especially in the case of espressos. The mixture of coffee beans and the exact time to grind them—you don’t want to grind for ten seconds too short or too long because that may destroy the beans’ flavour and aroma.’ L dangled two coffee beans right in front of Matsuda and Ide, the faint chocolatey smell getting stronger as he waved his fingers slightly. ‘But Wammy’s has long perfected the best formula for that. The heat and pressure to exert through an espresso machine also requires deliberate calculation, but thanks to the innovation of Wammy’s founder, Mr Quillsh Wammy…’

L droned on. Though perhaps not as charming as Kira Kira’s young and handsome boss, he successfully caught Matsuda’s attention with the semi-functional miniature espresso machine, and the reporter’s eyes shone with wonder when the tiny buttons clicked and buzzed under L’s command. Ide, who had been grumpy from the beginning, hid his face with one hand. He did not want to look at his naïve companion.

‘Feel free to ask me any questions.’ L concluded his demonstration with a small smile. ‘I don’t mind providing whatever information you’ll need for writing your article. There’s no point in pretending you’re not from Investigation any longer, I think.’

Ide added another hand. He did not want to look at this world.

*

‘Don’t talk when you know nothing! Kira Kira Café is so much more than “an amateur playhouse”. Since the day I was old enough to board a plane on my own, I’ve travelled with every penny I owned to learn about different coffees around the world!’

‘Weren’t you hospitalised for “drinking too much coffee” one day in Paris? I’m sure that’s quintessential professionalism.’

‘That was not for drinking too much coffee. That was for drinking poorly-made, unhygienic coffee! And you can bet I’ve put all the lesson I learnt into Kira Kira’s operation. Unlike you, who couldn’t even properly remember when you’ve heard the other day.’

*

‘The mall is going to close in fifteen minutes. Mind the time, Yagami-san!’

‘Thank you, sir. Leaving soon!’

‘The mall is going to close in fifteen minutes. Mind the time, Lawliet-san!’

‘Thanks.’

The security guard walked away while Light wiped the last water droplet off the coffee funnel. After placing both the cloth and the funnel back to their usual places, he took off his apron and grabbed his belongings, preparing to leave.

Save for the very rare days when he enjoyed a holiday, he was always the last to leave. The third floor of the Heartbeat shopping mall was almost totally silent and empty.

Except for The Enemy, the perpetual pest, of course.

Though L was acting strange. He strode out of Wammy’s, walking quickly but also deliberately keeping quiet, eyes scanning for something. He kept putting a hand behind one of his ears while circulating Wammy’s, but Light did not understand what he could be listening for—they were the only two people on the third floor now, and the faint rustling sounds they made certainly did not deserve special attention.

Apparently L did not find what he wanted to, because when he emerged from the back of Wammy’s again, he was actually heading for the other coffee shop, a most suspicious expression on his face.

Light hastened to block him when he was deemed too near Kira Kira Café. ‘What do you want?’ Light asked, clearly not welcoming the trespasser.

L blinked at the question. After looking around and then trying to stare behind Light (who tried his best to prevent that), he finally spoke. ‘Didn’t you hear anything?’

Despite looking somewhat serious, this guy was utterly full of crap. ‘I only heard whatever sounds you’ve been making.’ Light folded his arms and straightened himself, hoping he came off as intimidating. ‘And?’

L stared and looked around again, but to no avail. ‘Nothing.’ He finally deadpanned and returned to Wammy’s.

Now it was Light’s turn to become suspicious. He paid extra attention to L’s movement at the same time as he prepared to leave, but nothing happened.

L was also leaving. He usually left at the same time as Light—just before the security guard locked the mall entrances. Light had the nagging suspicion that L sometimes hid and slept in the mall at night, but he never had any proof. He just did his best to make sure L could not break into Kira Kira without him finding out (which was a difficult task because both cafés did not have doors or walls, but he had many tricks in his pocket).

L leaving the building meant Light did not have to worry about being sabotaged, but it did not automatically make his way home more enjoyable.

Even today, he still could not fathom what unkind deity could possibly make him and L Lawliet not just operate competing businesses next to each other, but also live on the same floor in the same building. Exasperation at divine nastiness was a loyal buddy when they boarded the same orange and green one-decker every night and day, throughout their three-year tenures in Heartbeat.

The two baristas always sat at the back row, one occupying the left-most seat and the other the right-most. The ride was quiet save for the sound of motion. Only a handful of other passengers scattered in the front while an awkward silence filled the air. Light never talked to L and vice versa, each preferring to look at the neon lights and street lights that forced insomnia onto the city.

The ride took less than fifteen minutes. Silence followed their steps off the bus, at the lobby and in the lift. As the door to the lift opened, they walked towards their respective apartment along the narrow and straight corridor, salmon pink ceramic tiles dull and fatigued under pale lighting.

Light stopped in front of the second closest door to the lift, opening his bag for the keys. L passed him without saying a word.

‘Hope you sleep well tonight…’ Light’s murmur was soft and sudden, but certainly loud enough to be heard.

L looked over his shoulders.

‘…so that you won’t hallucinate non-existent voices again. Watching you do that pains me so.’ Light made sure L was looking at him before flashing a scornful smile.

‘Or maybe you’ll develop better sensitivity overnight. Difficult task, I know, but senses are essential for making passable coffee. Unlike pain, which you seem partial to but is actually useless.’ The retort was quick and L did not even put up an expression. Instead, a staring match was declared and sharp, pitch-black eyes were fixed on dark brown, almond ones.

The match was intense but short-lived. A few seconds later, Light plucked out his keys and proceeded to open the door, while L resumed the way to his apartment. Both knew to preserve their strength for the next contest because their rivalry had lasted day and night and stretched from Heartbeat to home.

If they did not win this round of sparring, there would always be another one the next night. After that, they would always board the earliest bus tomorrow and continue fighting with every cup of coffee they made. The feud had trained them well and added flavour—an unorthodox but refreshing spark of spice tinting caffeinated lives with crimson. Every night they closed their eyes to rest, they had the vision of defeating each other next day to look forward to.

But they would not be looking forward to that a month from now. Competition was now not just a game in their daily routine, but a battle of survival.

*

‘You know what? As much as you boast your knowledge of coffee to every customer, you only ever serve yourself affogato. It’s like you’re just going after the ice cream instead of the coffee. You even went for a second scoop today without the drink.’

No response was unforthcoming, only a stare.

‘I just find it hypocritical that you open a café, yet you seem not very interested in your own coffee. Skills can’t make a barista great without passion. Why don’t you open an ice cream parlour instead?’

‘It sounds like you live off coffee alone. I thought one’d die with that, but I’m obviously ignorant of alien biology.’

‘Who…’

‘And your observation skills are simply excellent. We’ve just been neighbours for three days and you already conclude that I like ice cream more than coffee. In fact, I’m just experimenting making ice cream with Wammy’s own coffee. I haven’t even eaten anything except affogato these days.’

‘…’

‘Coffee to you is just coffee, but to me it can live in anything. Revise your slogan. Passion can’t make a barista great without imagination.’

*

Under the enthusiasm (read: pressure) of the two café owners, Matsuda and Ide visited two more times and acquired more than enough materials to write in the Life section of Investigation a series of articles which, spinning the angle of competition, were actually just introducing Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner to the readership. Though unskilled in masquerading themselves, the pair proved to be proficient journalists. Their appeal to ‘visit the cafés and choose the winner yourself, dear reader’ worked—three weeks saw a noteworthy increase in the customer toll of both shops.

The scythe awaited the losing shop in one week’s time, and tension and anxiety shrouded all staff members of both sides. Even without prompting, all full-time staff had opted to take no leave before they could be certain of their café’s fate. Light began to have bizarre dreams of first-class Robusta coffee beans seeking a job in employment agencies or begging for money with a coffee cup on the street.

He wondered whether his arch-enemy from Wammy’s was as dedicated to the welfare of coffee beans in his dreams, but L might not even have time for sleep these days. The number of nights Light suspected L of staying at the mall overnight had increased drastically. For nearly every day in the last two weeks, L would disappear right after the security guard’s cue call and not be seen in the last bus at night. He would also mysteriously appear at a very early time next morning without having been in the first bus, the size of his eye bags suggesting that he had slept very little or not at all. Was he hiding at Wammy’s at night, using the time when no one was in Heartbeat to invent some ‘secret weapon’ recipe?

Last night was another one like this and Light’s solitary journey to and from home was imbued with the apprehension of not knowing what L was up to. The feeling did not abate while Light, arriving at Kira Kira in the next morning just five minutes after the mall was unlocked, found L already hunched up in one of Wammy’s sofas, inspecting something tiny between his thumb and index finger.

Apprehension turned to dread as Light neared the barista station that he covered with a red cloth before leaving. One look sufficed to tell him that the creases on the cloth were different. Different from what he especially arranged every night before leaving, and different in a way that could only be caused by a human. Dread burst into scorching rage at the implication, pushing an incensed Light into Wammy’s Coffee Corner without thinking.

It was so early in the morning and no one except L was at the café, so Light found himself standing in the middle of enemy territory in no time.

L seemed to take no offense at his nemesis butting in without invitation, which in Light’s eyes confirmed his guilt. But when Light tried to grab his white, round necked T-shirt in a fit of anger, he slapped the hand away and growled threateningly.

‘I don’t know how you know, but you clearly deduced that someone has entered your shop last night after you left.’ L said, standing up and moving defensively while Light scuttled left and right for a chance to strike again. ‘And you’ve somehow decided that it was me.’

Light took two more small steps, and then halted. ‘And you’re going to deny it like the liar you are, saying that I have no proof.’ The venom in his voice might be alarming, but Light did not motion further because what he just said was technically true. That L had stayed overnight was his suspicion. Though the older barista definitely had motivation to sabotage Kira Kira, he obviously would not be stupid enough to give himself away, and Light would have to find out on his own what the other man had done. ‘You better not let me find the proof, then. Sorry for disturbing.’ Light turned away tensely, without meaning his apology.

‘The culprit did not have time to do anything, because I chased him away before he could.’

Light swung back angrily at the implication of L’s words. ‘So you admit you were here last night!’

‘And why do you think I’m admitting this to you?’

‘You somehow want to win my trust, but fabricating a trespasser is hardly believable enough to achieve what you want.’

‘Ah, but there’s not an ounce of trust in you. You’re as pressed out as the coffee beans in an espresso machine.’

Light began indignantly but L continued despite that. ‘I wouldn’t fabricate an unbelievable tale because I know it wouldn’t work. I’m only saying this because it’s the truth. I have two more things to say. The second thing is that I invite you to stay behind, starting tonight. I believe the person may come back within this week, maybe on this very night.’

‘… What? And you said “second”?’

‘The first thing is that I invite you to look at this.’ L handed Light what he was keeping in his palm all this while.

*

‘I don’t know whether I should wish that you and Keehl would make peace or wish you be rid of him. I’ve never had this problem so I don’t really understand the hardship when even your staff doesn’t agree with the way you make coffee.’

‘I don’t really understand the happiness of having to running a bunch of drooling puppets around oneself either. But I guess some people just need constant admiration from blind followers.’

‘Will you lose your voice without spitting insult on innocent people? Everyone now working full-time at Kira Kira has all been my faithful customers at one time! My staff admire me because they appreciate my coffee! Yours can’t even be paid to praise your lousy drinks.’

‘Well, if you must know, all of my full-time staff have actually been Mr Wammy’s protégés and I’m training them to open their own coffee shops one day, to spread Mr Wammy’s coffee philosophy post-mortem. Dissonance is encouraged because it helps them learn and I don’t need the world to revolve around me. And anyway, once they give their idea more thought and taste, they’ll finally realise that I’m right.’

‘… you don’t need the world to revolve around you but “they’ll finally realise that I’m right”… very convincing, absolutely inspirational…’

‘… pot calling kettle black…’

*

Light’s feet trembled slightly as they touched the vinyl flooring without the protection of shoe soles. Wearing just socks in a public area made Light feel more exposed than he actually was, and he could not help but doubt his decision to stay at the mall overnight with L.

‘Don’t give me that face. We need to be as quiet as possible as we move and your boots are too loud. Wear shoes with rubber soles next time.’

As if he could have predicted this when he chose his footwear in the morning. And as if there would be a next time.

L had studied the blind spots of the mall’s surveillance cameras and the security guard’s routines very well. Working together, the two men successfully stole two spare keys from the large set in the security office and hid in the female restroom opposite it (they knew no female guard was on duty today and decided that it was the best strategic position).

Technically, they only had to wait until all security guards locked and left the building. Guards were only stationed outside the mall at night, and when the morning came, nobody would have the interest to check the surveillance feed inside unless there was any complaint about unexplained lost or damage of property.

But something was clearly different tonight.

‘You’re right.’ Light hardly believed that such words could come out from his own mouth. Opening the restroom door very slightly, Light observed the movement—or lack thereof—outside. ‘The last guard should have left already, but he didn’t. What’s he doing in the security office?’

‘Bidding for time. And if I assume correctly, he’ll probably switch off all surveillance cameras soon. Maybe he already did, so as not to leave any evidence of his activity. I’m pretty sure the feed was switched off last night, or he would have known it was me who scared him away with those card boxes near the boutique, but he didn’t pay attention to me today, and was just generally jumpy instead. He probably thinks that “accidentally” switching off the feed for one or two nights is a much less serious crime than there being evidence of him actually sabotaging Heartbeat’s shops.’

‘But why would he do that? So now you’re not totally lying, but I still don’t see why a security guard would have motive to harm a coffee shop.’

‘Two coffee shops, I believe.’

‘Whatever. If your theory is true then it’s just…’

‘We’ll find out when we catch him in action.’

L gripped at the cufflink in his palm—the same one that he asked Light to inspect in the morning. According to L, since the time he heard odd noises before the mall closed, he had tried to stay inside at night as often as he could, hiding in a restroom from which he could detect suspicious movement around the café area, certain that Light Yagami and his cronies were plotting to strike when no one was watching over Wammy’s. Last night was not any different.

Light first scoffed at the idea that he might do something underhanded at night (how distrustful must L have been to suspect such a baseless theory?), then balked when he heard about L hiding in a restroom, and was now trying hard to ignore the irony of himself doing the exact same thing.

L’s wait had not been fruitless, but he was surprised to recognise the outline of the security uniform under the dim moonlight from the window, and even more so when the approaching person did not enter Wammy’s Coffee Corner but Kira Kira Café.

In Light’s opinion, the most dubious part in L’s story was that L, upon the ‘instinct that the trespasser was up to no good’, decided to distract the security guard by overthrowing a pile of card boxes just outside the restroom. L claimed that he assumed the guard would come to inspect what happened and planned to ambush him then, but the man was frightened away instead, and did not emerge to tidy up the card boxes until Heartbeat was ‘officially open’ again. Near a chair in Kira Kira, L discovered a cufflink that belonged to a security uniform, confirming the identity of the trespasser who had nearly tripped at the exact same spot when he ran away.

‘The good news is, if he’s that weak-kneed and clumsy, it probably won’t be that difficult to get the truth out of him, once we catch him guilty on spot.’ L concluded when he finished his tale.

Light remembered being unsure whether he should believe L. ‘… let’s say that you’re telling the truth and that he’ll really try whatever he wanted to try again tonight… why would you “invite” me?’

But for some inexplicable reason, he remembered the answer that followed even more.

‘Because you’re already making a fuss.’ L continued before Light could complain. ‘Because you’re actually not the enemy this time. And because I know you would care and work with me to stop the ploy. Because you don’t make coffee for your little sister every day and get sick in France for a security guard to harm Kira Kira Café.’

Light remembered being speechless at this explanation.

Though, at the same time, he was not that surprised. Just as L picked up on who Light Yagami was from their nightly bickering, Light also understood why L would react so drastically towards any possible threat to Heartbeat’s cafés. Because L needed coffee to honour the man who raised him. Because he cockily believed that his coffee was the embodiment of perfection (like Light). And because he had devoted his life, spirit and soul to his café (also like Light).

Light understood perfectly.

He was brought back to reality by the opening of the security office’s door. He signalled to L and the game was back on.

*

EXCLUSIVE:

HEARTBEAT CONSPIRACY

Why is the Yotsuba Corporation poisoning everyone’s favourite coffee shops?

Loyal readers of Investigation would have been aware of the ongoing epic battle between Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner in the Heartbeat shopping complex—the war where only one can survive! Everyone in the city all have our idea of which café should stay after Heartbeat’s revamp, and are eagerly awaiting the Yotsuba Corporation to announce the final winner!

But what if Yotsuba does not intend there to be a winner at all?

In a bold midnight excursion, the owners of the two popular coffee shops uncovered the corporate giant’s egregious attempt to disgrace and oust both shops from the mall without incurring public backlash! Through employing a security guard!

Shocking? Yes! Preposterous? Well, we may not have believed it ourselves if we haven’t been there and seen it with our own eyes! Luckily, the café owners are as brilliant as the espressos and cold brews they make, and have actually asked us to be witnesses beforehand!

So this is it! The revelation of the Yotsuba Conspiracy! Brought to you first-hand by your faithful Investigators, Touta Matsuda and Hideki Ide!

…

Receiving Lawliet-san’s signal, we evaded the outside guards (who, unlike the inside one, were innocent, as far as we know!) and entered Heartbeat. One of the locked entrances was already opened for us, and we soon stationed at a safe spot on the third floor.

…

And it began! Unaware that everything he did was observed by FOUR pair of scrutinising eyes, the security guard unscrewed the pipe connecting to Wammy’s Coffee Corner’s espresso machine, pulled out a small packet and began to pour the content into the pipe!

Having the evidence of crime safely recorded by the Investigators’ superb night vision camera, it was time to reveal ourselves! Look at the security guard’s face when he saw light coming out from two other torches, and the two coffee shop heroes standing right behind it!

…

It took little to persuade the culprit to tell the truth. According to him, the Yotsuba Corporation regretted its announcement to keep one café operating and wanted its new bistro, which would be directly run by Yotsuba and was considered a project of utmost importance, to be the sole premise offering food and drinks in Heartbeat.

But by that time, Kira Kira vs. Wammy’s had already attracted much public attention thanks to Investigation, and the management thought it unwise to disclose its intention without a better excuse. Therefore, they bribed the security guard to taint both coffee shops’ water. When coffee lovers complained of food poisoning, Yotsuba would have the best reason in the world to expel Kira Kira and Wammy’s from Heartbeat!

In tears, Kurou Otoharada said he regretted accepting Yotsuba’s bribe and kneeled in front of Lawliet-san and Yagami-san to ask for their forgiveness. (Though Yagami-san was too busy putting on his shoes back to reply.) Otoharada also claimed to possess evidence that would prove Yotsuba’s guilt.

…

The Yotsuba Corporation had declined comment as of publication.

*

Weeks after Matsuda and Ide’s article scandalised the whole town, Light and L boarded the bus with satisfaction under a clear night sky. They had just ended a negotiation with the Yotsuba management and would soon see a considerable sum of money deposited in their bank accounts. They had agreed to settle out of court since they considered the damage to Yotsuba’s public reputation brought by Investigation’s report as sufficient revenge. The money would also allow each of them to open a bigger coffee shop at a better location.

Both Kira Kira Café and Wammy’s Coffee Corner were going to leave Heartbeat once and for all.

Light had been extremely amused during the negotiation, when one of Yotsuba’s men in suit offered a permanent waiver of rent as part of their compensation.

‘You really thought I’d been fighting this hard because I was scared of leaving your dingy mall?’ He snorted. ‘Kira Kira could have opened and succeeded brilliantly anywhere, anytime. I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing.’

Losing to Wammy’s when they had been rivals for three long and hard years had been unacceptable. But the contest had ended abruptly, without either of them becoming a clear winner or loser.

The funny thing was that they seemed to have learnt and understood a great deal about each other during their rivalry. His cold brew recipe was still a top business secret, while L’s espresso machine was still non-replicable, but otherwise their competitiveness had brought them close.

If they would look at each other’s way, the distance between the one-decker’s left most and right-most seats was in fact minimal. They would have been able to see the all of each other clearly.

But even tonight, the journey on the bus still ended in familiar silence. The wait in the lobby and in the lift was equally reticent. L and Light walked shoulder-to-shoulder, mutely, on the corridor until the latter stopped at the second door nearest the lift.

Light remained quiet. They probably would not open a coffee shop next to each other anymore. They would not compete anymore. There was no point in throwing verbal jabs anymore. Dedicated to their work as they were, they might not even see each other in this corridor often from now.

Something always disappeared along with the end of one of life’s chapters, did it not?

But he made the wrong decision of wearing his bag on the left shoulder tonight, so when he turned left, he could not help but include L in his vision, and the strangely receptive man immediately glimpsed back.

Now this was awkward. Did they really have to talk? Why did he choose to wear his bag on the left?

Silence pervaded as Light chose his words carefully, but L was one step ahead.

‘Now can I finally get a taste of that cold brew? Maybe I’ll finally figure out how to make it after tasting.’

Light did not expect that. ‘What?’ His first reply was not very sophisticated, and he quickly remedied that by adding, ‘I’m sure my cold brew isn’t something you can “figure out” just by tasting it. I’m interested in why you’d ask that, though. Oh!’ His voice became a little loftier. ‘Maybe it’s because your espresso tastes like metal and can help me work out the secret of your magic machine?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. My espresso doesn’t make people think of machines.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re the dense one who just made an absurd proposal.’

‘I just tried to say something different now that the situation has changed. Do you prefer that we be rude to each other even now? After resolving our rivalry and even going through a semi-alliance?’

‘But what you said is still rude. Try again.’

Light found it easy slip into the familiar rhythm of banter, but he was also curious what L would do next. It was even a little amusing to watch L looking challenged by the task of saying something ‘not rude’.

Finally, L blinked and his expression cleared. ‘Goodnight, then.’

He actually seemed proud of what he came up with, and Light could not resist laughter any longer. His voice exploded in the quietude of the night. He tried to stop, but ‘… lame…’ was all he managed to say before mirth took control.

‘Now who is rude?’

‘… Well… haha… well… I guess I’m sorry, then.’ L was not at all convinced when Light still could not erase the wicked smile throughout his ‘apology’.

Light took a deep breath. For some reason, even though the day had mostly gone well for him, he only felt the most relaxed now. The unexpected shot of cheeriness lifted his heart and made him fly.

When he spoke again, his smile was softer, more sincere. ‘Indeed, we’ve been rude to each other for so long, and even the most normal greeting sounds like an improvement.’

Maybe they would board the bus together again. Or the train. Or a taxi? Or they could just invite each other for coffee, if they wanted to.

Coffee never made itself. It needed great baristas like Light Yagami and L Lawliet.

‘Goodnight.’

—Hear, Heart, the Beat of Goodnight—

[elisaminimeneghini]

FATE #RTT2020 Ep. 10 (last ep!)

In which we see the Carpiano international junior meet and the Bern Junior Euro competition from the italian juniors point of view. Interesting to know the behind the scenes of those moments, and the impact they had on these girls. Translation below the cut!

Sara Berardinelli: The week before leaving for Euros in Bern, Enrico (Casella) invited two Italian teams to take part in an international meet in Carpiano. The competing teams were Italy A, Italy B, Germany, and Great Britain. It was a very important meet in order to be called to compete at Euros. I did the best I could but unfortunately I had a fall on beam. Despite this mistake, I showed I was ready on the other 3 events to go and play my role at Bern Euros.

Martina Maggio: During this meet, in the Italy A team we made a lot of mistakes because we weren’t precise, but at Euros we made up for that.

Noemi Linari: About my performance, I especially remember my beam routine because it was the first time I did my new combo, roundoff-layout. I also did my new UB routine but I had a fall.

Elisa Iorio: Despite being the youngest, we managed to beat Italy A, and we were very happy.

Martina Maggio: At this meet I brought my DTY on VT and the triple twist on FX for the first time, and I ended up in third place AA.

Benedetta Ciammarughi: The day I found out I would represent Italy at the international meet I was super happy. The competition went well, except for some stupid mistakes I made! But I was happy with the result.

Asia D’Amato: It was the first time we wore the Italian team leotard. We were very happy but also very scared, and like Elisa said, we managed to beat Italy A and we were really satisfied. As for my personal performance, I brought the triple twist on floor but I fell on it.

Elisa Iorio: I remember my UB routine. In Jesolo I had had a fall, but this time I did it correctly and I got a very good score.

Giorgia Villa: I was very happy because I ended up in second place AA.

Noemi Linari: Do you guys remember the Carpiano banquet?

Martina Maggio: Before the competition, the staff of the Carpiano meet took us to this beautiful castle, where the people welcomed us with applauses. When we got there we were taken to a beautiful room and do you remember what we ate?

Giorgia Villa: We had a weird kind of risotto, with onions, apples, and artichokes. Before the risotto, they were serving a big buffet in another room.

Martina Maggio: For dessert, there were two kinds of cake: pie and chocolate cake.

Elisa Iorio: ...seriously?

Giorgia Villa: No! We ate the one with custard and strawberries! What are you talking about?? Chocolate??

Martina Maggio: Whatever, we DID eat cake!

TWO WEEKS LATER...

BERN EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIPS

Noemi Linari: Two days before leaving for Bern Euros, Enrico revealed the team. Packing with all the other girls was really exciting because it was a new experience we would share together with the seniors, something we had never done before. And I was also happy that I would be meeting other gymnasts, older than me, that were my idols when I was a child.

Sara Berardinelli: Enrico didn’t really call us to say the names of the gymnasts who made the team.

Martina Maggio: But he called Caterina (Cereghetti) and Giulia (Bencini) to talk and when they came out they were crying, so that’s when we realized we were on the team.

Sara Berardinelli: At that moment I called my whole family to inform them and they were happy and I was over the moon.

Maria Vittoria Cocciolo: I had just got off bars, and Asia D’Amato came close to me and she said “are you happy about making the team?” and I didn’t know anything but I said “yeahhhh, thank you so much!”

Noemi Linari: During PT, we went up on bars and I had a fall on my turn in L grip, but everything else went pretty well team-wise. Then after PT we had a lighter training session.

Martina Maggio: On the day of the competition, we had breakfast and then we went to do some conditioning in the gym, just one hour to wake up the muscles, then we went back to the hotel. After lunch, we got ready because at 4 pm we had to go to the warm-up hall. We warmed up and each team had 7.5 mins to warm up. Then we went in the competition arena for touch warmup. On bars, first up was Martina Basile and she did a beautiful routine for which she got a high score.

Noemi Linari: In qualifications, bars didn’t go well for me because I fell twice. But I still managed to make AA final, so I was happy that I could try and do my best there.

Martina Maggio: Third up was Sara, who did a good routine and got a good score as well. And last I went up and messed up haha. I fell on my second release, the Ricna, but apart from that the rest was ok I guess. Then we moved on to beam where I didn’t compete because of my foot. But we did some good routines because falls aside they were very clean. On floor we got some low scores because we weren’t used to this podium and we were rebounding a lot. But then we did really well on VT instead. We did our saltos and they were very clean so we got high scores. We were hoping we could make top 3, but we had too many falls. And 4th place stings a bit, but since this was our first European championship we can say we are satisfied anyway.

Noemi Linari: We were happy but we were also a bit sad about what could have been.

Martina Basile: Because this was our first Euros, the placement we got was very good so I’m very happy.

Martina Maggio: Enrico decided not to have me do beam for my foot problems, but I made VT final and for now I’m in third place (this was filmed right after quals apparently). On VT I will do two saltos, the first will be a DTY, and the second will be the 1.5.

Maria Vittoria Cocciolo: ...are you sure?

Martina Maggio: Oops that’s not correct!!!

Martina Basile: I was super emotional because I didn’t expect I’d win medals. Not one, and most certainly not two!

Noemi Linari: Marco (Campodonico, coach) had told me to warm up for this FX final. I was in the small gym, but Enrico had told me that there was another Romanian gymnast who was first reserve before me, so to be honest I had lost hope of competing in this final. So I went among the audience to watch the award ceremony for VT and BB. And that’s when I found out that the Romanian girl who was supposed to compete on FX had got injured on beam! Marco came running to me and he was super mad, he took me by the arm and shouted “you were supposed to warm up in the small gym!”. So in 10 minutes I warmed up as best as I could and when I got on the competition floor I was super nervous! I ended up in 4th place, just one tenth away from 3rd, and I was happy but also a bit annoyed for what could have been. It was a really great experience!

Martina Maggio’s mom: When we arrived in Bern, after a couple of days of training, they told Martina that she couldn’t do all events. She called us crying because she couldn’t compete her beloved beam. We tried to make her understand that things just happen, and that you have to try and do your best in what you can do. She did qualifications and she made VT finals. And that’s when I remembered Martina’s first vault ever. She was such a tiny girl, a flea really, she goes for her first vault and instead of saluting the judges, she turns around and salutes the audience. Everyone started laughing, even her coach, and that’s when she decided that this was her sport and it was a full commitment.

Martina Maggio: Before VT finals I was very anxious because I knew that if I did my vaults correctly I could get high in the ranking. After my second vault I waited anxiously for the score and when I saw on the monitor that I had won, I was super happy. The first thing I did was hug Martina (Basile), because she medaled as well. And the second thing was looking at my granddad in the audience with the Italian flag that was jumping for joy, and my dad and all of my family being extremely happy. When the award ceremony began and we got in front of the podium, I told Martina to look up because our parents and teammates were holding flags and laughing because they were happy for us. Being on the podium with Martina was a big emotion because we were also roommates for 5 days, we told each other a lot of things and we understood each other. When I saw the flag go up, and I realized I was on the highest step of the podium it was beautiful, too big an emotion to be described with words. When I heard the anthem and I saw everyone standing up, it was one of the most beautiful and emotional moments of my life.

Martina Maggio’s mom: She knows we will always be there for her, in the good times and I can’t even say the bad ones, because there are no bad moments in this sport. But no matter what happens, she always only ever did what she wanted to.

[kyuu-rereads-umineko]

Ep5, Chapter 14 (Part 2) & 15

It’s been four months, let’s get back to this. I think I can get through the rest of this okay.

...WHO AM I KIDDING NO I CAN’T AAAAAAAAA

“A plea bargain. If you acknowledge that Krauss is the culprit, Erika will suspend her pursuit with regards to Natsuhi.” bernkastel really is true neutral right

Beato hesitates, and Natsuhi rejects the offer entirely. Bern points out that if Beato loses here - if Natsuhi’s found guilty - then she’s as good as dead.

Ronove and Gaap argue that, since Bern and Lambda are really just bored and want to be entertained, it’d be in Beato’s best interests to concede and put the blame on Krauss, while Beato refuses to abandon this kakera’s Natsuhi. 

“I won’t abandon her! Even if everyone believes that Natsuhi is the culprit, I will still claim that I, the witch, am the culprit...!! If I can’t even make that claim, my existence isn’t worth anything...!!” Maybe I’m reading into this too much, seeing as this is coming from Natsuhi’s piece-Beato instead of Yasu-Beato, but... This is really sad and painful to read.

Beato boldly proclaims that Krauss isn’t the culprit, and Bern responds in red: “Ushiromiya Krauss is not the culprit. And he was killed long ago, shortly after you heard his voice over the phone, get it?” jeez lion is absolutely ruthless in ep5. I’m really curious as to what Land of the Golden Witch’s version of Lion/Yasu as the man from 19 years ago would’ve been like...

“[Natsuhi] had now lost her daughter and husband... and everything she had gained since marrying into the Ushiromiya family.”

While the circumstances are obviously different - Yasu didn’t marry into the family, and she didn’t have children - it occurs to me that in a lot of ways, Natsuhi is a “parallel” of Yasu herself. 

I mean, just off the top of my head... They both get “shabby form” or some such used against them at some point or another, they both have some sort of physical problem preventing them from having children (though it’s temporary and of a far lesser magnitude for Natsuhi), they’ve both “lost everything,” they’re both reliant on magic and mental gymnastics to keep themselves going day by day, they’ve both got issues (again, of differing severities) regarding Kinzo...

“Even wrapped up in so much sadness... Natsuhi would do all she could to protect [the family’s] honour... With this final bit of strength...” ...and while their goals are very different, I feel like there’s a parallel to draw between Natsuhi here and Yasu putting such a dedicated effort into her murder setups, despite how overwhelmed with grief they are.

And with that, everyone except Natsuhi has an alibi for the first twilight, leaving her as the only possible suspect...

Lambda proclaims that Natsuhi is responsible for the murders of the first twilight, and Bern says, “Let me add something. Due to circumstantial evidence, include the murder of Krauss.” TRUE NEUokay i’ll stop now

“From this point onward, the defendant will be treated as the true culprit.”

Lambda also denies Beato’s existence... oh noooo

“Even if her alibi is not proven... I will believe in Natsuhi’s innocence!! No matter how much you try to pin your fake truth on her!!” Thinking about it, this is indicative of how Beato and Battler are playing into each other’s character development, isn’t it? We just had Battler declare that he’d believe in Natsuhi no matter what, and now Beato’s saying the same thing. The two of them have more in common than either of them realize.

“The truth is known only by the master of the night on this island, Beatrice the Golden. I am Ushiromiya Natsuhi! Now that my husband has passed away, I am the head of the Ushiromiya family!!” natsuhi...

Natsuhi repeats her claim that Kinzo said she has the One-Winged Eagle engraved into her heart, and Bern says she’ll leave one last red truth as a parting gift. Beato immediately catches on and begs her not to...

“Natsuhi. When did Kinzo ever say it was okay for you to engrave the One-Winged Eagle into your heart? [...] You know, the real Kinzo... Not once in his entire life did he ever trust you from the bottom of his heart, and not once did he ever consider letting you bear the family crest!” Kinzo stands up and shouts at Natsuhi not to listen...

“The real Kinzo wouldn’t say that. Disappear. You, the illusion of Kinzo inside Natsuhi’s mind, beautified by her to suit her own purposes.” MAGIC 101

In hindsight, though, this is really painfully obvious. The scenes with Natsuhi & co. on the board in Ep5 are framed similarly (imo at least) to Ange & the Stakes in Ep4, which is also paralleled in piece!Beato ruthlessly erasing Gaap after returning to the study (when Battler fails his test). Bernkastel’s flat-out explained what magic is. She’s done it in a completely loveless manner, of course, but it’s still right there.

“Some last, faint element that had cheered her up until today, that had allowed her to endure as an Ushiromiya, as the wife to the head’s representative... and as the final family head... had been torn to bits.” Again, I’m reminded of what happens to Ange and Yasu when they’re cornered and their magic isn’t enough to get them by anymore. They break under the weight of everything, and it’s... really tragic and painful to watch.

The audience applauds, “and so... the ‘truth’ of this tale... was decided.”

And we see the introduction as it takes place, only chronologically this time. Eva starts attacking Natsuhi, and everyone just... stands back and lets it happen.

Everyone except Battler, who tries to intervene only to get brushed aside. I might have ragged on the guy a lot in the past, but Battler is really a good guy. 

Erika intervenes, asking Natsuhi to provide her motive. She screams that she’s innocent, but “because Lambdadelta had acknowledged that the culprit of the tale was Natsuhi and woven it that way, none of the pieces would pay and heed to Natsuhi’s... to ‘the culprit’s’ words...”

Beato faintly appears and screams that she’s the culprit, and Erika denies her existence, because of course she does.

“Goodbye, Beatrice. I made you a witch expecting that you would either become my friend or help distract me from my boredom. And you’ve answered to my expectations... The second one, that is.”

Oooh, I’d completely forgotten this exchange. Beato proclaims that she’s still a witch, “even if Lady Lambdadelta doesn’t acknowledge it,” and Lambda replies that Beato “wouldn’t even be capable of believing that” if it weren’t for her assistance in the first place. That’s right, Lambda acknowledged Yasu’s catbox and allowed her to ascend to the Meta-World as Beatrice, didn’t she?

Beato’s thrown to the crowd of goats so they can devour her, but Dlanor intervenes. 

“My apologies, but I have something to SAY. There is someone who has an objection to this RULING. His name is... Ushiromiya Battler.”

Battler’s at a loss, and Dlanor says, “There is nothing that is not healed with TIME. And there is no truth that cannot be reached if you spend enough time SEARCHING.” GO BATTLER

...Oh yeah, she immediately points out that the time limit for the trial is almost out. NO BATTLER

“...I have no plan. I don’t know the truth. However... If I don’t jump in now, I won’t get another chance to fight...”

“Begin, Battler!! Ready to let those goats turn you into a pile of meat along with your beloved Beatrice?!” something someth-

“Oh, and I’ll mix the leftovers from your precious sister into that pile.” BERN BEAT ME TO IT

Battler tries frantically to penetrate Erika’s seals somehow (lol duct tape), but since he doesn’t have an actual explanation, it doesn’t amount to anything.

“...Do you have any chance of winning...?” “...I left it at home. Mind if I go back and get it?” even in circumstances like this

“I promised that I’d kill you. So I won’t let anyone else do it. I’ll definitely keep that promise...!!” battler

Beato, of course, immediately calls BS, and Battler’s confused as to what she could be talking about. It’s easy to lose in the atmosphere and tension of the proceedings, but that’s definitely a big clue as to the nature of Battler’s sin, huh?

“Heh... After hearing you say that, hell might not be so bad. [...] Kill us! Bernkastel, Lambdadelta...!!” And Beato sobs and laughs hysterically. I really wonder - How much does this piece Beato actually know? Is the “truth” she doesn’t know just who the culprit of Ep5′s gameboard is? Is it the truth - the heart - of Umineko’s gameboard as a whole (i.e. Yasu)? I certainly thought it was the latter, but with lines like this... I’m not sure.

Battler frantically starts throwing out completely invalid blue truths, which Dlanor & co. effortlessly cut down since they violate either previous red truths or Knox’s Decalogue. Battler... 

“Erika didn’t personally examine the corpses, right?! It should be possible for people who aren’t the detective to make a mistake when examining the corpses!!” Cornelia replies, “Know that no examination of the corpses could have been mistaken!” 

This wordplay is one of the meanest parts of Ep5, in my opinion. While the red is carefully worded to avoid saying that the victims of the first twilight are already “corpses” when they’re found, it’s certainly implicit, especially this line here, from Beato earlier in the Ep: “At a glance, anyone could confirm that these corpses are dead, so it is absolutely impossible that they are just people playing dead.” It’s hard to see a way around that, unless you already know what the trick is!

Beato asks Battler to stop, and let the two of them die together. “I don’t... want to see Beato like this...”

“Her majesty as the ruler of the Golden Land... her enthusiasm as my rival... are completely gone. She’s just a pitiful woman who’s been trampled over and who has last all hope, with tears streaming down her face and a tragic smile that I can’t bear to look at...” Beato...

Battler resigns himself to oblivion by using his trump card, hoping that someone will eventually show up who’s able to break through Erika’s truth. “Well... it looks like I’ll have to break my promise to kill you after all.”

Beato begs Battler not to do it, and to let the two of them die together. I’d forgotten this...

The music kicks back into high gear, and... “Ushiromiya Natsuhi is not the culprit!!!”

Only to stop immediately. “Knox’s 2nd. It is forbidden for supernatural agencies to be employed as a detective technique.”

“See...? Real truth... is a very fragile thing. ...Does real truth exist...? And is it necessary...?”

Dlanor asks Battler to either prove his statement, or it’s over. “Then... goodbye. ...Sorry, Beato.”

“...Don’t say that. Thanks for sticking around with me. ...It was such a blood-stained tale... but it was fun...”

And so Battler gets skewered by the giant longsword, and Beato vanishes.

Back on the board, Erika’s about to lay out Natsuhi’s motive. i... am not ready for this.........

She explains that Natsuhi was basically forced to marry into the Ushiromiya family, and uses Natsuhi’s old diaries to support it. Natsuhi concedes that while she did resent the family as a result before, Krauss’s support eventually changed her mind. Erika argues that she didn’t accept Krauss’s feelings, since there’s a passage to that effect in one of the diaries.

“D... Does anyone need evidence to say they’re in love...?!”

Erika says. “Statements that aren’t red don’t count as evidence at all, and they can’t be trusted at all! All non-red letters are falsehoods that exist to deceive me!!” That’s pretty telling, isn’t it?

Similar to Eva’s diary in Ep8, it’s mentioned that Natsuhi’s diaries don’t exist for the purpose of describing her true feelings, but for catharsis - she wrote down what happened and how she felt at the time so she could let go of those emotions and move on. I dunno if that’s an intentional parallel, but it’s an interesting one.

Everyone accepts Erika’s reasoning, though Battler still hesitantly asks if Natsuhi’s really the culprit. Erika says there’s one other person it could be - Kinzo.

Erika says she’s got more than enough evidence to provide a motive for Kinzo. I’m curious as to what that motive would be, tbh... Assuming it’s not “ceremony to revive Beatrice.”

Natsuhi, of course, rejects Erika’s proposition entirely. “If they were going to call her the culprit... she would let them.”

“I think... Truth is a fleeting thing. Even if I am a good person until my death... If some heartless person after my death overwrites the records and says that I wasn’t a good person, and if that is shared with everyone else... Then even all the goodness in which I lived my life will be overwritten easily.”

Back in the cathedral, the witches and Natsuhi are the only ones left. Even though everyone there knows Kinzo’s dead already via red truth, Bern still wants to force Natsuhi to admit it herself. oh no...........

“Lambda. I’m going to make Kinzo’s location from 24:00 until the morning absolutely clear. From 24:00 until morning, Kinzo stayed in the same room.”

She also adds that Kinzo doesn’t exist outside the mansion, because lol detective’s authority (aka Erika couldn’t find any trace of him outside).

On the board, Erika lays out that they’ve searched everywhere in-depth except the second floor. Bern elevates that to red, saying “The only place Kinzo could possibly exist is the second floor.” 

Erika takes everyone to search the second floor in-depth, starting from one end and checking every single room, until only Natsuhi’s is left. oh no.........

”Kinzo does not exist anywhere outside Natsuhi’s room!” “In other words, from 24:00 until morning, Kinzo was always holed up in the same room. And that was Natsuhi’s room!”

Bern offers her one last chance to pin the blame on someone else. “Call the Ushiromiya family head a criminal and crush the head’s honour to protect yourself. If you show that you have the guts to do that, I’ll change the plot into one of a tragic heroine taking the blame to protect the family head.”

“During the night, between 24:00 and morning, there exists no place for a living Kinzo to exist except inside your bed. [...] And last night, Natsuhi also slept in that same bed.”

“Blue truth. Therefore, it is suspected that Ushiromiya Natsuhi and Ushiromiya Kinzo had sexual relations with each other. Why else would a man and a woman share the same bed all night long?”

Natsuhi, of course, vehemently denies it. This is really hard to read... Natsuhi...

“By my name as the Game Master, Lambdadelta! I acknowledge that Lady Bernkastel is the victor of this game. ...If anyone has any objections, state your name now!!”

Of course, there are none. Battler’s dead, and Beato & co. have been erased. Bern proceeds to weave a kakera containing the “truth” of the story.

I don’t have a lot to say about the crime outline here. The important additions are 1) that Natsuhi disguised herself as Beatrice to get close to Kinzo, and 2) that Kinzo hid the corpses of the first twilight.

In this kakera, of course, Bernkastel has Natsuhi confess to the crime. Natsuhi...

In the parlour, Natsuhi screams and cries. At this point, even Battler seems to be accepting Erika’s “truth.”

“This is... your revenge, isn’t it...? You, the man from 19 years ago...!!”

“Are you happy now? Has a bit of that pain and suffering you’ve endured for 19 years gone away...?! I finally understand... The reason you’ve cornered me so far... is because you wanted to make me acknowledge that, right...?”

"...I will confess to a murder that occurred 19 years ago.”

And so Natsuhi begins explaining what happened in 1967. Unlike her earlier recollection with Beato & co., the servant carrying baby Lion followed her around.

The two of them arrive at the cliff, and Natsuhi reflects, “If by taking that baby... and throwing it down onto the rocky beach far below me... I could undo it all...”

The servant stumbles, falling against the fence, and Natsuhi commits her sin - when the servant fell against the fence, she reached forward and pushed her away, off the edge of the cliff.

“I didn’t even hear the sound of them crashing to the rocky beach. No, I’m sure I heard it. But because I wanted to think that they’d disappeared... I must have erased that sound from my memory...”

“I must have been wishing that the child would fall from here so much that I just had a daydream...”

Even though Natsuhi reflects on having stolen two lives, she realizes that the baby must still be alive. Well, she’s not wrong - the moment the servant went over the cliff, “Lion” as a possibility was killed.

“Right here, right now, I’ll confess to my crime! I, Ushiromiya Natsuhi... did 19 years ago... push you off a cliff... and try to kill you... But... you didn’t die, did you...”

“For these 19 years... You knew that the one you should have called your mother pushed you off a cliff... and you must have lived a very hate-filled life...”

“How’s that...? Is this enough... for your revenge...? My husband and daughter have been killed!! I’ve been made to look like a murderer... like an adulteress, even... After seeing me living in disgrace like this... Are you satisfied...?!”

Natsuhi breaks down in tears, and Erika callously brushes it off, because of course she does.

“Can you hear me?! You, the cursed child from 19 years ago...!! Are you satisfied now?! You’ve stolen everything from me!! What else could you want?! ...Please, just... forgive me...”

The screen fades to black, and then...

“...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless. ...Yeah. ...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless...”

Natsuhi lets out a short scream, and the credits roll.

[sportinnovation]

A day in the life of Eddie Izzard

They recognise you everywhere and expect you always to be funny. From interview to interview, they whirl you. People tug on your patience, but you never get angry. For a day, we walked in the footprints of Eddie Izzard: comedian, actor, marathon runner, and charity patron.

Aliens, giraffes, and slapping people in the face with fish – it’s half six in the morning and Eddie Izzard is serious.

As he pecks away at a breakfast of sausage and scrambled egg, Eddie digests as much information as possible. In an hour, he will appear on BBC Breakfast to speak about sports volunteering and Join In’s BigHelpOut campaign and he needs the message settled in his head.

Pale blue eyes stare into nothing as he listens to the plan. Seven out of ten sports clubs need more help. We aim to get 10,000 new volunteers by Christmas. Somehow, he must thread these stats seamlessly into his couch-side chatter.

This is not the Eddie Izzard you expect. On screen, he seems frantic and scatty. In person, he is understated, pensive, and particular. Everything is on point. Not a hair on his blond head rests out of place. The eye makeup, suit jacket, tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and handbag all marry tidily.

Fingernails clack on the table. Each is painted burgundy, except for two: a fingernail of Union Jack and another glossed in the flag of Europe. After several minutes, he has digested enough. Eddie is ready. And when he speaks, everything changes.

He goes from studied to theatrical in an instant. Richness comes to his voice. Hands flutter by his face. Like a gymnast on the parallel bars, his rhythm builds. With every passing second, he becomes more fluent. Funnier and funnier – until his speech is alive with 10,000 volunteers, giraffes, the Big Help Out, aliens, and fish-slapped faces. So that is what all the fuss is about.

Portrait of a patron

Indeed, fuss follows Eddie wherever he goes. Even when he’s inside BBC Manchester at half seven in the morning, the buzzing is never far away. There’s a film crew, snappers, campaign managers, pens wittering, and gawking – lots of gawking.

You can measure the madness of his morning by counting his spare moments. In a two-hour period, he spends a minute staring at Boris Johnson on the TV and a few moments skimming the paper. The rest is spent in the eye of a storm, starting with breakfast-time TV.

When the first questions come, he is well prepared – the minutes spent ironing the creases serving him well. This time there is no need to limber. From subject to subject Eddie flits in a blurring 10-minute journey.

He talks greed…

‘I was a kid. You were a kid. You’re greedy. But as you get older, you get this wonderful feeling when you give.’

 …the devilry that is refined sugar…

‘I lost more weight by dumping refined sugar than by running 43 marathons. No animal eats refined sugar and they’re fit, fit, fit, fit for life. We think that fitness is a running around kid thing and then you let it go.’

…before, inevitably, moving onto aliens…

‘Volunteers can be all ages, all colours and creeds, even from different planets. Anyone. Giraffes.’

In these few, short minutes we see why Eddie Izzard has endured where other have faded. The absurdism, the scattershot delivery, and playful charm make him unique. 

But that isn’t all of it. Watch Eddie for a while and you realise that he is a technician. The hand movements, the way he hangs on some words and rambles through others, the bits and bobs from of his day that re-appear later on stage – none of this is accidental.

It goes well. The country loved it, yet this self-awareness follows him outside the interview. For a moment, he seems troubled. Did he speak too fast? Because he needed to, he said, for his intonation.

But he doesn’t dwell on it, nor does he seem bothered by the scrum that greets him when he leaves the studio. Social media folks take pictures of him and a camera’s unblinking eye captures it all for a behind-the-scenes film. Eddie quite literally takes it all in his stride, answering questions about the time his toenails fell off as he is whisked away for his next appointment.

When Eddie’s face turned cola brown

In a room full of BBC employees, Eddie is bellows master, whooshing the laughs out of his audience.

You get the sense that he could be in his living room. One minute he talks about his favourite footballer – former Crystal Palace, Arsenal, and England left back Kenny Sansom – the next he recalls the time his face turned Coca-Cola brown after taking cholesterol pills.

You notice also that he polishes and repurposes a couple of jokes that worked well earlier. Other snippets from his day are pasted into this lunch-time Q&A. Like corks pushed into a wine bottle, phrases and subjects stick in his head and do not leave. Once, twice, we hear talk of disposable time, the volunteering bug, and his emancipation from the wicked world of refined sugar.

Then he is freewheeling again. First, he lilts into a Belfast accent before pondering aloud this year’s marathon undertaking: 27 South African marathons in 27 days, one for each year Nelson Mandela spent in prison.

Combine the standup comedy tours, acting career (he recently ate his own leg in an episode of Hannibal), political work, marathon training, and charitable endeavours, and you wonder how much time he has for anything else.

Yet there is no mention of a holiday. When his manager heard about the 27 marathons in 27 days, she pled with him, “Why don’t you take a month off,” she said, “and not die?”

The toll of time and tiredness

You can be forgiven for forgetting that Eddie Izzard is 53 years old; but as day meanders into evening, the schedule weighs heavily on him.

Two more engagements follow the staff Q&A: an interview for a news feature and 90 minutes spent cooped inside a tiny sound-proofed studio (or giant coal bunker) spreading the volunteering gospel to 11 regional radio stations.

Despite the demands placed on Eddie’s time, he never once complains, though he does come close. The moment arrives on a picnic bench in Trafford Athletics Club, as he devours a salad and listens to the itinerary.

During the course of the evening, he will act in a dozen short pieces to camera in various volunteering guises. The crew will film him shooting a starting gun, making tea for club members, raking a long jump pit, and dipping for a photo finish with former 5,000m world record holder Dave Moorcroft. These he expects.

And then he is told about a 45-minute newspaper interview. This he does not expect. His head twitches and his eyes flash like blown embers. An interview? For how long? You can hear the strain in his voice and a flash of the eyes. For a moment all is silent, and then he nods... and goes back to his salad.

As he eats, Trafford Athletics Club comes alive for the evening’s Grand Prix. An hour earlier rain peppered the track, but now there is a brightness to everything. Runners jog and chat and stretch along a track hidden by towering trees. The waft of frying burgers and chips lures the less active to the yellow-white clubhouse.  

People pour through the gates, gabbling as Eddie rises to stretch. A light blue running jacket and shorts have replaced his suit. Vigorously, he shakes out his limbs as if tricking his body out of tiredness.

He is not built like a runner – too much sturdiness around the shoulders and arms, not enough of that willowy long-leggedness; and yet Eddie owns an athletic feat that few on the planet can match: the running of 43 marathons in 51 days.  

Ten minutes later, he sits on a hurdle in the middle of the track with a mic hovering by his head. A camera lens points two feet from his face and a crew fusses. But he doesn’t see them. Once again, the cheeks lift and his eyes brighten as the camera rolls. “We’re here today,” he says, “thanks to plenty of blood, sweat, and volunteers.”

Dapper as an Italian policeman

There are scripts for each film, yet he sticks only loosely to them, allowing space for his fluid streams of consciousness. The pace, however, is relentless. After 12 hours of non-stop talking, Eddie’s brain is slowly starting to scramble. Tiredness slithers among his sentences. When he speaks, words slur and clash against one another.

Hands flitter by his temples in a frantic moment, as if he is taking several imaginary throw-ins. ‘There are so many things in my head,’ he says. Around him, the ground swells with athletes and well-wishers. For Eddie and the film crew, it will only get busier – and noisier.

For a flawless half minute, he delivers a piece to camera as 20 club members wait on him. To be a film extra is a novelty in the beginning, but the shine quickly wears off. A bird’s squawk interrupts him. For how much longer, you wonder, will these club members sit easily? Eddie resumes. An aeroplane whistles overhead. Unruffled, he says something to make them laugh and starts again.

Sometimes you forget that he is in his habitat. The speed of thought – the ability to work a crowd – he has been doing it for so long that it flows. Like when he is mid-monologue and a baby gurgles. He pauses and speaks to the infant. ‘Indeed,’ he says, and keeps going as if it is all part of the script.

And yet, as with most of us, Eddie is not easily read. He seems to love entertaining strangers and conversing with an easy charm, but he can also be detached. A vacant, pensive air comes over him as he stares for a minute at an athlete’s footwear or wonders aloud about why he never had a BBC sitcom, talking as if to no one but himself. Finally, the evening reclines into shadow. Eddie’s day – this marathon day – is almost done and everything is winding down.

The camera crew fiddles; the campaign folks discuss the script; and the club members watch the most magnetic event of all: the 100 metres.

Eddie stands with his little blue jacket perched on his shoulders, ready to take it off when it is time to film. But then a change comes over him. Suddenly, the jacket is alive on his shoulders. He turns to the lady beside him pretending to be an Italian policeman in love with his own uniform.

He smiles. “There could be a bank robber going by and he would still be admiring his uniform.” She laughs and Eddie Izzard seems happy. At the end of the day, he’s still doing what he does best.

Making people laugh.

 Eddie’s day in numbers 

18 – hour working day

2 – salads

10 - films

11 - regional radio interviews

1 – TV interview

10,000 – the number of volunteers he is trying to get into local sport

£0 – how much he gets paid for all of this

[aion-rsa]

Does The 100 Need a Spinoff?

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With “Anaconda,” The 100 has joined the pantheon of TV shows (including Supernatural, Gossip Girl, and The Office) that have introduced a backdoor pilot in the hopes that it will be greenlit to a full spinoff series. Now that we’ve re-met Bill Cadogan, his Second Dawn cult, and his family (whose clashes and burgeoning Grounder culture will be the heart of the series) we debate: Is The 100 a show that really needs a spinoff? After seven seasons, can we say “your fight is over,” or are there as many story ideas as there are symbol combinations on the Anomaly Stone?

Pro: Yes, “Anaconda” proves there are still stories worth telling in The 100 universe.

Prior to watching “Anaconda,” the backdoor pilot episode meant to sell us all on the value of a The 100 prequel series, I’ll admit that I wasn’t completely sold on the need for one. But this hour did one important thing right: It reminded me how great this universe is at telling stories about characters struggling through their darkest hours, and how that duress can forge heroes  – or monsters – from ordinary people.  

And there isn’t much that’s darker than life in a nuclear wasteland. Except maybe a nuclear wasteland that we already know will only grow much darker, more divided, and more terrifying as the story continues. 

Thanks to a luck of timing – or “our current hellscape nightmare scenario” depending on how you look at it – “Anaconda” also illustrates why right now is the perfect moment to tell a story like this, positioned to begin at the end of all things. Though we’re only given a brief glimpse into the show’s world of 2052, it certainly has an uncomfortably familiar feel, with its climate protests, police brutality and worries of overpopulation. Not to imply we’re all headed for bunker life anytime soon, but the overtones of a world we can recognize do make the hour feel more timely and relevant than its predecessor generally does. 

Though we already know what Calliope Cadogan’s world will look like a century after she and her merry band of Nightblood teens climb out of the Second Dawn bunker hatch, we’re less clear on how exactly that will come to pass. And suddenly, I really want to know. How does this group of relatively familiar-seeming twentysomethings who want to save the remnants of humanity eventually turn into the violent and combative Grounder clans we met back in The 100’s initial seasons?

By the time our The 100 faves reach the ground, the world on post-apocalyptic Earth feels pretty well established. But “Anaconda” shows us that wasn’t always the case and now I desperately want to know how humanity got from one extreme to the other. What other kinds of survivors are out there? How do these people, so firmly united at the outset of this story, inevitably split apart? And where do other familiar horrors like the Mountain Men and the Reapers come in? 

Full disclosure: I want to see this prequel get dark. I want the Bunker teens to struggle with the basics of survival, and pay the price for not knowing how to do things like hunt or forage. And beyond that: I want betrayal and horror. I want the full and complete breakdown of everything we understood as humanity in our world before the one the Grounders inhabit rises to take its place. 

As a character, I really liked Callie, who seems to be a mix of Clarke’s bravery and Abby’s savior complex, topped off with an activist mentality/morality that feels entirely new to this universe. It’ll be interesting to see how a character like Callie adjusts to life in a world that’s almost exclusively focused on survival and the sort of hard choices she’s likely never had to make. She’s much more optimistic and hopeful than any character currently on The 100 and she has yet to embrace the tribalism that will come to define her people in the years to come. 

However, for all that Callie is the “good” one in her family – if you define good by simply the act of not embracing a weird and creepy cult – she’s still been raised in a life of relative privilege and luxury, and even in the bunker her status as Cadogan’s daughter likely protected her from the worst of post-apocalyptic life. What sacrifices will she be asked to make, and how will they change her? (It feels as though she’s started down this path of darkness pretty definitively by shooting her brother.)

The idea of placing Callie at the center of what will essentially become Grounder culture as the first true Flamekeeper is also intriguing. To be fair, the idea of that entire culture tracking its roots back to things like Callie’s made-up childhood language or the fact that “Tree Crew” was originally an environmental activist group does seem a bit convenient. (It also feels a bit “chosen one”-ish, as well, which is admittedly tiresome.) But it’s never actually made a lot of sense that Grounder language would have changed so thoroughly in what is essentially three generations, max, so most of this really works for me. And it makes me wonder what other answers I didn’t know I needed that a The 100 prequel series based on “Anaconda” might give me.

– Lacy Baugher 

Read more

TV

The 100 Prequel: Would Any of The 100 Cast Crossover?

By Natalie Zutter and 1 other

TV

The 100 Prequel Series Would Use a Lost-Like Flashback Format

By Lacy Baugher and 1 other

Con: No, “Anaconda” is not the way to expand The 100 universe.

It kills me to say no, because I love this show and want to see its mythology live on beyond seven seasons. I’m just not convinced that this particular prequel series is the way to go.

It’s not personal; I have trouble justifying prequels in general, because I often find that they rely overmuch on dramatic irony and other established knowledge rather than finding ways to tell a good story that doesn’t rely on knowledge and emotional attachment to a different show. Prequels are often working within worldbuilding constraints when it comes to characters, in-show mythology, and the in-universe timeline—which doesn’t have to be a bad thing. In the case of The 100, we know that the Ark fails and that the Grounders ultimately suffer when they first cross paths with Skaikru. Prequel spinoffs can either adjust to the limits of a canon that was entrenched years earlier, or retcon it.

Unfortunately, it feels like “Anaconda” has done the latter. While I can’t make sweeping judgments based on one backdoor pilot, the reveal that Trigedasleng is, at least in part, a whimsical language that Calliope Cadogan made up as a child undercuts so much of what we’ve learned about Grounder culture over the past seven seasons. I’m in complete agreement with Lacy that it’s just too convenient that this Special Girl is at the center of everything, when the series had already explained how Trig came out of desperate years of survival and attempts to reunify after the world seemingly tore itself apart. Remember that the survivors all think various world leaders pointed nuclear warhead at each other; only Becca seems to know A.L.I.E.’s dirty secret.

Speaking of—Becca already somewhat occupied the too-convenient role of being a key player in so much of the series’ history! From A.L.I.E. to Polis to Nightblood to being the first Heda, this character was already centered in a half-dozen preexisting plotlines, a ready-made protagonist in whom the audience was emotionally invested. To jump ahead to her death (that we already knew was coming) and pass on the Flame to Callie seems like The 100 prequel is trying to forcibly justify its own existence through new, untested characters for the sake of having unfamiliar faces.

What could save this narrative choice, to Lacy’s other great point, is the possibility of Callie confronting her own privilege as she voluntarily moves through the nuclear post-apocalypse. It’s one thing to bravely decide to shrug off the comforts of the bunker and to go looking for the people who weren’t considered “worth” saving. It’s another to actually survive: learn to hunt and forage, set up the necessary hierarchies so their ragtag group doesn’t devolve into anarchy, and make the difficult decisions (about laws, about justice, about consequences) when people stop cooperating.

In many ways, it could be a poetic parallel to the early days of the original 100, as the delinquents debated whether they were in an eternal, no-parents-allowed party, or their own futuristic Lord of the Flies. And as we all know, the party was over when Jasper got speared by a Grounder.

Even if Callie is the creator of Trig, and even if she and August establish clans inspired by his Tree Crew tattoo, they need their own foil, the way the Grounders were for the 100. That could be some sort of survivalists or militia, to foreshadow the bloodier side of Grounder society; or people like her friend Lucy, who were left behind to die but didn’t, and who have had two years of resentment to take out on these Second Dawn defectors. But none of that is in the backdoor pilot, so it’s difficult to judge if the series might go that route.

My biggest mental block is that I’m just not emotionally invested in Callie or the Cadogans. Despite “Anaconda” setting up broad strokes for their different relationship dynamics, none of Callie’s decisions seemed truly difficult. Again, she was privileged enough to decide to leave, even if it were for the noble cause of finding other people who deserved to be saved more than she did. I’m just not sure that that noble thinking is enough to justify an entire TV series.

“Anaconda” took too many narrative gymnastics to recontextualize the show’s mythology that was already pretty well-established. I would rather see a The 100 spinoff that takes place in the future. We’ve already done a six-year time jump in real-time and a 125-year jump thanks to cryogenics, and now there’s a quintet of planets with convenient wormholes and screwy timezones—the show has established various routes to tell a story even farther in the future than its own future! We don’t know how The 100 will end, with the Disciples’ great war or the fates of the handful of survivors that started out as the original 100; but I would rather see their descendants’ adventures, covering entirely new ground as opposed to retracing old steps.

– Natalie Zutter

What do you think? Does The 100 justify a spinoff? Let us know your thoughts in the comments below.

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