#soapbox city this week from me i see

[whinlatter]

If you could save any of the characters in the hp books who died, who would you save and why?

Ah, this is such an interesting question!

Honestly, I think the most pointless death is Fred's, and if I could save him, I would. I could write essays on it, honestly. I think it's one of the cheapest emotional shots taken in the series.

Fred's death is kind of gratuitous. It's not well foregrounded, it's not a particularly good scene or a murder that's carried out by a character with any significance or symbolism (Rookwood? Really?) But neither is Fred's death used to be a particularly sophisticated comment on the randomness of death in war or make a broader point about the nature of the conflict at hand. It's as if the Weasley twins' position as a comedic device and a source of laughter throughout the series made them prime candidates for JKR to batter them, in order to hammer home an already hammered-home point that war is tragic and costly and terrible lol (like, already in the same book, George gets his ear blasted off! Why keep coming back for shots at the twins?)

You can almost imagine JKR going down the list of Weasleys like, ok, well Bill's already been mauled, killing Charlie wouldn't do enough damage because he's such a side character, Percy needs his redemption arc, killing Ron is a bridge too far and she's already had him poisoned, killing Ginny would be plot repetitive and would polish Harry off, she'd already decided to nearly kill then save Arthur, and Molly needs her boss bitch moment - oops sorry guess it's a twin that's getting it! Why not kill one and not the other for maximum devastation! It's not like JKR was even very attentive to the twins' emotional life or made any real effort to characterise the twins separately from one another, other than giving Fred more lines than George throughout the series. So for the reader, the death of one of the twins is this horrendous awful blow, but the reader also is left with no directed tools for how to think about his death or conceptualise what this character was for the series arc. Also to end a series knowing you just robbed this beloved family of a son and a brother - robbing George of his twin - and then make no attempt to think about the impact of that death on your characters, and write an epilogue that says all was well, is just extremely poor plot detonation, imo.

I say this also because I think there are deaths in the series that are awful and tragic, but which are still narratively and symbolically important, either as ways of propelling the plot forwards or offering a kind of narrative symbolism or arc that has some payoff for the reader. James and Lily have to die to set in motion this huge plot arc for the entire series. Cedric's death is a powerful watershed moment both for the reader - things are getting serious now - and for Harry. Sirius' death, while completing devastating, does at least make some sense to strip away from this central character an important protector as he steps towards a fate no-one can shield him from. Dumbledore's death was a masterstroke, and I actually (sorry) think Hedwig and Dobby's deaths make a ton of sense, as characters that represent innocence and the uncomplicated warm friendship of childhood friends (also I think Harry digging Dobby's grave is one of the most powerful images in the series). Even Remus and Tonks' deaths do something for the arc of the series, offering the symbolism of both another baby orphaned by war, and for Harry beginning the next chapter of his life as the godfather to that orphaned child (I'm typing that out very grudgingly because obviously those deaths are horrendous). But Fred, it's like, ok, well, the only possible point for this is to make sure you see it's a war and deaths will happen and to make sure the Weasleys are grieving for the rest of their lives. Great, cool, fine! But I think it's cheap storytelling. Anyway there's my piece!

[justmystyles]

Did you see the videos of Harry at the airport in Barcelona (I think?)? I hate people pushing and yelling for his attention ugh. But I got an idea for a fic. Plus size reader happens to be at the airport at the wrong time and gets pushed because of these people,Harry sees that and just goes into protective mode, they get to know each other and fluff at the end? Or his gf getting pushed and falling down and protective Harry

Anyways sorry if all of this doesn't make sense. English isn't my first language 🙈 but I love your style of writing and got this idea and just had to share it with you

The Battle in Barcelona

read my other work here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

a/n: thank you so much for this ask, my friend! it absolutely made sense, and i appreicate you thinking of me to write this.

i absolutely did see the videos. totally heartbreaking. as much as i'll miss him, our boy needs a break, and i'm so happy that he's got that coming up soon. he's so kind and generous to his fans, and i know a lot of us get that and appreciate him for it, but there are also people who just use it as an opportunity to take even more and it just makes me so angry. anyways, i'm going to get off my soapbox and let you read what i came up with now. i hope you like it! 🖤

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

As your car traveled the streets of Barcelona, your head rested on Harry’s shoulder, your fingers intertwined. You could tell by his soft breaths that he was drifting off to sleep, so you kept silent, just enjoying being next to him. 

Love on Tour would be coming to an end in just over a week, and his multi-year hectic schedule was starting to catch up with him. He was moving a little slower, his eyes puffy and worn from lack of sleep, and he was spending more of his free time in the hotel as opposed to exploring the cities he was visiting. You knew that he had loved every second of the past few years, but he was definitely ready to slow down for a while. 

As you approached the airport, you heard the driver let out a whistle of surprise. You lifted your head to take a look out the front windshield. There was a large crowd of people on the sidewalk waiting for Harry. 

You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand gently and kissing him on the cheek. “Baby, I’m so sorry, time to wake up and turn it on.” 

You brushed a stray curl across his forehead as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled softly at you before taking a look out the window. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Harry loved his fans, and he would take any opportunity to greet them and thank them for their support, but he could already tell that this crowd would be difficult. 

As your car approached, you disconnected your hand from Harry’s and slid to the opposite side of the backseat. He gave you an apologetic smile, you shrugged in reply. Because of Harry’s desire to keep his personal life private, you knew that he would want his distance in front of this many people, you understood and were fine with it. 

You respected Harry’s wishes, but moments like this made it hard, you knew he was tired and that the walk into the airport was going to be a struggle for him, and you wanted nothing more than to be by his side and hold his hand through it. 

“I’ll get out on this side and walk around. I’ll meet you inside.” You tell him. 

He reaches over, brushing his index finger against the back of your hand. “You sure you’ll be alright?” 

“Of course,” you assure him. “I’m a big girl, I can hold my own.” You pat your stomach with a smile. 

“Y/N.” Harry says in a warning tone. He loves your sense of humor, except when you turn it on yourself in a self deprecating manor. 

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “How about this then? I’ve held my own in my fair share of mosh pits, I can throw them bows with the best of ‘em.” He chuckles softly, a genuine grin growing on his face. “There he is. Now hold onto that for just a couple of minutes, and I’ll see you on the other side.” 

“I love you so much,” he says softly. 

“I love you too, always.” You say with a wink as the car comes to a stop. 

Before security can get Harry’s door open, you slip out the other side. You walk around the back of the car and watch as his door opens. He is immediately swarmed by people yelling and shoving photos and markers in his face. His security and the local police are doing their best to push them off, but they are relentless. Even Harry is pleading with them to back away, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Despite the rush of the crowd, Harry still takes the time to greet a fan in a wheelchair, signing an album for him and chatting for a brief moment. As you watch on, your worry morphs into awe of this amazing, selfless man. 

You’re so lost in the moment that you don’t realize that one of the officers assigned to crowd control has corralled you into the crowd of onlookers. As Harry finishes with the fan and pushes through the rest of the people, you snap back to the present and begin moving through the crowd yourself. 

As you reach the end of the mob, you’re held back by one of the officers. “No, I’m with them.” You insist, stepping forward only to be shoved back a little harder than needed, with a stern ‘no’ from the officer. 

You watch as Harry turns the corner, your mind racing. You know they won’t leave without you, Harry will notice you’re not there and send security, or someone else from the entourage to retrieve you. But the worry starts to sink in as you find yourself being engulfed back into the masses. 

You fight your way back to the front of the crowd, stopped in front of the same officer that stopped you before. You keep your eyes locked on the corner Harry had turned. Before long, you see him rushing back out of the airport, his eyes moving frantically, no doubt trying to find you. 

“Harry!” You shout, hoping to catch his attention as your voice gets drowned out by the cries and yells from everyone else. 

His eyes lock on yours, his expression panicked as he rushes back toward the crowd. As the fans and autograph-seekers reach for him, he grabs the officer holding you back on the shoulder tugging roughly. “She’s with me,” he shouts aggressively, grabbing your hand and rushing back into the airport. 

He’s practically running, his hand gripping yours tighter than he ever had, afraid of losing you again. As soon as you both turn the corner, and find yourselves away from prying eyes, Harry stops and turns, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and pulling you into him, kissing the top of your head. “I’m so sorry, angel. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine Harry, promise.” You assure him, rubbing his back softly. “You didn’t have to come back for me, you could have just sent one of the guys.” 

“Absolutely not.” He said in a clipped tone. “You’re my girl, it is my job to protect you and keep you safe. I’ve already failed at that once tonight.” You heard his voice waiver, followed by a barely audible sniffle. He was definitely crying.

You pulled away, looking up at his misty eyes just as a single tear broke free and rolled down his cheek. “Harry,” you said softly, placing your hands on his cheeks, wiping away the rogue drop with your thumb. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” 

He places his hands over yours, which are still rested on his face. He pulls them off and brings them to his lips. You see a swarm of emotions in his eyes; sad, tired, apologetic. Your heart is breaking for him. 

“Come here,” you lead him over to a nearby seating area, guiding him down into a chair. “Talk to me Harry, what’s going on.” 

He stays silent for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. He lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “If something had happened to you out there, it would have been my fault.” 

“Hey,” you furrow your brow. “First of all, nothing happened to me, so there’s no point in sitting here worrying about it, especially with everything you’ve got going on. Second of all, it one hundred percent would not have been your fault.” 

“It’s just…” Harry pauses. “I appreciate my fans, I do…”

“Harry,” you stop him. “Those weren’t your fans. Sure, there were a couple of them there, but they were easy to spot because they were being respectful of you and your space. The rest of them were just paps and autograph sellers. They were there to make money, they didn’t give a shit about you, they were on the clock.”  

Harry nods in understanding. His tormented gaze slowly begins to soften. “How are you so good at this?” You give him a questioning look. “I brought you into all of this, the crazy mobs, the gossip, everything, and you haven’t let it get to you at all.”

“Because I love you,” you shrugged. “If that’s the stuff I have to put up with to be with you, then I’ll put up with it with a smile on my face, because the reward of getting to be by your side is worth it.” 

Harry surged forward, crashing his lips against yours, unable to express in words just how much your words mean to him. He pulls away, cupping your cheek tenderly. “I can’t wait until next week. I won’t have to worry about shows, you and I are going to disappear from the world, and I’m going to be able to thank you properly for being the best thing that has ever happened to me.” 

“By sleeping for a week straight?” You arch a brow. “Because that’s what you’re going to need more than anything.” 

“As long as you’re sleeping next to me.”

“No place I’d rather be.” You smirk.

He pulls you in for another kiss, this one cut short when you hear them call Harry to board the plane. He stands first, offering his hand to you. You take it happily and he leads you out to the tarmac. 

You and Harry settle in side by side. You let out a small laugh as you wait for the plane to take off. 

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks you. 

“Nothing,” you chuckle again. “I was just thinking, I survived the great Break Stuff wall of death of 2017, but almost got taken out by a couple of Harry Styles groupies. I think being with you is making me go soft.” 

“Funny,” he huffs a laugh. “You have quite the opposite effect on me.” He looks at you with an arched brow and a smug smirk. You slap his chest playfully, your face going bright red at his comment. 

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 4

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, angst, unrequited crush, rude customers, protective!Marcus, mentions of breakups, we get a peek at reader's past, bad exes, one (1) hug.

Summary: As the weeks pass, you try to be what Marcus needs most: A friend. Then, you have one awful day at work...

A/N: We're getting closer to getting these two together!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

You throw all of your inconvenient emotions surrounding Marcus into painting. It’s almost like meditating; you can mull over your thoughts without really dwelling on them when there’s a paintbrush in your hand. They show up on the canvases, though–dark shadows, bright pinpricks of light, grays and browns melting into vibrant color. 

You bring a few of them to work the next day, wanting to switch out some of the old paintings that have been hanging in Common Grounds for long enough. Your heart pounds when you see the familiar silhouette of Marcus through the glass as you’re still finishing up that morning’s baking. He’s earlier than usual. He notices the change immediately; his eyes flicking over to your paintings, an appreciative smile spreading over his face when he sees the new ones.

When he turns to look at you, his smile only widens. You half-expect him to bring up your unexplained outburst and retreat from yesterday, but he only greets you warmly and asks about the paintings.

“New ones?”

“Yeah, I like to swap them out every month or so.”

“The one in the center is incredible,” Marcus says emphatically. “Hey, are any of them for sale?”

You shrug. “I mean, technically, they all are. No one really buys them, but they’ve all got prices listed. I get most of my traffic from online sales.”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one,” Marcus confesses. “And then life kind of… got away from me,” he says with a little self-deprecating laugh. “I love that new one, though. Could I… could I buy it?”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. “You mean like… now?”

Marcus shrugs. “Why not? I love it, my walls are depressingly bare, and I want to snatch it up before everyone comes in asking about it.”

You laugh. “Marcus, that has literally never happened in the five years they’ve been hanging here.”

“It’s just a matter of time,” Marcus promises, taking out his wallet. He thumbs through a collection of crisp bills and hands you twice what you’d specified on the sticker below the painting. 

You gawk. “Marcus, no. That’s–that’s too much–”

“Then don’t undersell your art,” Marcus says with a wry smile. “I’ll have the usual, plus uhh…” he scans the offerings, “...a piece of zucchini bread, please.”

At a total loss for words, you press the buttons on the register, accept Marcus’s card, hand it back, and start his coffee order all with your mouth hanging open like a fish.

When he has his drink and the little white pastry bag, Marcus walks back over to your paintings and looks back at you with one eyebrow raised. You smile disbelievingly, walking over to him and taking the painting off of the wall. 

“Marcus, you really don’t–”

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

Then he leaves. 

The thing Marcus needs, you decide–far more than a partner, a girlfriend, or even a fiancee–is a friend. You can understand it–moving to a new city and having no one–it’s a lonely existence. And it explains why Marcus, more often than not, spends quite a lot of time at Common Grounds. It’s not simply to talk to you; he’s made a friend in Sam as well, bonding over a shared interest in old movies. 

Sam, a film school graduate, is overjoyed to find an audience in Marcus, who not only tolerates their soapbox rants about cinematography, but encourages them wholeheartedly, laughing out loud at some of their scathing opinions on contemporary franchises. 

It’s Sam who eventually gets Marcus to slip the information that he’s an Art Crimes detective one morning as the three of you converse one slow Thursday. You and Marcus lean casually against opposite sides of the counter with Sam sitting nearby on a food cart, swinging their legs as they talk. 

“I can’t stay long,” Marcus is saying over a bite of chocolate croissant. “I’m supposed to be at the National Gallery of Art to review some security footage.”

“Why?” Sam asks bluntly.

“They had a close call the other night,” Marcus explains. “Someone broke in and had started to cut a painting out of its frame when they were caught by the security guard.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “But… the painting–is it damaged?”

“Minimal,” Marcus answers. “There’s a pretty good gash through one side of it, but a restorer should be able to stitch it back together and hide it pretty well. It shouldn’t even be visible when it’s back in the frame if they do their job well.”

“Wait… what do you do?” Sam asks.

Marcus smiles widely and flashes his badge. “FBI. Right?”

Sam glares at him.

“Okay, okay. I’m in the Art Crimes division,” Marcus relents. “I lead a task force to deal with international art theft.”

Your eyes snap up to his. Suddenly, his interest in your art makes sense. The feelings you’ve been trying to push aside for weeks in favor of being the friend that Marcus so clearly needs are back in an instant when you remember how his eyes had lit up when he’d talked about art, how he’d complimented your technique… 

“No kidding,” you find yourself saying breathlessly. 

“I’m sure you're disappointed,” Marcus jokes. 

You laugh. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“People usually see the badge and assume I’m involved with some classified shit,” he says with a crooked smile. “When really I spend most of my days reading provenance papers and trying to find forgeries and stuff like that.”

“I like that better,” you say. “Making the world better, one recovered artwork at a time.”

Marcus laughs. “Now you’re romanticizing it.”

“No, if she were romanticizing it, she’d be imagining you running around with bullwhip,” Sam quips. 

Marcus chokes slightly on his coffee, the tips of his ears turning pink, and you try your best to give Sam a death glare without him noticing. 

“A–a what?” Marcus sputters, chuckling.

“You know,” Sam says expectantly, “Indiana Jones.”

“Oh,” Marcus starts laughing. “Jesus, apparently I need more coffee.”

“That’ll cost ya,” Sam says. 

“Will it, now.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of how this whole system works,” you say. “You give us money, we give you coffee.”

“It wounds me that you see this as purely transactional,” Marcus teases. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” Sam deadpans. “That’ll be $5.67.”

– – – – – – 

You should have known it was going to be a bad day when you woke up to a text from Sam.

Sick AF, gonna have to call off today. Sorry. <3

Some things are omens. 

Still, it’s with a swing in your step that you open up Common Grounds and start your morning routine. Things are going pretty well for you, all things considered. You’ve got a good, steady job, you’re feeling better mentally than you ever used to, and now, you have a new friend in the form of one devastatingly handsome FBI Agent. The latter has been a muse for you in the evenings, too; you find yourself painting more and more, inspiration striking almost daily, and there’s been a corresponding uptick in online sales. 

Marcus is, as always, a welcome distraction when he comes in. You groan good-naturedly about facing the rush alone, and he lends a sympathetic ear. He even stays a little longer than usual, sitting at the closest table to the counter and reading something on his phone. You can’t help but steal little glances at him, even when the rush begins, looking at the way a stray lock of hair keeps falling down his forehead, the way he licks his lips occasionally, the way his leg jiggles absentmindedly as he reads what looks like a news article. 

The swell of customers reaches a crescendo, and you’re more than a little frantic–it’s rather difficult to keep up when there’s just one of you and no one to restock. When one of the milk dispensers inevitably runs out, you have to dash to the walk-in cooler to retrieve it yourself, leaving a long line of people waiting. You try to keep the frustration off of your face as everyone watches you wrestle the fifty pound bag into the machine.

“Excuse me?” an annoyed voice calls out from the middle of the line. “Some of us have places to be.”

You paste on the fakest, most irritated smile as you take the next person’s order. And the next. In between darting from the espresso machine back to the register, you lose track of Marcus. Is he still here? Unlikely. You barely have time to think about it, so the question is fleeting. When the man who had snapped at you steps forward, a sour expression on his face, you say sweetly, “And what can I get for you today?”

“Took you long enough!”

Your smile widens. “We’re a little short-staffed this morning.”

“I missed the part where that was my problem. These places and their mocha-frappa-whatevers. Do you have coffee?”

“We certainly do have coffee; what size would you like?”

“Is ‘small’ still a size, or are they all in Spanish or something?”

“Small coffee,” you repeat, trying to keep the anger out of your voice. “Will that be all?”

“It needs to come out fast.”

You ignore the order. “That’ll be $2.10.”

“What? What a crock of shit! I–”

“That’s enough,” a quiet voice interrupts the now red-faced customer. 

“Who the hell are–”

“Buy the damn coffee or get out,” Marcus says lowly. “You’re holding up the line.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” spits the other man.

“I’m just interested in how the city’s service workers are being treated,” Marcus replies cooly, one hand smoothing down his suit lapel in a gesture that looks absentminded, but immediately draws attention to the FBI badge clipped to his pocket. The man eyes it warily. “Hand her the money or leave the store, please,” Marcus says.

Lips pursed, the man hands you his card. You swipe it, and hand it back, then pour him a cup of coffee, handing him that as well. 

“What do we say,” prompts Marcus.

“T-Thank you.”

“Why don’t you find another coffee shop next time?” Marcus remarks. His tone is still light, but there’s just a hint of something else underneath. Something vaguely… threatening. 

It’s unbelievably sexy.

When the man leaves, Marcus holds up one finger to the next person in line–who looks sympathetic to your plight–and steps closer, putting his hand on your arm. 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Do you need a minute?”

You shake your head. “Nah. Assholes like that are a reality of the job.”

“They shouldn’t be,” Marcus says emphatically. “Get a drink of water or something, all right? You’ve been running around like crazy. No one here minds, right?” He looks over the line.

Even if anyone did mind, you highly doubt anyone would raise any objection, not after Marcus’s cool, calm takedown of the rude customer. You nod gratefully, and quickly fill a cup with water, taking a few long sips and a couple more deep breaths. 

When you return, Marcus smiles warmly. “I’ve gotta get to work, but you call me immediately if he comes back,” he says, sliding a business card across the counter. “Or if you need anything else.”

You nod, pocketing the card without looking. Marcus leaves, shooting one last glance over his shoulder just before the door closes. 

You look up at the next customer with a weak smile.

“What can I get started for you?”

– – – – – – 

In retrospect, you wish that one rude customer had been the worst thing to happen to you, today. 

When you finally toss your dirty apron into the bin at the end of your shift, you stretch your lower back with a tired groan. What a morning. You feel more than justified in going home, taking a hot bath, and sitting on your couch under a blanket with a hot tea for the remainder of the afternoon. 

You can almost smell the lavender bath bombs you like as you speedwalk around the corner. The stress of the day is already starting to melt just at the thought of relaxation, but then you hear a familiar voice–one you haven’t heard in over a year–call out your name. 

It sends a hot spike of fear down your spine.

You whip your head around, and sure enough, it’s him.

Your ex. 

“I don’t have time for this, Derrick,” you say tiredly.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Derrick, as usual, ignores you. “Still working at that dump around the corner?”

“Did you come all the way across town to insult an inanimate object, or is there something else you want?” you mutter.

“I was in the area,” Derrick says with an exaggeratedly light tone. “Thought I’d check on the woman who lived with me for three fucking years and then left without a trace.”

“We’ve–” you swallow. “We’ve gone through this, Derrick, I–”

“Want to know how much of a mistake you made? Derrick interrupts. “Remember that account I was working on right before you pulled your little escape routine? I just closed it. Two mil, sweet cheeks. What do you think of that?”

You bite back your anger. He used to do this when you were together, too–hold his money over your head. List off all of the things he provided for you whenever you’d get angry about something he did. Oh, he forgot your birthday? Well, he did buy you that designer purse, those Jimmy Choo heels. He did pay your insurance and your phone. But sure, sweet cheeks, be made because he worked late on your birthday. He was going to buy you those massive diamond earrings you’d been eyeing in the jewelry store window, but now he’s changed his mind.

“If you’re just going to taunt me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave me alone,” you say loudly and firmly. 

“What’re you putting away, hmm? Can they afford to pay you more than minimum wage? How fast did you eat through that savings account that I helped you build?”

“Derrick, leave me alone–”

You start to back away, but Derrick reaches for your wrist, and your eyes widen in trepidation. He’s never gotten physical before, but what–

“Get your hands off of her.”

You whip your head around, and fuck, it’s Marcus. Again. Walking quickly toward the two of you with fire in his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, asshole–”

“Marcus!” you exclaim, interrupting Derrick. “There you are! Are you ready to go home?” you shoot him a pleading look, hoping that your ex can’t see.

Marcus looks into your eyes for just a moment before easily slipping into the role you’d just handed him. “Here I am, honey.” He smiles and puts his hand around your waist. “This must be him.”

You know Marcus has no idea who Derrick is, but you nod. “Yeah, this is my asshole ex.”

“Whatever,” Derrick spits. “You never had it so good. I’m sure Mr. Government Salary pays all the bills,” he says derisively, waving his hand at Marcus’s badge. 

Marcus releases your waist and steps nose-to-nose with Derrick. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says quietly. “You’re going to leave, now, and you’re never to come looking for her again. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

“You don’t need to threaten me, asshole, we were just talking,” Derrick says, but he backs away with a frown.

Marcus doesn’t say anything further, just watches calmly as Derrick keeps backing away, then finally, with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand, turns and stalks down the sidewalk. 

The overwhelming shittiness of the day finally catches up with you, and you feel the tears start to rise to your face. 

Marcus whirls back to you, his face crumpling when he sees you crying. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” he says, his hands coming to your shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffle. “It was just a bad day, and he’s basically guaranteed to make a bad day worse.”

Marcus’s hand trails down your arm to your wrist, where Derrick had grabbed you. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s just… empty threats and blustering.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus murmurs again. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. But then you glance down at his hand–warm, strong, and comforting–on your shoulder. “C-Can I–” you start.

Marcus nods at you to continue.

“Can I have a hug?”

Marcus’s arms immediately wind around you, and you’re surrounded by him. Oh, he gives the best hugs. He presses all of you into his chest, one hand gently cupping the back of your neck and one hand around your waist. He’s warm and soft, his cologne smells incredible, and you melt into his embrace. 

“Thanks for playing along,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Of course,” Marcus says, and you can feel the rumble of his words against your cheek. “You don’t need to pretend to be with me just to feel safe,” he says. “I would have taken care of it anyway."

You feel sheepish at his words. It's true; you didn't need to pretend that Marcus was your boyfriend. But in the moment, you wanted the extra layer of safety.

"Sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have–"

"Don't say sorry," Marcus assures you. "Besides, I thought the note I left you on my card made it pretty clear how I'd feel about that."

The card! You'd slipped it into your back pocket without reading it, and by the time the rush was over, you'd forgotten about it completely. You pull back from Marcus’s arms and reach for it now. 

The front of his card has his full name, title,  work extension, and email. When you flip it over, there's a message waiting, written in neat, tiny handwriting. 

I’d say it’s about time I gave you this ;) Sorry I took so long. xo, Marcus

His personal cell is written below.

Your eyes dart up to his, barely daring to hope–

"Sorry I took so long," Marcus says, repeating the message on his card. "I wanted to be in the right headspace. You deserve that."

A smile slowly spreads across your face. This day–which has been an unmitigated disaster–might be looking up.

"I thought I'd be giving it to you in much different circumstances," Marcus says with a smile, "and not as a result of some asshole at the counter."

You laugh disbelievingly. "I guess that means you came to my rescue twice in one day."

"I won't make a habit of it," Marcus teases, but then he sobers. "No, belive me, I'd do it twenty more times if you needed me to. Although," he chuckles, "I hope not, because I wouldn't get much else done."

The tease suddenly causes you to remember what time it is. "Hey," you say, "why are you here and not at work? It's the middle of the day."

"About that," Marcus says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I had meant to catch you before you left, but I had a meeting run long. Glad I was able to find you."

"Oh," you breathe. "Why?"

"Well, I thought with the morning you had, it felt like a good day for ice cream. What do you think?"

"Really?" 

"Yeah, what do you say? Ice cream, you and me. Right now."

You can't help the massive grin that explodes into being. Marcus smiles back, big enough that his little dimple shows. 

"It's a date."

*

Next Chapter >>

[justadram]

I have two more questions, if possible. If I'm bugging/annoying you I'm sorry and you can tell and I'll bug off.

1) How come the country club is closing now that summer is over?

I know that New York can get colder, but I would imagine that a country club with wealthy members would operate year round and have indoor facilities, like swimming pool/s, fitness centers tennis, dining and so on.

2) Do you know why Hempstead is still a town?

I've been reading more about Nassau County in New York and was shocked to see that Hempstead is still a town, even though it has a population of over 793.000 people. It seems insane that it's still classed as a town, considering that it's (city/urban) population is larger than that of cities such as St.Louis, Portland and Seattle, to name a few.

You're fine!

Elite country clubs close for some time in the winter in a significant portion of the country. It's gotten tough for clubs since the 2000s and many of them have shortened the span they're closed to make the cost seem more worthwhile, but a winter shutdown is pretty standard. And in the 80s, a summer-only club wouldn't be unusual in the northeast. Staffing these places outside of the summer is still a huge issue because many rely on paying young people a shitty wage.

I don't think fitness centers in elite country clubs were a thing in the 80s. They'd definitely run a little yoga or aerobics class though for the ladies, lol. (They still do!)

None of the country clubs I'm familiar with have indoor pools. That would either be a swimming club or an athletic club. Both of which certainly exist and sometimes with just as many restrictions on membership as an elite golf club would have. A strictly tennis club with indoor facilities might also have an indoor pool? But clubhouses for golf-based country clubs generally have or had a whole different vibe that wouldn't fit with full-blown fitness centers and indoor pools.

Where I live, the clubs these days go dining only once you're into roughly October, and then they trade-off when they shut down entirely so you can reciprocally dine at another club while yours is shut down. But dining hours are greatly reduced in those months even while open: no lunch and dinners only four nights a week. And we've got better weather than Long Island!

This is triggering for me to list St. Louis as smaller, lol. St. Louis' population doesn't include the county, which is not the way any other city counts population other than Baltimore. Both cities voted to secede from their counties in the 19th c., which is now very much to the city's detriment. It not only makes the populations appear much smaller than these centers are but also results in funding issues and horribly misleading statistics. Baltimore and St. Louis statistically appear as some of the most crime-ridden cities in the nation, which leads to real problems when attracting business. They're not! Cities are on average less safe than the surrounding areas, but STL and Baltimore don't get the benefit of those safer areas adjusting the stats.

St. Louis is around 1.3 million when you calculate the population in a normal fashion. <3

Why Hempstead hasn't been incorporated into a city is beyond me. I'm not familiar with whatever local politics might be influencing that decision. Just St. Louis' clearly, lol!

*steps off soapbox*

[agerefandom]

Restrained

Fandom: Death Note

Words: 4,150

Characters: Regressor!Light Yagami, Caregiver!L/Ryuzaki. Brief appearances from Soichiro Yagami, Shuichi Aizawa, and Watari.

Summary: Set during Light and Misa’s imprisonment (episode 16-17). Classification/Regressors Are Known AU: Light was classified as a regressor when he was fifteen, but has fought the identity ever since. L is classified as a caregiver, but has never used those skills further than calming people in interrogation situations. Things come to a head in the second month of Light’s imprisonment.

Warnings: Imprisonment, irresponsible use of restraints, mentions of death and murder, nightmares, panic attacks, involuntary regression, hidden regression being revealed non-consensually. Ominous ending. 

Author’s Notes: I usually take issue with Classification AUs, because regression is a coping mechanism and not a fixed part of someone’s identity. Regression can change, and regressors can also be caregivers, and the idea that it could be ‘classified’ as part of someone’s political identity is kind of distressing. All of that said, it’s also a very comforting trope: it’s nice to imagine that you were ‘meant to be’ a regressor, naturally given that role, and that there are natural caregivers who want/need to take care of you. So, there are pros and cons to this kind of universe, as long as you remember that it’s an AU for a reason! Anyways, that’s my soapboxing done. Please note the warnings before reading! 

Light was not a regressor.

It didn’t matter what the letter he received at age fifteen said. Didn’t matter that his age range was listed as ‘2-3’ and a permanent caregiver was recommended. Light Yagami was a neutral, collected, and precocious teenager. He was mature for his age, and always had been.

Admittedly, Light occasionally sucked his thumb to help him sleep. And he convinced his mother to buy him more expensive sheets because he liked to run his hands across the texture. And maybe he cast side-glances at the adult playgrounds all around the city, at the regressors who were happily running and playing on the swings.

But Light Yagami was not a regressor. He got top marks. He wore stiff, professional clothes. He didn’t cry, not even when he stubbed his toe. He turned his nose up at sweet drinks and packaged candy. In short, at seventeen, Light was a model young man.

Which was when the notebook fell outside his classroom window, and everything got a lot more complicated.

--

Could a regressor do this? Collectively bring the world to its knees, the news outlets humming with one story? Could a regressor kill hundreds, save the general population from the evil in its midst?

Light Yagami was Kira, and Kira was not an age regressor.

--

Light Yagami was not Kira.

Light was trapped in a cell, his arms shackled behind his back, and he was absolutely certain that he wasn’t Kira. What kind of idea was that, marching in and saying he thought he was subconsciously Kira? Absurd. He wouldn’t do that kind of thing.

He yelled at the ceiling, pleaded with Ryuzaki, and received cold answers in return.

How had Light sat here for a week, believing that Ryuzaki had been right to lock him away? It was absurd: he couldn’t have committed the murders without knowing at all, it just didn’t make sense.

“You told me to keep you in there, no matter what you said,” Ryuzaki repeated calmly, his voice crackling through the cheap speakers outside of Light’s cell. “I’m only doing what you told me.”

“Well, stop!” Light shouted, tugging uselessly against the leather cuffs that held his arms behind him. His shoulders ached from the position. “Listen to me now, I’m not Kira!”

“We don’t know that,” Ryuzaki said. “Until we can be sure, you will stay in that cell. I’m sorry, Light.”

Light felt tears well up in his eyes, and he jerked his head down to hide it. With his bangs hiding his expression, he tried to wrestle himself under control.

He felt scared and helpless and he just didn’t understand what he was doing here. Let me out! a voice was screaming inside him, younger and just as frightened as he was. Please, I can’t take it anymore!

What was he thinking? He was Light Yagami, part of the taskforce dedicated to catching Kira. He could withstand this. He would have to.

He didn’t bother to hide the tears as he raised his eyes again to the camera.

“Fine. I’ll stay. But you’ll see that I’m not Kira! I don’t know what’s happening, but I believe that my innocence will be proven one way or another.”

“That’s exactly what Kira would say,” Ryuzaki drawled into the microphone, and then there was a short sound of feedback as the conversation cut off.

Light rocked back to lean against the side of the bed, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He’d made his statement, and he had fought off the despair. He was Light Yagami, and he would deal with this imprisonment with all the dignity he could.

--

This was awful.

Light had never been so bored and anxious in his life. The days stretched on, with only Ryuzaki’s occasional check-ins to keep his mind busy. Out of lack for other things to do, Light started sleeping more than usual. His days were hazy, short bathroom trips out of the cell and the clatter of the food tray his only reference points for time. The lights shut off for seven hours every night, the cameras equipped with night vision to watch him toss and turn in his restraints.

There was nothing to do but ruminate, worry, wonder. Light tried to run through lectures in his head, even tried his hand at mentally writing a story. He wondered if he could convince Ryuzaki to play chess with him over the speaker system, but found himself worrying about whether that would make it seem like he wasn’t taking his imprisonment seriously.  

It had been a month, and Light was suffering.

The nights were hardest. In the dark, Light cried, trying to stay quiet. He couldn’t bite his thumb, he couldn’t feel his soft blankets, and sometimes he couldn’t sleep for the tug of the restrains at his wrists and shoulders. He wanted to kick his legs, flail around, scream at the top of his lungs until they let him out. But he was Light Yagami, and he had dignity. Even with cameras fixed on him twenty-four hours a day, even with his wrists and ankles contained, even under the constant scrutiny of Ryuzaki and the other members of the task force.

He almost made it to the end.

--

Things that Light didn’t know:

-it had been a month since Kira had begun killing again -his father was in a matching jail cell, several blocks away -the task force had been pressuring L for weeks to let Light and Misa go, convinced by the new wave of murders that the two were innocent -L had a plan, and was simply waiting to contact Light’s father to play his part

(Light would never know most of these things, because before they became relevant, everything fell apart.)

--

L sat in the same place he’d been sitting for weeks, watching the same scenes play out on the same flickering screens. Misa sagged against her restraints, Light laid curled up on the bed, and Soichiro sat in his chair, staring down at his hands.

Nothing had changed, but everything was different.

Light and Misa were Kira, or at least they had been. L had never been more certain. Now they both seemed utterly convinced of their innocence, and L wasn’t comfortable with the implications of that. Were they truly ignorant of their role? Had their ability to kill been passed onto someone else, or had the two of them been unwitting puppets to some new and yet-unseen player?

Misa took a struggling breath, and went limp again. Light shifted. Soichiro got up and began to pace. His cell would fit eight of his steps before he had to turn around and begin again in the other direction.  

L missed nothing. But the pieces weren’t coming together.

He tapped his fingers against his knees, a syncopated rhythm as his eyes flashed from one prisoner to the next. Watari had brought him a plate of fruit, not yet touched, with icing sugar sprinkled over them. They would make L’s fingers sticky, and he didn’t want to get juice on the controls. He would have to eat with one hand, and operate the microphones with his other. He was just about due his check-in with Misa-Misa.

Just as L began to reach for the berries, a movement on-screen caught his eye. He didn’t currently have the audio on for the cells, but from the visual, he would guess that Light just woke up screaming. L has had a few of those nightmares. They weren’t pleasant.

L switched the audio on, and listened to Light trying to calm himself down. He was talking out loud, a mutter only loud enough for the microphones inside his cell to pick up on. (Light always yelled to the camera when he was talking to L, as if he weren’t aware that the cell was bugged well enough to hear every last breath he took. They could take no risks with Kira, when they still didn’t know how he was committing the crimes.)

“I’m okay,” Light was muttering. “Don’t… don’t do this. I don’t need anything. I’m okay.” His breathing caught, paused, and then resumed. “I’m okay. Please, please- don’t.” His voice was trembling, and L leaned closer. He’d seen Light crying, of course, trying to hide it by turning away from the cameras. But this seemed… different. Light was on the edge of something, and if L was lucky, it might be some kind of confession, fuelled by a terrible dream that brought all of his crimes rushing back with the sudden weight of guilt that Kira never felt.

Yes, L had enough self-reflection to know that he was kidding himself. But it had been a long month and a half.

He remained crouching, one hand poised above the plate of strawberries and the other hand hovering above the microphone that would let him speak to Light. And he listened.

“I don’t wan’ do this,” Light whispered to himself, his words slurring together in a way that L had never heard from the other man. The distressed voice hooked its claws into his chest in a way that was both foreign and familiar. Was this… “I don’ wan’ do this,” Light repeated, and then burst into tears.

It wasn’t anything like the quiet, hidden tears of the night-time. Light was sobbing, pulling at his restraints, tossing on the bed. Unable to wipe them away, tears and snot made a mess of his face. L watched as the teenager struggled to his knees and pressed himself against the wall, as if he were trying to get some kind of comfort from the pressure. The tears wouldn’t stop, even as words started making their way through the sobs.

“Lemme out, I wan’ out, I can’t, I can’t. It’s too dark, I can’t. Please, I’m too… I can’t feel my hands!” Light wailed, collapsing in on himself, his shoulders straining against the cuffs.

L was dimly aware that his hands had dropped to his sides. He knew he was staring. He knew that Aizawa had come running to stand behind him, alerted by the cries coming through the speakers. His ears were ringing, and he could feel Light’s sobs in his own chest.

The truth was unavoidable: Light Yagami was a regressor, and L had not known.

How was that possible?

Light was registered as age-natural on his official documents. L had watched him for weeks, and he had shown no signs of regression, not at home when he was unaware of being observed, and not here in the prison cell. Until now.

This was a harsh involuntary regression, from the looks of it, and the part of L that had made them stamp ‘caregiver’ on his own documents was aching.

“Oh my god. Is Light a regressor?” Aizawa said behind him. “That looks like regression, right?”

“It isn’t on his file,” L said, pleased that his voice sounded even. He hadn’t been around a regressor in distress for a few years, and he’d forgotten how much it made his chest hurt. Knowing that he’d been the one to put Light in that situation made it worse. Rationally, he knew that Light being a regressor meant nothing to the investigation. In fact, it made L even more certain that he was Kira. To conceal his headspace that thoroughly, even under investigation, made it clear that Light was no ordinary teenager. That must have taken an immense amount of willpower and planning.

“You have to let him out,” Aizawa said. “You can’t hold a regressor in a place like that, and his innocence has already been proven.” Light was still sobbing, his harsh breaths providing an undercurrent to their conversation. “Ryuzaki, you can’t possibly let that continue.”

“I… think he knew this might happen,” L realized. “This is what he meant when he asked me not to let him out, whatever happened. He knew that he would regress under the pressure.”

“All the more reason to release him! He still doesn’t know that Kira is killing again, it’s not fair. You’ve put him under way too much stress. Let me talk to him.” Aizawa reached for the microphone, and L struck his hand away.

“No. The last thing he needs is more sensory input from the speaker system.” Aizawa recoiled from the physical interception, eyes wide. “And you could jeopardize the investigation,” L added, slightly belated.

“You can’t do this. I’ll call the rest of the team,” Aizawa threatened, reaching into his pocket.

“There’s no need for that,” L sighed. He knew that the rest of the team would agree with Aizawa. The legal system was more lenient for regressors, and keeping them in solitary confinement was widely considered cruel. “I’ll go myself.”

Just because Light couldn’t be held in the cell anymore didn’t mean that L was prepared to let him go without twenty-four-hour supervision. Luckily, he had a set of unusually long handcuffs that he’d already been prepared to use after Light’s release. He could just speed that process along… and tell Watari to order some more regressor-friendly accessories for their room, of course. Maybe pad the cuff that Light would wear, so he didn’t accidentally hurt himself.

L shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table with a sigh. His caregiver mind was getting in the way again. Light was Kira, regressor or no. He wasn’t keeping Light close so that he could take care of him, but so that he was unable to hurt anyone else.

“We’ll discuss Misa’s release when I return,” L added over his shoulder as he headed for the door, reaching into his pocket to call Watari with the car. Light’s prison was a short drive from the base, and the sooner L got there, the better.

--

Sure enough, the drive was agony.

L stared out the window, the seatbelt Watari had forced him to wear digging into his chest and disrupting his thoughts. He was trying to make plans, trying to think back to all of his interactions with Light and wonder if he should have known. Was that why Light had always sharply refused any kind of sweet drink, even something as simple as fruit juice? Was he afraid that he might slip into regression? Was that why he had been crying at night, quietly regressing just enough for his childish fears to come to the surface? How confused was he, how disoriented in the cell? He seemed to know he was trapped, but did he remember what he was accused of?

L barely noticed when the car came to a stop, but when Watari opened his door for him, it took genuine effort not to go running into the building. Instead, L moved even slower than he usually would. Each gesture would be planned. Each word intentional. Just because Light was a regressor, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. L had to be on his guard, even more because of his natural caregiver instincts.

He made his way down the cold concrete stairwell, Watari a few paces behind him. Hands tucked in his pockets, breathing slow and natural. No worries about what he might have missed in the two minutes he’d been away from the screens. Had Light hurt himself? Was he safe? Was he still crying? L should have brought water, he’s sure to be dehydrated-

They stepped onto the cell block, and L had a brief conversation with one of the guards to obtain the keys. He’d already texted ahead, and they knew to expect him.

Watari stayed behind, just within earshot as L padded down the line of empty cells to the one that held Light.

It was strange to see the cell in person. For the first time, L could see the camera that Light had shouted at so often. He could see the details of the walls more clearly here, the chipped tile of the bathroom corner and the scratches in the concrete that didn’t come through on the long-distance video feed.

And there was Light, curled into a ball on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms still tied behind him, much in the same position that he had been napping in before his nightmare.

L had approached soundlessly, and Light’s eyes were closed. He didn’t open them until L put the key into the lock and turned it.

“N—no, I don’t-” Light stuttered, and then looked up. “Ryuzaki? Ryuzaki!” He tried to get up, but the cuffs on his ankles made him stumble and fall. L heard his knees hit the concrete with a harsh crack, and Light teared up again. “No, no, don’t come in. M’sorry, don’t come in.”

“I’ll let you out of the cuffs,” L told him, his hand on the door but waiting to open it.

“No, I don’t want it,” Light managed. “Just… go.”

“Light, how old are you?” L pressed.

Light made a sound that resembled a squeak, and very slowly raised his eyes to L’s.

“How old are you right now?” L asked again. He watched Light’s expression twist from surprise to embarrassment to conflict, then Light started crying again.

“I don’t wanna be,” Light sobbed. “I don’ wan’ it.”

And there went L’s chest again, twisting and aching with the sound of a regressor in distress. He regulated his voice, unwilling to let it sound too caring. It came out flat instead.

“There’s no shame in regressing, Light. Two percent of the population isn’t an insignificant number. You’ll be more comfortable with your arms free.” Light shook his head, tears flying with the gesture.

“No! Don’t come in!”

“How old are you, Light? You’re young, I can tell that much. Probably in the toddler range, if I had to guess.” From Light’s glare through the tears, L had hit the nail on the head. “I thought so. Stop fighting me. I was going to let you out soon anyways.” Well, L hadn’t been meant to say that. But he could probably use that to his advantage.

“But… but you think I’m Kira,” Light mumbled. Interesting: he did have his full memories, then. Very little disorientation for such a young age range.

“I do,” L admitted. “But the taskforce doesn’t. They want you back on the team.”

“Me?” Light blinked up at him, and his eyes were even wider than usual, framed with perfect dark lashes, and L was in agony being separated by bars. This regressor was going to be the death of him. “But… I thought the bad things stopped ‘cause I was here.”

L was fascinated by the limits of Light’s mental reasoning while he was regressed. He would have to do some experimentation at a later time, but for now…

“I lied. Kira has been active for almost a month. I wasn’t convinced it meant you were innocent, but it makes a good case.” L watched that news hit home, but in a very different way than it would have hit an adult Light.

“You lied? Why? I thought… I thought I was bad, maybe, but you were lying!” Light tried to wipe his tears on his shoulder, only partially succeeding. “I don’ wanna know why. Probably a good reason, ‘cause you’re L and you do all the good things.”

Hmm. It seemed that Light’s certainty that he wasn’t Kira didn’t extend to his regressed self. Perhaps he was speaking more candidly in this headspace.

“I’m not fond of unnecessary cruelty,” L sighed, hooking one hand through the bars. “If I had known, Light-”

“You never woulda had me on the task force,” Light said, quite viciously. “Never ever.”

“That’s not true.” L traced one thumb against his lips. “I’ve known regressors who are exceedingly intelligent. Everything would have proceeded the same.”

“Even though I’m three?” Light asked, and L fought the urge to smile. Information, at last. Three. He stored that away.

“Even though you’re three,” L confirmed. “Your input is valuable to me. In fact, I would like to invite you back to the taskforce after you’ve recovered from this imprisonment.”

“Yes!” Light shuffled forwards on his knees, wincing at the movement. He probably bruised them earlier when he fell. “Yes, please! I wanna help catch Kira! And all the bad guys!” His eyes were shining with excitement and the tears from earlier. Looking down at him, L’s mind caught in a loop.

Light Yagami was Kira, but this… this was not Kira. What that meant about Light, or Kira, or the nature of Light’s regression, L couldn’t say, but he was certain of one thing.

“Can I come in now?” L asked.

Light visibly hesitated, then sank back onto his heels and nodded.

“Thank you.” L left the keys in the lock as he swung open the door and entered, making his way to Light briskly. It was easy enough to get the cuffs off his wrists, and Light whined when his hands were free, struggling to move his shoulders back into a natural position. “Give it time,” L advised, pressing at his spine with experienced fingers. Massages were one of his lesser-used skills, but easy to pick up with his wide knowledge of the human body. “They’ll hurt less in a few minutes.”

He wasn’t expecting Light to shift forward and wrap his arms around him, but that was exactly what happened.

L froze, his hands raised in the air as if in surrender. He’d comforted regressors before, at crime scenes and over interrogation tables. A few of the children at the orphanage were regressors, and he interacted with them when he visited. But none of them had dove into a hug like this. L was a detective, a mentor, a little too strange and intense to be approachable. Now there were arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, and L didn’t know what to do.

Falteringly, L returned the embrace, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on his own forearms. Light had lost weight over the last month, and his body felt almost frail against L.

“Had a nightmare,” Light whispered.

L wondered if Aizawa was listening, back at the base. He wondered if Watari had wandered closer, after hearing the cell door open. He wondered what kind of things Kira dreamed about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” L asked, and didn’t lean back from the embrace.

“It was bad,” Light said. “I was running, and there were hands, and a fence, an’ there were… bodies. On the fence. And they were… they were…” L could feel Light shaking, and he held the regressor just a little bit closer.

“Just a dream,” L said. He wondered how much blood was on Light’s hands, how much of it he remembered. “You’re safe now. It was just a dream.” L held Light in his arms, the ache in his chest finally fading as he looked down at him. There, the regressor was safe, and L could finally relax. Light’s breathing slowly evening out, his grasp on L’s shirt finally loosening. “You’re safe.”

Light blinked up at L sleepily, and then his eyes slid closed. A natural reaction to stress, and having a caregiver close by. Even if L hadn’t disclosed his classification, his actions combined with Light’s instincts had likely made it clear. L cradled Light in his arms, like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and watched him fall asleep. He would have no more nightmares with a caregiver so close by, and even if he did, L would be there to calm him down.

L knew that this was trouble. Light was Kira, and Kira was death. L’s instincts as a caregiver could only blind him further as he continued in the investigation. If he were being rational, he would attach Light to someone else for the rest of his surveillance period. Prevent the caregiver/regressor bond that had been formed between them from strengthening into something difficult to break.

But L didn’t like being rational. He followed his instincts, and they were always right.

Right now, his instincts told him two things.

I will not let go of Light Yagami.

This will be the death of me.

[notmydayjob]

a walk in two worlds | john laurens x reader.

words: 1.8k

warnings: a little bit about slavery just because its john, parent death, fluff and some possibly sexual comments if you think on it

desc: your father is british general whose been called to fight in georgia, with him gone and you alone in new york things are bound to happen, especially after you meet a certain soldier boy.

this is my first hamilton fic and I wanted to say a couple things before it got it started. First of all I am white writer and I write my fics to be inclusive but there may be things that I may not realize are excluding people because I’ve had the privilege of not being excluded so if you notice anything then please message me and I’ll be more than happy to edit it. second i wrote this at 3 am and even if nobody reads it i’ll probably make a pt2 but lemme know.

i kinda picked and choosed what i wanted to use from hamilton and real life so obviously not historically accurate 

There’s nothing quite like summer in the city, children running in the streets, the sound of hooves on the brick laid roads, and the hot sun shining down on busy men and women. You had just moved into the city with your father but soon after you arrived your father was called away to join the fight in Georgia. You were left behind with only your housekeeper who functioned as a Nanny when you were a child. Your mother had died when you were very young and your father worked so Joan was the closest thing to family you had. Before your father left he gave you three instructions. One, the city can be a dangerous place for a young beautiful girl, don’t go downtown. Two, if you must stray from the house never go anywhere unaccompanied. Three, the revolutionists are reckless and ruinous, stay away. Your father was a smart man but often worried too much especially for you. It took nearly three days to convince Joan to let you leave the house. “I will come with you then, just let me finish my chores, and then we may go, but we are staying uptown, it’s nice here, awfully quiet too.” She said when she finally caved. You thanked her profusely but unbeknownst to her when she turned her back to you, you slipped out the back door. When your father left he took the carriage with him and the coachman had not yet returned so you had to walk into the city. You weren’t complaining though, the weather was warm and the fresh air was refreshing after a  week of house arrest. As you approached the downtown district of Manhattan you noticed a noticeable drop in wealth due to many of its residents being either college students, revolutionists, or merchants. A young man stood on a soapbox in the city square ranting about the unjust taxes and the recent events in Boston while a large crowd cheered around him. Propaganda flyers were hung on every storefront and street lamp, you took one and quickly shoved it into the bottom of your basket next to a small bag of coins. For about 20 minutes you strolled around going between stands of vendors selling fruits, fans, furniture, and everything in between. You stopped at the stand of a man selling vegetables and began picking out a few. You clearly felt a presence behind you but stayed focused on your task. “What is a pretty young lady like you doin’ in the city all by herself.” The presence spoke smoothly. You looked up from under the brim of your hat to see a man around your age maybe a few years older. His curly black hair was tied up tightly at the back of his head. Your eyes then traveled to the rich blue coat he proudly wore. “Minding my own business.” You said flatly as you turned back to what you were doing. “You know there are a lot of dangerous people out here who might want to take advantage of such a pretty girl.” He said clearly thinking he was very smooth. “Is that so?” You responded as you paid for your goods. Maybe you were naive but he didn’t seem threatening, he seemed young, reckless, and a flirt which could be just as bad. “Yes ma’am, maybe I should be your escort to-” He began again but you cut him off. “What’s your name, sir.” You asked him curtly and for once turned to fully face him. “John Laurens.” He tipped his head to you. “Don’t you have something to protest Mr. Laurens.” You brushed past him and continued down the street but he was quick to follow you. “I’m a wonderful multitasker.” He chuckled softly at his own joke. You wanted to hate him, you wanted to believe everything your father said about revolutionists but this man was charming and had a gravitational pull that was nearly impossible for you to resist. You knew if he stopped following you then you would follow him, you just hoped he didn’t know that. “I’ve never seen you around here before.” “Is that supposed to be a question, Mr. Laurens.” From the side of your vision, you could see the grin on his face, he liked having you riled up. “My father and I just moved uptown.” “So a rich pretty girl.” He said to himself with the full intention of you hearing to which you scoffed. “Am I wrong?” He stepped out in front of you locking his honey brown eyes with yours. You simply rolled your eyes in protest. “That’s what I thought.” His smirk was so genuine and charming it made you smile back to which he beamed brightly. “So what does the pretty girl’s father do for such wealth.” He posed. “Old money.” You stated simply to avoid the topic but he was clearly not satisfied. “He’s a general.” You stared intently over at him to gauge his reaction. John immediately stopped in his tracks and the smirk on his fell. “I take it we’re on different sides of the war.” He nodded slowly not meeting your eyes. His sudden quietness intrigued you, it seemed like that would have only made him mouthier. “That’s right.” Your voice was nearly inaudible but your beg for him not to turn away was loud enough for him to stay even for just a moment longer. You were not content with those being your last words so you continued: “My father believes that the King is a just one.” You chose your words intentionally, hoping he would take the bait yet shocked when he did. “And what do you believe?” You didn’t quite know how to respond to his question. No one had ever asked for your political opinion, especially not a man. “Well,” The small grin was already appearing on your face. “The price of tea is far too high nowadays.” The smile was quick to come to his face though he played it off with a joking scoff and eye roll. “So, does the beautiful young lady have a name?” “Y/n.” “Y/n,” He repeated your words testing it out to see if he liked it, apparently he did because the next thing he asked was where the two of you were headed next. You went to the silversmith, and he talked about growing up on a plantation in South Carolina and the things he saw happen to his father’s slaves. You went to the bakery and he told you his dreams of giving those men their freedom so they could join him in fighting in the war. You found him more endearing the longer you talked to him. You let your guard down and showed him your interest in what he had to say and you no longer tried to hide the laughs and smiles that he pulled out of you. “What about you?” He asked as he held the door to the general store open for you. “What about me?” You asked promptly. “Oh, come on, I’ve done nothing but talk, you have to return the favor.” His smirk grew quickly. You simply rolled your eyes but let yourself smile to show that you found the joke at least a little funny. “There’s not much to tell until two weeks ago I stayed in my home back in London and did what I was asked.” You explained. “Will you grab the jam jar on the top shelf for me?” You could probably reach it but you wanted to see how quickly he would please you. He in fact did follow your request but not before taking a step closer to you, pressing you against the shelf as he reached over you to grab the jar above your head. “You don’t seem like the type to quietly obey.” John’s voice was low, lower than you’d ever heard it before and quiet enough so that you were the only one who heard his words. He did this on the purpose of course, what he said was only for you. He brought his hand down to give you the jar, your hand resting on his for just a moment. That’s when you realized this was the first time you’d touched, and now that’s all you wanted to do and the brushing of hands wasn’t nearly enough. As you went to stutter out an answer the shouting that was coming through the front door pulled both of you out of your moment. “Y/n M/n L/n, there you are, oh my god!” Joan ran straight for you. Her pale cheeks flushed and grey hair falling loose from her low bun. “I thought you’d run away, do you know how upset your father will be?” “Father isn’t here, you don’t have to tell him anything.” You proposed. “Is this your mother?” John interjected as he held his hand out for her to take. “No, she’s my handler.” You said with a hint of annoyance. Joan gave John her hand and he promptly placed a kiss on the back of it, you felt yourself become envious of her hand. Her cheeks turned bright red, you were sure she would tell you about how she hasn’t gotten this much attention from men since she was 20. “Joan this is John Laurens, John Laurens this is Joan.” You nearly groaned out. Joan quickly spoke up again right when you saw her eyes fall on Johns’s coat. “Oh my! Y/n we must be headed home now!” She grabbed your hand and began to drag you to the door. “Joan, Joan!” You shouted for attention before dangling your basket in front of her face. “I’ll pay for these.” She took the basket from your hands. “You wait outside.” She shooed you away. You exited the shop making sure that John was following. “Maybe we should make a run for it.” You turned to John as he chuckled. “I don’t think so, you’ll give the poor woman a heart attack.” He said then a silence fell between you. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you though.” “Neither do I.” You said softly. “May I write you?” John quickly turned towards you, swooping your hands into his and holding them close to his heart. “Yes.” You nodded as you stared intently and how he held you. “John, this won’t be easy, my father would never-” “I know.” He said simply as he smiled at you and for just a moment you didn’t care about what your father would say. “Alright, Y/n, it’s time for us to head home,” Joan said as she came out the door. “Goodbye, Y/n.” He took your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “Goodbye, John Laurens.”

[nancypullen]

One Week Later...

Yikes, the last few days got away from me. Not because I've been busy, more likely because the days are all so similar that nothing is really marking the passage of time. Not a complaint, just an observation. Here's a summary of the last week on the Pullen spread: The fair ended and the award-winning photographer that lives here collected his winnings. Our heatwave broke for a couple of days before cranking back up. On Monday we went to our city's board of commissioners meeting to show our support for a possible recall of a blatantly racist, QAnon conspiracy theory spouting commissioner. We were definitely in the minority, this lovely city has a very ugly underbelly. Last night I scored a fabulous "Spirit: Riding Free" playset on Facebook Marketplace. The grandgirl is a big fan. It's a wholesome show about girls on horses going on adventures and solving problems.

The cast of characters is diverse (and capable, smart, and kind). I like that. Anywho, I scooped up the barn, all three main characters, horses, and a ton of accessories for a small fraction of what I'd pay at a store. It all looks brand spankin' new, certainly new enough for a three year old. And speaking of that little girl, we're just a week away from seeing her! We're going back up to scope out more real estate, get a feel for some of the towns that interest us, and mostly to get as many snuggles and giggles as we can in a short visit. Her parents will be celebrating an anniversary during our stay so I've told them to get the heck out of the house and go have some fun. Leave Grancy in charge and go play. I have plans. Other than what's listed above every day is the same - I cook, clean, and repeat. My escape from the constant barrage of bad news is to sit at my desk and make my silly cards. I love losing track of time while sorting ribbons and buttons, laughing at my own creations, and talking to my surly assistant.

Just outside that window is a busy world. The Crepe Myrtle tree is where the dominant hummingbird hides, waiting for another to approach either of the feeders. An aerial battle then ensues. Have mercy, these were snapped through a window.

Cardinals seem to visit our feeder most often, and I found this one interesting. Where's his crest?

Is he young? Molting? Battling mites or a parasite of some kind? Dealing with male pattern baldness? Whatever the answer, he is not attractive.

He looks like a red buzzard. While he stuffed himself a chickadee and a titmouse were quite vocal about getting their share.

Cardinals usually visit the feeder in pairs and chickadees in trios. Interesting. We've had loads of yellow finches but they don't want to sit still for a photo. I haven't posted many garden pics this summer, but they're thriving. I'm in love with this pink drift rose. I picked her up on the orphan table at Lowes last spring and she's gorgeous now.

My asters are blooming a month early. Why not? Nothing else has been normal this summer.

One of the reasons that I love them is because they're the September birth month flower. I'm a September baby and always thought it was a bit magical that they bloomed right on time. I took it personally. I guess they're as confused as the rest of us. You're all caught up. If you're still awake, give yourself a cookie. I wish I could blame the sizzling dog days of summer for this boring post, but I fear that it's me - I've become boring. The big excitement tonight is that I'm making eggplant cutlets for dinner. With gooey mozzarella and fresh basil from the garden it's what counts as a good time around here. I feel guilty that this post sounds like I'm dissatisfied with life. I'm truly not. I could make a ten page list of things I'm grateful for every single day. I do get a little stir crazy now and then because we're still being careful regarding COVID, the Delta variant, etc. I'm careful because we have an unvaccinated grandbaby that I love with all my heart and I'd never forgive myself if I transmitted this virus to her and she became sick. A scrap of cloth and some common sense is so little to ask. So we don't go inside many places. When we went to the board meeting on Monday I counted six masks in the room including the two of us. Probably safe to say that the number of vaccinated folks wasn't much higher. Due to that sort of thinking we're still stuck in this pandemic. I'm a month away from my 58th birthday and I didn't even get to use 57. I want a refund of a year. The stupidity of others is costing us in so many ways. It appears there's a thinning of the herd happening. The unvaccinated are filling hospitals to overflowing, sadly they're taking many of the innocent vulnerable with them. Shame on them. Okay, okay - getting off my soapbox and back on track. Life is frustrating for all of us right now, but still good. There's still joy in every day. Every. Single. Day. I hope you've not only found it in your day but added it to someone's. We need to love each other harder than ever. And as Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I've got to say about that." Just love each other, that encompasses so much. Sending out hugs because you just might need one. XOXO,

Nancy

[bestworstcase]

bro can you just do like the entire ever on meme, I could read your headcanons and commentary all day (but for real, your takes are super interesting!)

a n o n. bsdhfsdh

How many kids do you want Rapunzel and Eugene to have?

in all honesty i Literally could not care less. maybe twins as a nod to the original fairytale, but like, a good ten years into the future. rapunzel deserves a nice long stint of just Living Her Best Life before she even thinks about having kids

Where do you want or see Cass going?

answered here. also, self indulgently, in my head at some point she ends up in antares, which is a city-state near the dark kingdom which i developed for bitter snow. it’s big and old and crowded and given that it’s built on top of a bunch of huge black rocks we’re going to just... ignore what happened to the black rocks in canon when the sundrop and moonstone fused, k?

What are some of Queen Rapunzel’s new policies?

blah! i like to think she would also institute widespread public schooling, because she’s so curious and so many of her skills are self taught out of passion and personal interest and i think she would want to inculcate those values in the children of her subjects. coronan literacy skyrockets under her reign

What will Varian think of next?

i think it’s sort of funny to take varian at his word when he calls himself an alchemist and assume he is, in fact, in a perpetual state of trying to make a philosopher’s stone. 

How many partners will Cass have, if any at all?

i mean look at her she could have her pick of any gay woman on the continent. um. in bitter snow she dates or has flings with 2... people, maybe 3 depending on how exactly we define “dates.”

What will Captain do now?

he will grow an ever more glorious beard. also this.

How will Hector, Adira, and Edmund live in the Dark Kingdom again?

they’re going to have a very welcoming immigration policy otherwise dark kingdom 2: electric boogaloo is not going to last for very long, now is it.

i think adira will spend a lot of time being the voice of reason considering that edmund lived in total isolation for twenty-five years and went a bit funny while hector lived in total isolation for twenty-five years and turned into a feral tree man and then got possessed. i also think the dark kingdom will be instrumental in the development of fantasy-telegraphs, because they do after all have a pretty pressing reason to do so

How are Stalyan and Brock doing?

stalyan met brock in, like, a dive bar somewhere and went oh my god you have to come to corona with me and pretend to be my date it’ll be so fucking funny so that’s what they did. anyway caine happened to be out on parole at the time and they bumped into each other and stalyan was like 👀 and caine was like 👀 and they’re pirate queens now. stalyan and brock are still bros.

How are the Stabbingtons doing?

they’re like three months away from getting out for good behavior. eugene is so proud.

How many times will Andrew keep trying to escape?

He Will Never Stop

How will Vex and Quaid rebuild Vardaros?

i mean we’re all basically agreed that quaid is an expy of sam vimes, right? right? which is to say they’re going to drag vardaros kicking and screaming out of the hole its in through sheer raw stubbornness and innate sense of justice and fair play. also at some point quaid is going to arrest a dragon, probably

How will the Baron react to Stalyan dating Brock?

you think stalyan is still in contact with her shitty dad? HA! it is to laugh

How are Hookfoot and Seraphina doing?

seraphina did several months of community service due to her sentence being considerably lightened after her willing return of the stolen pearl and she has since gotten her life in order and is doing a tour of the coastline with hookfoot while she tries to figure out what she wants to do with her life instead. possibly she will become a singer, since she is, as you’ll recall, immensely talented in this department.

How will the Pub Thugs react to reuniting with the Hook Brothers again?

all i know is big nose is going to ask seraphina if she has any mermaid friends she could set him up with and she is going to give him the most withering look on the planet and he’s going to write bad, sad poetry about it for at least a week. also there will be a dance party

Will Varian talk to Quirin about his mother?

my headcanon is that varian is old enough to remember his mother, and that she died when he was perhaps eight or nine. i think after the series quirin would understand that shutting down and refusing to talk about things with varian doesn’t help either of them so they will be able to have normal conversations about her sometimes.

Will Varian have his own adventure?

in all honesty i don’t think about post-series varian all that much outside of the canonical royal engineer thing so instead i’m going to talk about bitter snow varian and say that: yes, he gets a hell of a lot more adventure than he ever bargained for. 

Does Varian have a room in the Castle now? Or does he stay in Old Corona?

i mean he’s like sixteen i assume he’s still living with his dad for at least a couple more years. he’s more urban than quirin is so when he comes of age i think he’ll eventually get himself a nice little flat in corona somewhere. 

Will Faith stay as Rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting? If so, will they be close friends?

i think in once a handmaiden faith booked herself passage on the next carriage to koto and is living her best life there. it’s what she deserves

Will Nigel ever reunite with a dragon again?

[gets on my soapbox] nigel’s story is a cautionary tale about the perils of taking wild animals out of the wild and attempting to keep them as pets and having seen firsthand the dangers of doing so nigel is never going to make the same mistake again. however, he learns to appreciate them as they are, in their natural habitat, living as they please, and will one day found a dragonspotting club. [/gets off my soapbox]

Will Eugene ever talk to Edmund about his mother?

yes and edmund will tell eugene like nine million stories about her and show him the letters she wrote for their son on her deathbed and eugene will realize that he actually has more in common, personality-wise, with his mom than his dad and will end up feeling very close to her even though he never got the chance to know her. 

Is Lance still smitten over Adira?

nah not really, though he still admires her very much and i think they end up having a decent friendship. they’re foodie buddies and whenever she passes through corona she teaches the girls survival skills or practices fighting techniques with them.

Did Max and Pascal rescue the wedding cake?

probably

Will Varian and Cassandra keep in touch?

i think she’ll keep in touch with him as much as she keeps in touch with any of team corona, really. they’re friends but not especially close, yknow?

Who will Cass run into on her adventures?

like i said in one of the other asks i think she passes through ingvarr at some point and maybe bumps into the princesses there. i definitely think she encounters caine and stalyan at least a couple times in contexts that range from adversarial to reluctant allies. the idea of her passing through vardaros and helping quaid and vex out with some mystery is kind of fun. 

Will Cass become a famous adventurer or live elusively?

cass is going to fall into the sam vimes camp of her reputation preceding her completely by accident

Who will be at Rapunzel and Eugene’s child(ren)’s christening(s)?

i assume, like, all the important people. fred and arianna and edmund, lance, varian, cass if she’s around. plus they’re royalty so like, a lot of noble types and diplomats and whatnot. 

What will Rapunzel and Eugene name their children?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Who from their adventures will Rapunzel and Eugene visit? The Lorbs? Calliope? King Trevor? Vex and Quaid?

i think there will be occasional trips to the dark kingdom via hot air balloon and they’ll probably check in on vardaros from time to time. can’t see them visiting calliope unless they absolutely have to. diplomatic visits with equis are... probably unavoidable, but filled with Regret. i think the lorbs would probably be happier if the crazy fleinfloofers didn’t keep coming back to the island to trigger horb the lorb’s various failed magical cures for depression, all things considered.

Will Rapunzel make amends with Lady Caine? Will she pardon her father and let him reunite with Lady Caine?

i think caine’s dad is dead. and i think rapunzel would try to make amends, but caine is in the category of... things can’t always be made better? her father was taken from her in a horribly traumatizing way and then in all likelihood either executed (remember that corona canonically hangs thieves) or died on a prison barge years ago, and there’s nothing rapunzel can realistically do to make that better. sometimes an apology isn’t enough, you know? i think she could provide caine with some closure by helping her find out exactly what happened to him, but caine would never harbor any positive feelings for corona or for rapunzel.

Will Cassandra settle in Corona, abroad, or remain indefinitely itinerant?

i think she’ll eventually settle down but i also see her as developing a real love for travel and continuing to do it frequently even after she finds her home base, so to speak. i also tend to lean on the side of she comes back to corona to visit but doesn’t have enough positive connections to the place to ever feel completely at home there. 

Will Madame Canardist ever learn of Vigor’s origins?

madame canardist is a racist romani caricature and i don’t like thinking about her if i can possibly help it. it leaves a very bad taste in my mouth.

Will Varian rebuild any of Demanitus’ work?

dunno, maybe? varian is a demanitus fanboy for sure and if he encountered a demanitus blueprint for a machine that he could put to good use i think he’d absolutely build it at the first opportunity. i can see him rebuilding the weather device just in case zhan tiri’s blizzard were to reoccur, for example. but also, a lot of demanitus’s inventions were pretty dangerous (see: the portal to the lost realm, the body-switching ray) and varian as of season three has learned his lesson about doing Reckless Science so i think he would approach with a certain amount of caution.

Will Cass be nervous when meeting her New Dream nieces and nephews?

...a bit? maybe? i guess? prior to this i spent literally 0 braincells thinking about new dream children so i dunno. i’m not a kid person and i rarely if ever speculate about non-canonical children of fictional couples. she’d be the fun adventuring family friend i suppose.

[mariolucario493]

A Frozen 2 review no one asked for! (POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD)

Okay, hear me out. I’m probably in the minority when I say this, but...

I think it’s better than the first one.

I liked the original Frozen just fine. I liked how it depicted anxiety and how it subverted a lot of Disney tropes, but I probably wouldn’t put it in my top ten.

(Which, in case you’re interested, is:)

10. Tarzan

9. Aladdin

8. Beauty and the Beast

7. Frozen 2 (this one!)

6. Lilo & Stitch

5. Wreck-it Ralph

4. Moana

3. The Lion King

2. The Hunchback of Notre Dame

1. Zootopia

(And that’s not even including the Pixar ones.)

But it seems that the general consensus of Frozen 2 is the same as a lot of sequels (especially Disney sequels): that it’s not as good as the first one. Or, dare I say it, that it’s just the first one all over again. But here’s my argument against that. I think being similar to the first one actually works in its favor.

What do I mean by that? Well, after the prologue, the movie opens with a song called “Some Things Never Change,” in which all the characters sing about how happy they are in their current life. Although Olaf worries that change might be inevitable (I love how woke he’s become, btw), no one is really seeking anything new. Now that sounds like the setup for a lot of recent Disney movies, I know. But it's an idea that’s really explored throughout the entirety of the movie.

Every character reacts to change differently. Elsa is nervous, but tries to embrace it anyway; Olaf dismisses it as something he will understand when he’s older; Kristoff feels like he and his friends are drifting apart; and Anna struggles to accept it overall. And we see how each of them goes through it. Even the inclusion of darker themes allows the audience to react similarly to the characters onscreen. Kids probably won’t always understand what’s going on; but they’ll have a good time anyway. And just like Olaf, they’ll understand it when they’re older. That does seem to be one of the major criticisms I’ve seen for Frozen 2, that it’s too dark and too complicated for kids. But Disney’s never been afraid to tackle heavy subjects before, because they know that challenging the audience helps them grow. And hey, at least it’s not Crimes of Grindelwald, right?

I think the reason they made Frozen 2 similar to Frozen 1 was the same reason they used similar themes in Frozen 1 that we were already familiar with - princesses, magical kingdoms, curses, goofy sidekicks. And that’s to deconstruct and subvert them. In fact, I might even go so far as to say that this was an attempt to remind Disney to always try new things, which they have had trouble with recently. Just look at all those live-action remakes that no one asked for. The exact same thing all over again disguised as something new, but without all the stuff that made the originals so good in the first place.

Frozen 2 also continues the tradition of having interesting female protagonists. Well, interesting ANIMATED female protagonists, anyway. It’s not like the Aladdin remake, where Jasmine has a whole new song about girl power, but then she becomes the damsel in distress anyway and does nothing to fight back. It’s not like Captain Marvel, who makes a big deal about being a female superhero even though the Avengers already have several much more interesting female members. It’s not like the new Star Wars movies, in which they’re so focused with making Rey a strong female role model that they forget to give her a personality. And it’s not going to be like the Mulan remake, which I’m just going to assume is going to be another soapbox feminist’s wet dream. Oh, wait, I forgot this is Tumblr, and they love that shit.

But really. Starting with Tiana, Disney’s animated leading ladies have become such well-written characters. From Rapunzel to Vanellope to Judy Hopps to Moana to Elastigirl, they are fully fleshed-out characters first and agenda pushers second. Anna and Elsa are no exception. Elsa battles magical spirits and tames a water horse, and Anna has a crisis of ethics that feels really genuine. All without saying something dumb like “Look how capable I, a female, am in this situation, in comparison to my less competent male companions.”

Oh, by the way, for those of you who wanted Elsa to be revealed as a lesbian, I think we have a few more hints that she may be. She does not end up with a love interest, but I noticed she does seem to get along really well with Honeymaren. So maybe? Definitely better than the live-action Beauty and the Beast, am I right?

Oh, and the songs are great. We get not one, but TWO big numbers from Idina Menzel. Olaf and Kristoff both get new songs that are pointless, but still really funny. Anna has a new song that is one of the emotional highlights. The lyrics are just as clever, and they help further each character’s story arc. Even the lame pop versions of the songs over the end credits, which I usually DESPISE; hearing Imagine Dragons’ cover of “Into the Unknown” was actually pretty decent.

So, those darker themes. The reveal that one of Anna and Elsa’s ancestors was a genocidal tyrant who built the dam as a way to restrict the Northuldra tribe’s resources, and then declared war on them. Pretty ballsy, I have to say. And pretty creative that the villain of this movie is a character who is already dead before the movie even begins. Kind of like Coco, but they don’t even interact with him as a spirit or anything. What I like about this is that it kind of explains why the father in the first movie didn’t always do the right thing when it came to raising his kids. Locking up one of your daughters because she has supernatural abilities seems like a terrible move. But when you consider that Agnarr’s father was also distant from his son and had the goal of suppressing magic, you realize that it may have been a subconscious choice on his behalf. And hey, it’s also revealed that the reason Agnarr left on the ship that would eventually be his grave was to find answers about Elsa. So he probably felt remorse about it.

And now it’s time to compare this movie to today’s political climate. And before you start typing about how I’m wrong like Tumblr users are prone to do, maybe take a hint from the first movie and let it go. This is just my personal analysis.

The Northuldra tribe is clearly inspired by the Sami, the indigenous people of Norway, who have been persecuted for generations. But I don’t know much about Norwegian history, so let’s just compare it to America. Now let’s see...does America have a history of persecuting its indigenous population and disguising acts of war as offerings of peace? Hey, didn’t this movie come out just a week before Thanksgiving?

That’s right, I’m going there. Come to think of it, this whole movie radiates Thanksgiving vibes. It’s set in autumn, and it opens with everyone having a big feast with pumpkins and stuff.

King Runeard is a historical figure within Arendelle, and he is considered a hero. The dam that Runeard built is a monument that is ultimately destroyed by Anna in the film’s climax. And Anna initially refuses to do so because she believes the dam represents all that her kingdom stands for. I might be crazy, but this reminds me of how people are starting to take down statues of Confederate soldiers or how many cities have stopped recognizing Columbus Day as a national holiday, despite others saying that they are important parts of our heritage. One of the lines in “Some Things Never Change” is “Arendelle’s flag will always fly.” Sounds kind of like those conservative nuts who think the American flag is an infallible symbol and anyone who disrespects it (say, by taking a knee during the national anthem) is not a true patriot. Might be grasping at straws with that one.

And what Anna decides to do ultimately makes Arendelle a better place, even though she worries that it will be an unpopular decision. So we have a person in a position of political power who puts aside her own hubris for the good of her people. She asks for nothing in return, and knows that the right choice is not the easy one. She destroys a physical bridge, but builds a metaphorical one. Anna really is the type of leader we need. And if you think that it’s ethnocentric that a white person saves the day for a minority, remember that Anna and Elsa are actually half Northuldran on their mother’s side.

Yes, I believe Frozen 2 is up there with Zootopia as one of the great Disney flexes on right-wing extremists. But it’s subtle enough that we can enjoy the characters, the music, and the story first; and the message second. It reminds us to step outside our comfort zones and to always think about what it means to do the right thing.

If you didn’t like the first Frozen, you probably won’t enjoy this one either. I can understand what people mean when they say the movie throws a lot at you and doesn’t always feel focused on a coherent story. But regardless, I think it is an important movie.

[ikementally-deficient]

I want to take a minute off from my endless stream of smut and snarky comments about otome screencaps to talk about something. Lemme just dig out my soapbox here.

Privilege in Writing.

I see a lot of snark, mostly from shitty anons but not always, about people’s writing quality, specifically in fanfiction. Leaving aside the sheer ungrateful arrogance of bitching about something people are mostly doing for fun, for free, and because they want to share something that inspired them with other people, let’s talk about what I mean by privilege and how it relates.

I’m gonna use myself as an object lesson, bear with me. This gets long.

I am, from a purely technical perspective (this isn’t about creativity or ideas today), a pretty good writer. I have a very large vocabulary. I have a strong grounding in things like sentence structure, clarity of syntax, and the nitty gritty architecture of prose like punctuation and spelling. I understand narrative structure, characterization, and story beats.

Here’s where the privilege comes in:

I’m a native English speaker. The bulk of fandom (and this will vary by fandom, but it’s definitely a factor), is reading in English, which, by the way, is a really confusing language to learn, especially as an adult. 

I come from a family of university educated professionals. My grandmother held a Master of Library Sciences. She taught me to read. I grew up surrounded by books, and was encouraged to make use of them.

My family is well-off enough that my grand-parents were very comfortably retired, and so had both the time to spend with me reading, and the money to provide me with more reading material as gifts for holidays and birthdays.

I have always lived in cities where I had, and continue to have, free and unfettered access to very extensive library systems.

My parents, though divorced, were both well off enough that I never had to balance school and work as a teenager. Although they insisted I get summer jobs when I turned 16, I was never forced to sacrifice study time to help support my household.

I was fortunate enough in high school to have very good teachers, who took extra time to nurture my love of reading and writing.

I have a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. I grew up in Quebec, where tuition is extremely low for permanent residents, even compared to other Canadian provinces. My semesters in Concordia’s Literature Program cost less than 2000$ a quarter (back in the early 2000s).

Now, as an adult, I have managed to always maintain a large enough living space that my collection of books, both fiction and reference, is always to hand.

This is just the really obvious stuff. To whit:

I have anxiety and ADHD. I had enough spare money to find myself a therapist privately, a healthcare system that covers the cost of my psychiatrist, and a job that provides me excellent benefits to cover the cost of my medications.

I have a (now nearly) six-month-old child. I live, again, in a country that provides me with up to 18 months of paid maternity leave. That’s right, Canada is paying me to stay home with my kid. (It’s not nearly as much as I make when I’m actually working, but it keeps the lights on) If I had been forced to go back to work right after giving birth, I assure you I would have neither the time nor the required mental health to write.

I have a partner who is a fully engaged father to our child and participates in the maintenance of our household so I don’t have to carry either load alone.

We have a roommate who adores our child and is happy to take charge of him for a couple of hours so I can shower/nap/just get some quiet time.

What does all of this mean?

It means that I’m writing, in my native language, about works I’ve consumed in my native language. I grew up in an environment that was practically tailor-made to nurture this kind of creative work. My education focused exactly on this type of expression from my first year of high school all the way to the end of university. I have enough resources, both personal and social/civic, to continue educating myself whenever I have the desire to do so. I have enough of a support network, both personal and social/civic, to help me manage any personal issues or conditions that might impact my ability to write (and do a lot of other stuff, not going to lie). 

I have a partner and housemate who both encourage me in this hobby, and work to give me the time to indulge it. I have the time and headspace both to write without hurrying, and to be able to go back and review my work before posting it.

If my family had been less educated before I was even born, if my grandparents hadn’t had enough money to retire as they did, if my parents had made less money and I’d had to work more regularly during high school and university, if I lived somewhere with no libraries and no health care, if I had had to pay US tuition rates, if I couldn’t afford my medication or to get diagnosed in the first place, if I’d had to go back to work right after giving birth instead of having time to recover physically and mentally . . . 

The list of ways in which I have been privileged that support my writing and quality thereof is very long. Trust me, this doesn’t even come close to addressing all the socioeconomic, racial, and linguistic factors that are at play here, but I’m rubbing up against a thousand words here and I think I’ve made my point. 

So, to all of you people who are writing in your second or third language, who are writing at the end of a long work day, who are scribbling in two minute increments in the bathroom because you’re the only parent, who didn’t grow up with a copy of the Concise OED on the dinner table, who haven’t had time over the years to absorb through osmosis literary and syntactical tropes because you actually had to work after school or couldn’t afford books, to all the people who didn’t even realise writing was a thing you wanted to do until you saw this one show or played that game last week:

Keep writing. Fuck the haters. I love you, and as long as you keep at it, you’ll get better, and as long as you love what you’re doing it doesn’t matter if you get better anyways, but I promise you will. 

To everyone else: 

Keep your goddamned nitpicking to yourself. Stop making people cry and ruining their love of creating because they didn’t match up to whatever arbitrary quality standards you’ve established in your head. Check your fucking privilege. 

[daresplaining]

How can you describe Murdocks's personality?

Matt: “I’m an endless contradiction that’d never stand up to cross-examination, Foggy. Always thought that was part of my charm.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #353 by Karl Kesel, Cary Nord, and Christie Scheele

    Matt’s personality is varied and complex, thanks to one of my favorite aspects of Big Two superhero comics: the fact that Daredevil has been around for 55 years and has been written by dozens of different people. The downside of this situation is the myriad continuity issues that plague these comics, but the upside is that it results in rich characters who have been explored from every possible angle, and Matt is (in my unbiased opinion) one of the best examples. The tone of the story being told tends to impact the way he behaves, and different writers have emphasized different sides of his personality based on their own interpretations of his character, but there is a lot that has remained consistent over the years.

    Since his introduction, Matt has been characterized by fearless heroism; his origin story involves him leaping in front of an out-of-control truck to save a stranger’s life. He is called “the Man Without Fear” (and, heck, Daredevil) for a reason. He has a strong moral code and sense of justice that keeps him fighting for people in need. His childhood spent in a crime-ridden neighborhood, and his father’s murder while he was in college, both taught him hard lessons about how cruel and unforgiving the world can be. He knows how important law and justice are, and knows how often they fail, and so he is compelled to help people, both as a superhero and as a lawyer. He is extremely brave, and doesn’t hesitate to go to great lengths to achieve his goals. This is true in every aspect of his life– in his legal career as much as his superhero one.

“Stay calm.”

“The voice isn’t soothing. It’s stern-wry-stormy. A reckless say-your-prayers sign-your-will-before-crossing-it kind of voice. The attorney with the vocal attitude is Matthew Murdock. Known in legal circles to be something of a daredevil.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #380 by D.G. Chichester, Lee Weeks, and Christie Scheele

    This ties into Matt’s adrenaline junkie tendencies. He isn’t just willing to take risks– he enjoys them! He’s an active, energetic guy, and both his blindness (and the ableism/societal expectations that came with it) and his father’s role in limiting his athletic activities as a kid further exacerbated his need for action. I can’t allow myself to get through a post like this without getting up on my usual soapbox and saying: regardless of what else may be going on in his life, on a fundamental level, Matt loves being Daredevil. Swinging through the city, fighting bad guys, and making a name for himself as a superhero fulfills his need for action, thrills, and empowerment, and has actually proven to be a key aspect of his mental health. Whenever Matt is bored, restless, stressed, upset, or doesn’t know what else to do, he will fling himself out the nearest window. 

Matt: “Look! I’m not getting anywhere sitting around here… which means– it’s travelin’ time… for this bored little Man Without Fear! It’s true… it really is; out here, with the wind rushing past me, I come alive! For a short while, I have no problems, no worries– nothing but total freedom!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #125 by Marv Wolfman, Bob Brown and Klaus Janson

Foggy: “What are you doing?”

Matt: “I’m going out.”

Foggy: “Out there? To face them?”

Matt: “No. Out there. To do something worthwhile for someone.”

Foggy: “You’re a stubborn @?!*! You know that? You’re a stubborn @!?*!!”

Daredevil vol. 2 #34 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

    At times, Matt has questioned whether this thrill, rather than the superheroics, is the real reason he is Daredevil, and it’s part of why I’m convinced he would have become a superhero even if Jack hadn’t been murdered.

    Matt is extremely strong-willed and resilient. You can’t beat him down; even when he gets stomped into the dirt, he will not stop fighting. This has also been true since basically the beginning of the comic. One of his earliest character-defining issues is Daredevil volume 1 #7, in which Matt singlehandedly battles Namor the Sub-Mariner, and refuses to give up even when it’s clear that he has no hope of winning

Caption: “But, once again, the power of the Sub-Mariner is greater than any could suppose, and it is he who recovers first– while the Man Without Fear […] lies weak, and dazed, and helpless…! Yet, how can one measure the limitless courage of a fellow human? Although on the brink of unconsciousness– although racked with pain and fatigue– still the sightless crusader reaches out–!”

Matt: “Come back! You– you mustn’t fight the others–! They’re innocent– mustn’t be harmed– mustn’t–!”

Namor: “I have fought the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and other super-powered humans, but none has been more courageous than he, the most vulnerable of all!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #7 by Stan Lee and Wally Wood

    Matt’s life has been difficult to the point of becoming a running joke within Marvel comics. He has suffered a lot. But a key element of this suffering is showing how he survives it. For instance: many people point to the “Born Again” arc as an example of a depressing Daredevil story, but I don’t see it that way because it’s ultimately a celebration of Matt’s strength of spirit. There are two ways of being the Man Without Fear: there’s the swashbuckley Daredevilling, and there’s having the courage to keep fighting when all seems lost.

    Matt’s superhuman willpower also has a negative side. He is stubborn and hardheaded to a frustrating degree. He has a big, sometimes overpowering personality, values his perspective above all others, and will frequently trample over/disregard the opinions of other people for the sake of doing what he thinks is right. This wholehearted confidence in his own judgment is vital for his hero work, but not so great for his personal relationships. It’s one reason why he mostly operates on his own as a superhero (it caused him to butt heads with Natasha Romanov while they were partners), and why he can also be a huge pain to work with as a lawyer. This is exacerbated by his secret-keeping– something he has done since he was young, long before he became a superhero or even had powers. One of the first things we learn about young Matt in DD #1 is that he snuck to the gym to train without Jack’s knowledge, hiding a key side of himself from his father, and he has maintained layers of secrecy– including crafting an array of aliases/alter egos– ever since.   

Matt: “Even when I was first blinded, I never told anyone about my radar or my hypersenses. Not even my dad. I enjoyed having a big secret. When people make you feel like you’re weak and helpless, it’s empowering to know something they don’t. And, boy, did I need empowering. […] But here’s the truth: learned behaviors die hard. They become a comfort zone. So even though I grew older, and stronger, I somehow never let go of that need for the power of secrecy. And along the way, it went from survival skill to habit to… to…”

Foggy: “Emotional addiction. I can see that. You do love coming to the table with an ace up your sleeve. No wonder you took to law.”

Daredevil vol. 3 #22 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

    He puts up facades and keeps information to himself almost by instinct at this point. When things get bad, he shuts people out and turns inward. And he often displays what I’d call selfish selflessness– doing things he thinks are right while ignoring the fact that they may actually have harmful consequences. A major example of this is faking his death to keep his loved ones safe– something Matt has done on multiple occasions.

    He is also an extremely emotional person. Matt feels things intensely, in more ways than one. He has clinical depression (which was established by Mark Waid in Volume 4), and he has been through a series of horrific mental breakdowns over the course of his career. Matt at his lowest points is erratic and often frightening. He becomes dangerously impulsive, sometimes emotionally abuses those around him, and is extra angry and violent as Daredevil. 

Matt: “I don’t enjoy torture. But tonight I don’t care. In between the screams, I beat him. Like he was a heavy bag. And it feels good. I should feel sick. I should, but I don’t. I just feel more angry… ready for a new target.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #104 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    He has suffered immense loss over the course of his career-- mostly in the form of his array of dead girlfriends-- for which he blames himself (and to be honest, he does deserve at least some of that blame). He doesn’t always learn from the mistakes that leave his loved ones dead, but he still feels that grief very deeply.

    On the upside, he’s also extremely passionate. He will do anything for the causes/people he cares about (even if he doesn’t always show it), falls in love fast, hard, and all-consumingly, and in general needs to have friends around him to keep him sane and happy. He is very smart but often lacking in common sense. He’s a charming flirt, a charismatic public speaker, a snarky punk to those who know him well, and he has a hilarious dry sense of humor that is 50% self-deprecation and 50% blind jokes. 

Foggy: “Did you see this, Matt?”

Matt: “Foggy, how long have you known me?”

Foggy: “You know what I mean!”

Daredevil vol. 2 #76 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Dave Stewart

    In short, he’s a hugely complex person in a way that I adore, flaws and all. I’m going to end with this quote from Foggy (well, Mark Waid), since it’s a personal favorite:     

Foggy: “[Matt] will confound you. He will frustrate you. He will make your choices FOR you, he will manipulate you without CONSULTING you, and you will want to PUNCH him in his self-assured face at least ONCE AN HOUR. […] But he will care about you in a way that no one else ever could.”

Daredevil vol. 4 #5 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

[x-mensirens]

just a Walk On The Wild Side drabble~

to anyone who’s interested~

Kurt and Scott were unwilling witnesses to Evan's coming punishment as they got in after school. He'd made a whole scene fighting, and half of Bayville High had seen the whole thing. The administrators were all pretty understanding, but Hank, Ororo, Logan, and Charles did not seem pleased by the younger student's suspension. The city youth was finally settling down, learning to be responsible and part of a team, and handle having other New Recruits look up to him.

This punishment was random and suspect, Logan's dark eyes inspecting the boy for a reason. He wouldn't back peddle without one. He sees his aunt has the same thought track, but she's trying not to glide to nephew's rescue. He was a ward of the school and equal to everyone else, he couldn't be treated special. She's mostly bewildered, wondering why, knowing all they have to lose, he fought.

"Evan," Charles admonished, but his eyes are more worried, than anything. Logan stands beside him with broad arms folded. The telepath did not like to scold or demand, but he would if he was pushed to it. He was getting an answer. "Talk to us. We are here for you."

"Surely, there is good reason?" Hank had seen him come around to nature and find peace in the California redwoods, even with the mishaps of the trip. He too, suspects something else at play. He shares a quiet look with Ororo. "A problem at school we could help with? Give us something." It was hard getting children of this age to open up, and much less boys. He knew all to well.

"A situation for me to mediate?" Logan gestured to his knuckles and nodded, knowing that male adolescence is filled with self loathing and the fear of looking weak (asking for help).

"We are here for you, Evan. All of us. But, your actions have consequences..." The graceful woman wants to believe in her nephew's progress, so badly. He looked down at his white tank top, his frown set deeply in his face. Explaining would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Evan..." Kurt tries, his tail swishing nervously out of habit. They'd all had plans, but it seemed like the institute had another idea.

"Just, tell 'em what's up." Scott tries, now curious to see why his teammate is suspended, and what he needs to do about it. Evan just sighs again, he didn't want to budge. "It's not like you to be so hotheaded. You've learned a lot about thinking your decisions through..." The blue mutant rubs his arm as their leader finds a soapbox to step on.

Evan only huffs, his skateboard quivering underarm. "I'm sorry, Auntie-O. I'm sorry, professor. I just wasn't making smart decisions, nothing more to tell, yo." The hairy instructor almost busts out of a dark t-shirt when Evan makes a move to flee the foyer.

"Porcupine, you wait a minute." The man was a human lie detector, and he smelled lies. Whatever he was scrapping in the schoolyard about, it wasn't over himself. The commotion is momentarily halted when Kitty, Amara, and Jean appear through the doors, smelling sweetly and covered in glitter. The girls of the institute have been swapping clothes and styling each other, hanging together and stressing the boy's wing out. Ever since the random string of vigilante busts ended.

Both Scott and Logan figured out what been going on, and different ways. But the females of the school had been different, ever since. Even the reclusive Rogue. The Canadian man was practically going crazy after she suddenly started socializing. Staying out after school, up all night on the phone, coming and going like the other students. It was almost eerie.

The red head seems to be wearing Kitty's shirt, a maroon button up that leaves a lot of her mid drift exposed. Kitty is dwarfed in a pink button up of the senior's, fitting her like a shirt dress with pink pom-poms with in her hair. And Amara was shrugged in a turquoise, off the shoulder sweater.

"Ah, girls." Charles half sighs, noticing Evan's flushed demeanor.

"Red, how about shirts that fit. And half-pint, pants next time? Brazil, don't get me started... You’re guilty by association." The girls giggle and largely don't pay the grumpy man mind.

"Hey, professor." Jean glides upstairs to find the library.

"C'mon, let's hurry to the Rec room..." Kitty suggests, hooking her arm in the other freshman's.

"Sure. Where's Rogue? I didn't see her after school." Scott folds his arms and tries to look like he isn't eavesdropping (he’s totally eavesdropping).

"I dunno, she got on that lit. college student's bike." The brunette answered with a shrug, Kurt following after her. One of his eyebrows is raised. 

"College student?" He asks, German accent strong. Jean poked her head down the staircase in curiosity.

"College?" She cant hide her pout, like she wasn't already dating the school starting quarterback. "No fair..."

"College?" Hank patted Logan on the shoulder, but it was no use. He wasn't sure how, but he was going to halt the girl power trip before it got out of hand. "This place..." He jabbed a finger towards Evan's bleached blonde hair. "I'm smokin' a cig, and then you're rattin' on whoever is giving you a hard time. They're not getting in the way of your studies." With that, he took off in another direction.

Evan sighed, Scott scrubbing his chin. "He only wants to help." Charles says with a tentative smile.

"Like, we all do." Ororo pressed, her mouth tugging downwards. The fifteen year old didn't even begin to know how to articulate what he was thinking, but he wasn't saying it to his aunt.

"I was just being a hothead, bro. I'm sorry for letting you down. I accept whatever punishment you give me, and will try to make better decisions in the future." Before anyone could formulate a response, he hopped on his board and disappeared from sight. The shaded mutant scratched his head and watched him roll off.

"Any of you buy it?" Hank only shook his head no as Ororo sighed.

"Not a bit."

"He's at such a secretive age..." The african woman can't wonder if she bit of more than she can chew taking him in. She has no children of her own, what did she know about rearing him just because they're both mutants?

"I have a feeling that this, like lots of other things, will resolve itself. Come, let's give him some time. I can hardly punish the crime without motive." The silver haired woman nodded in agreement as they all moved to the kitchen.

Evan made it to the gates of the campus when a blood red motorcycle pulled up, the petite figure of his teammate on the back. He watched in astonishment as she pulled a black helmet off and shook wavy hair out. She's wearing the dress she wore for the musical (which he hadn't seen, since), chunky boots, and a leather jacket over top. "Thanks, Dylan. That was awesome. We'll compare the parallels of Hamlet and Son's Of Anarchy some other time, okay? Bye!"

He closes his mouth when she turns to him with a scowl, but one he's come to learn isn't unfriendly. "Sup, Spyke?" She drawled, wondering what everyone else is up to. He jammed his hands into khaki pockets.

"Yo. Have... Fun?" She ran a gloved hand through her hair in dissatisfaction.

"Sure, Ah guess. Dylan pays me fifty bucks to tutor him." She shrugged, Mystique had raised a hustler. She studies his face closer when she can see one of his eyes is starting to black. "Gettin' your UFC career started early?" His face soured, not this again. He'd rather not talk about it.

"C'mon, Rogue. You don't usually pry. What is this, bizarro world?" Rogue is the queen of defensiveness, so she is not afraid of the younger mutant's lashing out.

"Ah might when my friends are losin' fights. Hell, Evan. We could'a taken it two an' two, they accidentally touch my skin it's li-" She stops when he huffs in frustration.

"That's not... That's not the point, Rogue." Perhaps a few weeks ago, people looked at Rogue as cold. Brutish. Menacing. Everyone knew she went to the freak school and was a redbelt, enough said. But, she's found a confidence (one all the Bayville Siren girls have found) that was changing the way everyone saw her. Talked about her. Thought about her. The loner goth girl was still too far in her own world to notice it, but he saw.

Kitty and Amara welcomed any attention in their budding high school career, and though it baffled Scott, Jean loved the attention. Rogue didn't seem to understand or notice. Maybe, she didn’t even care. She's always done what she wanted and for once, she feels like part of a tribe. Surrounded by girls. They shared a secret and a bond.

He loves to see his friend wear pride in how cool she is, he just doesn't like the chauvinistic commentary coming with it. It's complicated, and she sees in his eyes that she really has no idea what's going on. She folds her arms and plants her feet, daring him to speed away on his board. "So, what is the point, then? This ain't like you." He'd been on time for Danger Room and personal promises and putting forth the effort to turn his leaf around, just like her.

"I wasn't fighting over myself." He admits in defeat, his chin resting in his hands. She dropped her arms.

"Who's gettin' picked on?" She'd handle it, herself.

"It's more what people said." He sat down glumly and waited for the girl to follow. She does so, hesitantly.

"Evan, words are not nothin' worth scrappin' over. Do you know the things Ah've been called, where Ah'd be if Ah fought every time someone tried to offend me?" She reflects for a moment on the south and her face sours. "Was it... Was it that word?" She whispered. If it was, she'd tell the professor or Logan and they'd definitely know what to about it, for his sake.

His eyes soften, but he shakes his head. "It was you, Rogue. And Kitty. Amara. Jean. Tabitha... It's like... Ever since, I dunno..." They weren't aware that all the boys knew what they'd been up to and didn't say anything, but she figures it out. "I think you guys are cool. You guys came together and found a vibe, you're all glowing. Happy." Rogue tries to follow the lingo as he balances on his board. "There's nothing wrong with that. But, for whatever reason... It makes guys... It makes guys..."

"Have pigs for brains?" She arches an eyebrow, amused at Evan's latent protectiveness. He nodded furiously. "Evan, trust me, we know what we were forced to sign up for just by bein' women." His eyes darkened.

"No, you don't know." He refused to repeat the things he heard people, people he was supposed to be friends with say. "All sorts of things about your bodies, assuming they know anything about you, when they don't. You're my friends, people I'm lucky to know." Things he didn’t even want to think about, jokingly. He stomped one of his many boards in half, growling. "They don't know you, that Kitty's saving that part of her life for marriage. Or, thinking Jean's boy crazy or loves a million guys. She loves Scott, anybody who knows her knows that. And you," Their eyes met and he's embarrassed, blinking back frustrated tears. "You can't even... They shouldn't..."

He'd never spared a thought to how both unfair it was to be a woman and for some, be a mutant; he knew now."It's okay, Evan." Her voice is soft. He was the last person she expected this outburst from, but they were all human. Unpredictable. Far from the expected. "Nothin' you need to fight over. Doesn't change anythin'." He looked down at the splintered remains of his skateboard while Rogue hugged herself. He was probably grounded for a month, at least. ‘Ah’m worth it?’

"He'll think before he says it again." He picked up his halves and shrugged, starting lazily toward the mansion. "Matters to me."

[praphit]

GLASS FOR YOUR ASS!

Glass for your ass!

I know, people. That was unnecessary and childish, and I'm almost halfway sorry, but it IS fun to say.

Say it with me GLASS FOR YOUR ASS! One more time, let's shout it together - GLASS FOR YOUR ASS! Yes!

I'm thinking of starting a business with that name. Idk what would actually be sold, cuz... I can't imagine that anyone would want glass literally sticking in their butt. Though... who knows what the young people are into today?? Maybe I'll sell custom glass chairs instead. Can you imagine that commercial?? "Come on down to John Praphit's Glass For Your Ass today for a free fitting." 

But, no, people! This post is not about my new biz venture, but a new M. Night movie! "Glass"

He has taken some of his old twists, and brought them together in this new movie!

Twist number one: Bruce Willis - An old geezer

Come on, young ladies - follow the creepy old dude in the poncho.

The twist here is that this particular geezer is super strong. He also has the power to touch people to find out their motives (good for catching bad guys). I guess another twist would be the fact that he has been walking through the city groping people for decades and no one has reported him. He is "metoo" proof!

M. Night has a chance here for a cop show idea. He could sell this idea to Fox or someone (seems like they'd do this): A cop who always gets his man or woman, BUT he has to grope several people to do so. He doesn't enjoy it, he's simply utilizing his God-given talent. The show could be called "The Groper" or maybe not... maybe "The Geez". Yeah, that's better, I think.

 The next resurrected twist on M. Night's list is Mr. Glass!

He's lookin good isn't he? It's crucial to look sharp when you're also crazy and evil.

Sam L has the power of super intelligence, and cool hair.

The twist, unfortunately, is that he is also super-breakable. He could pass gas and break a rib. They should have put that in the movie. Sam L giving a speech, then *fart* "Aaaaah! Shit! My rib! Anyway, back to my master plan."

It's just another day. The last resurrected twist is James McAvoy - aka The Horde

We can just call him "Mental Illness Man". He has D.I.D (multiple personalities)

Allow me to step on my soapbox for just one moment: I've said this before, and will continue to say it - Can someone please create a character who happens to have a mental illness, but is not defined by that illness or driven to evil by it?! PLEASE!

Ex. Let's say Dr. Susie has an extreme case of OCD. One could write her as having this illness leads her to become a serial killer. If you're messy, you've gotta go! OR - one could write her as managing her OCD, and giving others with OCD hope... now you could still have her kill people if you want, but not because of OCD. See what I mean??

Anyway... By these three twist combined, we have "Glass"!

Sarah Paulson is also in this movie.

She looks like a poltergeist in this pic. Maybe she is... ANOTHER TWIST!

I love her, btw. She is good in everything. She plays a doctor who is trying to treat these three; believing that they are suffering from delusions.

The movie does a good job of selling that all of this might be bullshit. The characters are doubting themselves. Their families are doubting them. Even I was doubting them. I started to get mad. When did "Unbreakable" (Bruce Willis' movie) come out? 2000?

If all of this is leading up to lies, that would mean that M. Night has been lying to us for almost 2 decades. That's worthy of an ass whupin if you ask me. There's another twist for you. Me tracking down M.Night to slap him around for his lies.

But, this is pretty much the movie. It's a Blumhouse production, meaning that not a whole lot of money went into this flick. Most of the scenes are shot in the clinic that those three end up in. This is a story of doubt, possible lies, Mr. Glass plotting something, and an eventual twist that you know is coming. This is all fine if this is the movie that you believe you were sold.

From watching the trailer, I thought we'd get a flick with Mr. Glass breaking them out of a very temporary sitch in the clinic, him convincing The Horde to join him, and Bruce Willis fighting for justice! - maybe even get a good love scene with Sarah Paulson.

Oh, I wish that they had promised Bruce that love scene, cuz maybe he would have tried in this movie. He's pretty much sleep-walking through this film. This is the face he's making throughout the whole picture

- the face of exhaustion and contractual obligation.

The movie comes down to Mr. Glass scheming (which is actually cool), breaks for James McAvoy to be his schtick (and it does feel gimmicky. Less like a man with an illness and more like a one man show), and plot twists that don't make much sense. There is a message of believing in yourself depsite how the world tries to suppress you. I think this message is cool, and is planted well through the film. The prob is that nothing else is planted well through this movie. Yet, I still reccomend it... I couldn't tell you why... maybe that's another twist.

It does a good job of creating anticipation, it just doesn't deliver. Like a first date that's driven by anticipation and excitement. You keep thinking it's going to be something that it never turns into - anticipation, excitement, anticipation, excitement... and then you go home confused. BUT, you don't exactly regret going on the date... i guess... idk... that damned M.Night has got me so twisted around that I'm not making any sense.

Regardless, I give this movie an entertaining D+

I still have some things to get off my chest (that'll also explain the low grade), but I can't do this without spoiling anything, so here's your chance to get away.

Surrriously

Surrrrriously

Ok (you've been warned):

1) Bruce Willis gets caught, but how?

His son is working with him (same actor who played his son all of those years ago btw). His son is his eyes. Where were those eyes when it counted? If I were Bruce, I'd ground the son. Idc how old he is now. In your 20's or even your 30's, STILL GROUNDED! - until daddy gets out of prison. And even then, there'd be a spanking.

2) Why aren't the mass murderers (Mr. Glass and The Horde) better secured?!

And that whole flashing light in the face of The Horde whenever he jumps into a dangerous personality, to change him into a less menacing one? Really?? Assuming I go with that, why couldn't he have simply closed his eyes?

3) The dumbass girl, who was The Horde's victim, whom he took hostage and was going to kill in his movie "Split" - she visits The Horde in lockup - TWICE! Towards the end of the film she puts her life at risk even more for him... WHY?!?!

4) Never trust Sarah Paulson! In most of her roles in movies or shows, she's never what she seems. This wasn't a bad thing, I'm simply voicing my mistrust.

5) The question is asked "If we DO have these powers? and it's not all delusions -  Why aren't there more of us?"

Yeah... WHY?! Good question! M. Night twisted himself on that one!

6) Lastly, his master plan to show the world video evidence of these feats done:

In 2019, would we even care for that long? Not much of a master plan.

Man, Jesus could return, with us having video evidence, and He could rapture tons of people. In two weeks we'd forget all about it.

Person A: "Hey, remember when Bob was raptured two weeks ago?"

Person B: "Who? Oh yeah, Bob. Right."

Person A: "It's crazy about Satan running around melting people's faces off isn't?"

Person B: "Is he still doing that? It hasn't been trending. Have you seen this cat video?"

We are the worst!

[davidcampiti]

A LIFE WITHOUT STAN LEE? -- Part One

This is the first month of my life without Stan Lee alive in it.

I think it’s appropriate to post this essay today, on Stan Lee’s birthday, the first one without him actually here to celebrate it. I couldn’t bring myself to write about Stan the day he died, just shy of 96 years old, and the week and month that followed were no better. Today I can put down some thoughts.

I am a child of Stan Lee. His work with Jack Kirby and John Romita appeared in the first comic book I remember reading – the Marvel-produced America’s Best TV Comics, a 25-cent comicbook that promoted the ABC Saturday morning cartoons.   It's one of the first powerful memories of childhood that have stayed with me for all this time.

Across my formative years, Stan Lee's words encouraged me to learn, to read more of everything -- not just comics. I spent much of my early years in the library and ordering Scholastic books every month through school. I read everything -- fiction, biographies, histories, science books.

Yet I grew up loving the comics that blazed brightly with his public persona and, while my parents toiled at just earning a living and staying alive, I learned much from "The Man." Stan taught me a lot about being a decent human being. It wasn't all, "With great power there must also come...great responsibility," though that was there, as well.

In recent years we corresponded a bit about the morals and messages of his words in his scripts, his Stan's Soapbox, and his many lectures and interviews. I told him we should assemble a book, Everything I Know, I learned From Stan Lee.

He wrote back -- "The paperback you suggested, 'Everything I Know I Learned from Stan Lee,' sounds like it could be funny. Especially if it consists of only one page with only one thing learned -- how to spell 'Excelsior!' Keep the faith, David. You're one of the good guys! Excelsior! Stan"

We discussed it a bit more but, soon after, Stan's eyesight worsened and he stopped answering his own mail; whoever took over had no idea what we'd been talking about. I let the idea drop.

Back when I was 12, I decided my career goal was to work with Stan Lee. Eventually, I achieved that goal but not by submitting stories in my teens and 20s but much later in my life, as an agent and book author. By the time I was 14, he'd gone from editor-in-chief to Publisher -- which meant he'd need more writers, right?

The first time I met Stan Lee and got to take a photo with him, I looked up at him and said, “Smile, and look as much like my Uncle as you can.” He laughed and gave my artist friend Scott Rockwell and me a good half-hour of his time, looking at art and answering questions. That was in 1978 – fully 40 years ago – and I remember it all as if it were yesterday. Stan was a memorable guy who could make you feel like the most important person in the room. I only wish I still had that photo; maybe Scott has it buried somewhere.

Four years later, I sold my first professional comics scripts to Pacific Comics and two years after that was writing a Superman assignment for DC with Kevin Juaire. Instead of ending up at Marvel as I’d hoped – which would’ve required moving to New York and being involved in daily office politics – I became a comics packager, then a publisher, then an agent. That’s how Stan knew me professionally, as a writer and an artist’s agent.

In early 1989, at a Capital City Distribution trade show, my Innovation Publishing was set up promoting the books we would be releasing into comics shops in a few weeks.  Stan was walking by, and I suggested to my assistant Paul Curtis that we should invite Stan to dinner.  He ran over, asked, and Stan said yes!  He not only brought along Carol Kalish and regaled us with two hours of stories about life at Marvel, Stan insisted that Marvel pay for the meal!  Nobody thought to bring a camera, but the memories stayed with us.  As I recall, Steve Sullivan, Paul Curtis and his girlfriend Amy, and I were the happy Innovation team at that dinner.  Kevin VanHook came on the trip but was elsewhere at that time.  He made up for it later at a party by chatting on a couch with Stan and later dancing with Carol.

In the '90s, Stan and I would chat at every opportunity at conventions.

When Marvel released a limited edition hardcover reprint of his 1947 book Secrets of the Comics, I decided to give in to my fannish impulses and use its endpapers as my autograph book.

Stan, of course, was the first to sign it in 1996, and a batch of Silver Age stalwarts followed.

By then we made it a point to get photos together every year across two decades. It was a clear timeline of the both of us getting older.

As the internet blossomed, I helped Stan a little when he first joined AOL. He asked me how AOL Instant Messenger worked, how to turn it on when he wanted to communicate and off when he didn’t want to be bombarded with Messages, and so on. Another time, an article he wanted to read was behind a login/password, and he asked me help get him through that. It tickled me to help Stan “The Man” with such basic web-things.

From the mid-'90s through the early 2000s, Stan would call the Glass House offices about once a month to ask for my perspective on what was going on in the comics biz, since we dealt not only with all the Marvel editors but everyone else as well. Real conversations, not the "'Nuff said, Pilgrim!" stuff. He'd graciously take an extra few minutes to chat with my assistant Graeme, who loved talking to his childhood icon.

Around 1997, Marvel's savvy publisher asked Glass House to create two dozen project proposals for a line of second-tier titles that my company would package. We ended up over-achieving and submitted 28 of them -- one of them for the first-tier Fantastic Four that I understood we had little chance of getting, but I had to try. The art was Joe Bennett's doing a Kirbyesque style.

Stan was kind enough to read over my FF proposal/outline and fine-tune my dialogue for the pages, before I submitted.

Likely worried about how an outside packager controlling so many titles would affect his own position, the editor-in-chief buried all 28 projects until, two years later, he assigned an editor to reject every proposal outright; that editor told me my FF dialogue didn't capture the essence of the characters -- not realizing the words were Stan's.

(Sidebar:  It was so ridiculous, that editor even rejected a proposal that another Marvel editor already saw, bought, and published!)

When Meryl and I got married in 2001, Stan sent us a gift -- a lemon cake and a note saying he wished he could've made it to the wedding. We still have the note; we ate the cake.

In 2006, Stan's POW! Entertainment launched Who Wants to be a Super-Hero? on The Sci-Fi Channel, and my Glass House Graphics contributed all the cover artwork for both seasons of the TV show. We even drew the comicbooks that starred both winners -- Matthew Atherton and Jarrett Crippen, both of whom became our friends.

When my friend, then-GHG artist Will Conrad, worked with him on the Dark Horse Feedback comic book, Stan took the time personally to choose Will out of our roster of artists, and to phone him in Brazil for a long talk before sending him the plot. (And yes, it was a full page-by-page plot.) They spoke several times during Will's month working on the book, each time helpful and upbeat.

The second book, with The Defuser, was more problematic. The network and producers weren't honoring their commitments to the winner, so I reached out to Stan who said, "I don't see any compelling reason to bother doing it, since we weren't renewed for a third season." I replied, "Because you said you would? Because you have the power to do it, and with great power there must also come great responsibility?" He made it happen, and Glass House Graphics's Kajo Baldissimo did the art.

We also drew the box art and insert comic books for multiple DVD animation projects that POW! released, with art by GHG's fabulous Fabio Laguna.

Stan always made time to meet privately with my artists, and my family, for which I was always grateful.

Of course when Comics Buyer’s Guide published a big feature issue for Stan’s 75th Birthday, I contributed an essay and hired the great Marie Severin to do a caricature cover for it and sent Stan a giant print of the art.

Around the time of Stan's 90th birthday celebration, I had Tina Francisco create a new birthday cover for Comics Buyer's Guide, and I penned a long article about him, too.

Of course, we sent to Stan a poster of the color art, and he sent back this card -- as always, written in his own handwriting.

TO BE CONTINUED -- IN PART TWO!

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Hotel Transylvania 3

You know what the world needs more of? Food-based, Halloween-themed puns. Case in point: in the original Hotel Transylvania the best line, hands down, is when Count Dracula (Adam Sandler) offers his daughter, Mavis (Selena Gomez) a tasty snack. “I made your favorite!” he exclaims, “a bagel with scream cheese!” And then the bagel’s topping rises up like taffy with a face and gives a little shriek. I’m not proud of this, but I think of that line probably around 4 times a month. It’s a silly, punny, visually arresting joke, and that’s what makes the Hotel Transylvania films some of my favorite kids’ offerings of the last 5 years. Are they corny and cheesy? Sure! But are they also kind of funny and really really interesting to watch? Weirdly, yeah. So we’re at the threequel now, which means we’re either having (in the immortal words of Kanye) dessert or disaster. Which is it? Well...

What’s in between? Like a nice entree that’s definitely tasty but nothing to write home about? Chicken parmesan. This movie is chicken parmesan. 

Drac, Mavis, Johnny (Andy Samberg), Dennis (Asher Blinkoff) and the whole crew of monsters decide to go on vacation - they’re taking a monster cruise to the Bermuda Triangle and then to the lost found city of Atlantis. The captain of the ship, Ericka (Kathryn Hahn) catches Drac’s eye and he ZINGS with her! This is A Big Deal for monsters. But oh no! Ericka last name is Van Helsing, and she comes from a long line of monster hunters - with the help of her homicidal great-grandfather (Jim Gaffigan), she’s lured all the monsters here to kill them once and for all! As you can imagine, peril ensues. Also Joe Jonas plays a Kraken in Atlantis, which is pretty weird.

Some thoughts:

These movies always work best when exploring the human-monster dynamic. What worked so well in the first one was seeing Drac’s prejudice against humans seem so laughable when confronted with all the goofy stoner energy that Andy Samberg could muster as Johnny. This one flips that and we see Ericka’s irrational hatred of monsters as something ridiculous, because we’ve already come to know and love these monsters in the two previous movies. It’s an easy, but I thought pretty well-executed, inversion.

Ok but like why would everyone who stays in the hotel or works at the hotel go on this vacation too? Like, I love found family dynamics, don’t get me wrong but...don’t they have anywhere else to go? Does no one in the monster world want to just stay at home in Transylvania and watch cable in their underwear for a week?

Kathryn Hahn can do no wrong. God, I love her.

There are some subplots going on here that felt pretty unnecessary other than to stretch for time. What was up with the giant puppy? I thought he would definitely come back during the climax to save the day since they made such a big thing of him being on the boat. But no, he’s just...a big...puppy. Ok.

Can I just say, so glad they replaced Cee Lo Green with Keegan Michael Key? Best upgrade I can think of.

*steps up on soapbox* CEPHALOPODS LIKE THE KRAKEN CAN’T SMILE AS THEY DO NOT HAVE TEETH. THEY HAVE A BEAK MADE OF CHITIN AND A TONGUE COVERED IN TEETH-LIKE SPINES CALLED A RADULA. THAT IS ALL. *steps off soapbox*

Not enough Johnny in this one, but I guess I’ll allow it.

For kid’s movies, this franchise is pretty delightful. It’s light, fun, funny, and sticks to its central theme of family - including found family - being the most important thing of all. I didn’t check my phone once to see how much time was left, and that’s one of the most glowing recommendations I can make for a non-Pixar kid’s movie.

[fandom-blerd-life]

Black Lightning 1.13: A Family Affair

“Whose life is this?” “Mine.” “What are you going to do with it?” “Live it. By any means necessary.”

There are so many important themes that have run through Black Lightning’s freshman season: family, pride, power, revenge, fear. But there’s one that has been present in just about every episode and has resonated with me especially: control. In a previous recap, I referenced Ta-nehisi Coates’ book, Between the World and Me, in which he spends quite a bit of time talking about the control exerted over Black bodies. He says, “the question of how one should live within a black body… is the question of life.”

In the pilot, Jefferson Pierce introduces us to the above mantra during a school assembly. He wants his students to remember that their life belongs to them and it’s up to each and every one of them to live it. The only people who can control their lives are themselves. When Anissa first gets her powers, the first thing she needs to learn is how to control them. She is so ready to help the community of Freeland that she forgets she can’t just go around beating up every person who looks at her sideways (or who wears a Confederate flag on their shirt). On the flip side, Jennifer wishes she was more in control of what is happening to her. She feels helpless and scared that because she was not given a choice in receiving powers, she no longer has control over her literal body. And then there’s Martin Proctor. The finale gave us a slightly heavy-handed portrayal of a white villain with dialogue including, “I want to make America great again!” The thing that makes Proctor so terrifying is that he is real. He represents a very real subsection of the population who feels they can do whatever they want to Black bodies because to them, we are disposable. The entire purpose of the Freeland Experiments run by the ASA, was to render a predominantly Black community docile. DOCILE.

These writers could have put this show within the DCTV universe, but they didn’t. They could have given us your run of the mill (yet still entertaining) Big Bad of the week, but they didn’t. They chose to show us what would happen if you took a familiar community, a real community, and you gave them hope in the form of a superhero who not only looks like them, but who also knows their struggle. Not a city affected by a particle accelerator explosion where random people became meta-humans. A community that the government purposely chose for an experiment because of its demographics.

I am so grateful to the writers and creators of Black Lightning for so many reasons. For giving us the first bulletproof Black lesbian superhero, for depicting Black family life in a way that too often goes unseen, but most of all for portraying the complicated experience of Black people in this country in a way that felt both uncomfortable and authentic. I’m so glad we’re getting another season to go even deeper into these themes and I hope more and more people have the opportunity to be exposed to this important show.

::hops off soapbox::

::cracks knuckles::

Okay! Now let’s get into this finale! We open with the first of many flashbacks to see a young Jefferson walking with his father Alvin. Because of unrest in Freeland, there’s no school, so Jeff is going to work with his father. A penchant for inspirational quotes apparently runs in the family because Alvin quotes Malcolm X to his son. The two are soon interrupted by a younger Gambi who is not pleased at Alvin for naming names in the ASA exposé. After Alvin’s death, Gambi watches out for Jefferson. We hear reports of more riots in Freeland and a shooting of an unarmed Black man. Jefferson is running through the streets trying to escape two officers when his eyes light up and he shoots lightning at both of them. The blue lightning against the black & white flashback is incredibly striking. Back to present day and Jefferson’s vitals are all over the place.  

Outside the new safe cabin, Jennifer and Gambi have a really sweet conversation about the situation they’ve found themselves in. Gambi explains to Jenn that Tobias, Khalil, and Syonide are different from meta-humans because their powers are artificial. We also learn that Tobias found Syonide in a dumpster when she was a baby and then trained her to be an assassin, so I have affectionately dubbed her… Dumpster Assassin™. Jennifer is having a rough time because she wants to believe Khalil is still the same guy she knew, but Gambi reminds her that he’s just not. They turned her boyfriend into a weapon.

Also...Khalil is now called Painkiller. Cool.

Cut to ASA headquarters where Proctor is holding court, spewing racist nonsense about the commonness of Black drug dealers, and mimicking that guy who’s currently running our country. It’s gross and it’s terrifying, but the main plot takeaway here is that the subjects from phase 1 of the experiments are failing and there are only 4 stage 2 subjects.

In Anissa’s words, she, Gambi, and Jennifer are literally walking down memory lane as Gambi tells the girls the story of how their father became Black Lightning. You see, it took 15 years for his powers to fully develop, but that isn’t when he decided to suit up. He chose to become Black Lightning when he saw Freeland was losing hope. Anissa thinks that’s sweet and all, but she’s tired of storytime. She wants to get out there and fight. Gambi reminds her that she is the strongest of all of them, and they’re going to need her to get through this. Preach, Gambi!

Listen. I can’t believe Tobias called out Lala’s velour tracksuits before I did, but holy Juicy, I haven’t stopped laughing about that line. Anyway, Tobias throws Lala across the room when Lala starts to run at him, and then utters the same phrase from last week, “the devil deals the cards.” Even Tobias agrees that it’s corny, but it gets the job done. It turns out, the reanimation process that Tobias spearheaded to bring Lala back has a side effect of everyone that Lala killed coming back to haunt him. Not only will they haunt him, but they will manifest as tattoos on Lala’s body, which has earned him the nickname of Tattoo Man.

It’s flashback time again, but this time, young Jefferson has been suspended for fighting. Alvin reminds his son that “education is the power they can’t take from you.” And in true Black Parent Who Is Serious About Their Child’s Education form, instructs Jeff to read the Constitution and be ready for a quiz because he’ll be damned if he spends this suspension in front of the television.

Jeff’s nervous system starts to shut down and the family fears they’re going to lose him.

Meanwhile, we go to what seems like another flashback, but instead it’s Present Day Jefferson, walking down the stairs of his childhood home (while “Stairway to Heaven” by the O’Jays plays) and looking like he’s just seen a ghost. Well that’s because he has, and it’s his dead father. Jefferson tearfully apologizes to his father for doing nothing when Tobias came to the house to murder him. He apologizes for Black Lightning and for the violence that has come from his decision. Alvin reminds his son that peace isn’t always peaceful (ain’t that the truth?!) and only Jefferson will know if it will all be worth it. It’s not Jeff’s time to go yet, and Alvin sends him back to handle his business. Back in the cabin, Jefferson opens his eyes, greets his family, and then discovers that his powers are gone. Alvin Pierce has been a driving force throughout this season even though we’ve only seen him a few times. Jefferson was so close to his father and everything he has done has been in his name. This scene was so powerful and so emotional because we got to see Jefferson tell his father the things he wished he could while he was alive.

Back at Bigotry Headquarters, Proctor’s team has discovered the safe house and are preparing to attack. Tobias, Syonide, and Painkiller also get ready to fight, after learning that Lala quite literally exploded after talking with Proctor.

Team Pierce readies themselves for the impending attack. The tactical teams are coming at them from all sides, but Gambi has a plan. Jeff suits up and asks Gambi to light up his suit even though he doesn’t have powers. Jennifer starts to freak out, she lights up, and runs to her father. She really is a generator because the energy she exerts is enough to fully charge Black Lightning and bring back his powers. Gambi makes a last ditch plea to the family to run, but that’s not what they’re about. They’re tired of running, they’re tired of hiding, and they’re tired of being controlled. They’re ready.

It’s fight time! The fight is set to “Shining Star” by Earth, Wind, and Fire because of course it is. I won’t bore you with my emotional connection to this song, but suffice it to say, I had Feelings™. Aside from the fact that these scenes were v dark and made screencapping v difficult, they were perfect. We cut from team to team to team as they fought their respective targets. Proctor’s tactical team wasn’t prepared for Black Lightning and LOL practically begged to leave the scene. They manage to contain Thunder, but that doesn’t last long because Black Lightning comes to her rescue. Even Lynn gets in on the action by taking out two guys in the cabin. Proctor eventually aborts the mission and orders his people to move the stage 2 pods.

When Proctor shows up to the new pod location, the Pierce family is waiting for him. For some reason, Proctor thinks overt racism is the way to get what he wants and tries to justify the Freeland experiments. Jennifer has had it and she uses her powers to lay him out. Proctor tries to make a deal, but Gambi shoots him dead! Okay Gambi, I’ll forgive you for your lying...this time. Anissa aks the tech how they can get the kids out of the pods, and he informs her that he needs the briefcase.

What briefcase? Oh just the briefcase we see Tobias opening (using dead Proctor’s thumbs) at the close of the episode. What does this mean for season 2??

Just before the scene with Tobias, we get a wonderful callback with Jefferson and his daughters on a run, and voiceovers from both girls. “They call us heroes, but the real heroes are you. The people who, despite the everyday struggles of life, continue to find hope, meaning, and purpose in what can be a challenging world.” “We’ve been given a gift. A blessing from God. We intend to use it to protect this city and its people.”

The season started and ended with a message of hope. A message that we can use every single day as we navigate this challenging world. A reminder that if you have hope, you can make it through.

I have gotten so much joy from writing about this show, and I hope you’ve had as much fun watching as I have.

What are your hopes for season 2? I’d love to hear them all. Find me at @njnic23 on Twitter, and look out for a rewatch during the hiatus. Thank you so much for reading these. Get lit!