and just the fact that she's a black woman confronting a white woman about this

Parental Instinct

Jiyong lifts your daughter, pulling her up to rest on his hip, her eyes scanning the shelf of candy in front of her.

‘Which ones do you want, princess?’ He asks her, swaying her backwards and forwards.  

‘How many can I have?’ She casts her round, almond eyes at him, blinking her butterfly eyelashes.

‘As many as you want.’ He chuckles, his lips dusting her forehead.

‘No, Ji…,’ You warn him sternly, your hand coming to rest gently on his bicep. ‘She will make you buy the whole shelf.’ He shrugs ambivalently at you, a single eyebrow dancing upwards.

‘Yeobo, let me spoil her, huh? I haven’t spent time with her in two weeks…’ You shake your head, knowing that not matter what you said, your daughter would get what she wanted from her father. Her four year old self was the apple of his eye.

‘I want that one.’ Your daughter points to a coffee chocolate bar, and Jiyong reaches for it, slightly taken aback.

‘You picked this one? Do you know what it is, Jaeeun?’ His asks curiously as his hand wraps around it, bringing it closer to her face.

‘Yes. It’s coffee and chocolate together.’ She replies with confidence. Jiyong’s eyes furrow in confusion.

‘But Jaeeun, you don’t eat coffee, huh?’ The bar hovers in front of her.

‘I know. But I thought about Mummy. You didn’t say you would buy her one, and I wanted to get her that one because it is her favourite.’ She blinks at him as if her decision was the most obvious thing in the world. Your husband nods in knowing, a pleased smile spreading on his face, mimicking the pleasant feeling inside your heart.

‘Ahhh, my daughter.’ He sighs contently, pressing his lips against her cheek. ‘You have such a kind heart.’ She squiggles against his kiss.

‘Not you. You forgot Mum.’ If there was one thing your daughter had inherited from your husband, it was his confidence. She was never one to let her voice go unheard.

‘I didn’t forget.,’ Jiyong states calmly. ‘I was helping you pick first.’

‘But Mummy needs help too, and sometimes you don’t help her… like when she asks you to wash the dishes.’

‘Jaeeun, pick some candy, huh? We’re going to be late to see Uncle Youngbae.’ You press her into a decision, and she picks another candy bar, wrapped delicately in a pink wrapper. Jiyong reaches for it, clutching it in his hand.

‘That one is for Uncle Bae. He likes strawberries. And Dad, you can have… the same one as me.’ She pauses, contemplating the choices, before pointing to Jiyong’s favourite - a mint chocolate bar. He adds two of them quickly to his now stretched fist.

‘Good choice, Jaeeun!’ He nods in pleasure, before dropping her slowly down from his hip, handing her two of the candy bars to carry. She toddles straight to the counter, her balance perfect as her hands wave the candy bars excitedly. Jiyong had picked her outfit today - black skinny jeans tucked into her miniature doc marten boots and a blue and white striped t shirt peeking out from under a green army coat. The coat waggled after her, and you noted the content look on your husbands face, satisfied with his wardrobe decision. You both followed her to the counter, Jiyong taking it upon himself to lift her up so she was able to place the chocolate on top of it. He adds his two, smiling at the old woman behind the counter.

‘How many are there?’ He asks her, his English twinged thickly with an accent. Despite his lack of complete fluency, Jiyong made every effort to immerse your daughter in English. It was something you were both trying to do - talk to her in English, so she became bilingual quickly. Her Korean had inexplicably developed far more rapidly than you’d expected, and she was sometimes still mixing her words when she spoke in English. As your parents only spoke English, it was important to you that she became fluent in your native language as well. Her face furrowed in concentration as she counted.

‘One, two, three… sa!’ She giggled in glee, knowing the annoyance the Korean would bring to her father.

‘Yah, Jaeeun… Am I speaking Korean?’ He presses gently, tickling her in a non-aggressive fashion.

‘Dad, I want to give the lady the money…’ She switches back to Korean, holding her hand open, palm flat for Jiyong to place money in. He reached into his back pocket, balancing your daughter carefully on his hip.

‘Okay, Okay. Wait a minute, huh, princess.’

‘Oh, wow. Your Korean is very good!’ The woman behind the counter comments happily as she begins scanning the items, the smile on her face crinkling her eyes. You can see Jiyong’s body tense instinctively, his movement for his wallet pausing in a split second.

‘Of course it is.,’ Your daughter comments confidently. ‘I’m Korean.’ Her statement is one of fact. Jiyong continues to withdraw his wallet, his movement strained slightly.

‘No you aren’t.’ The woman replies, her tone equally as confident. Jiyong’s head, which had been tilted slightly towards your daughter, snaps forward to look at the woman. If there is one thing he was sensitive about, it was the perception other Koreans had about his daughters race.

‘I am… I’m Korean.,’ Your daughters brow furrows slightly, confusion flooding her face. ‘My daddy always says…’

‘Look at your Mum. Look at you… You can’t be Korean.’ Despite her pleasant tone, her voice was becoming more forceful. Your daughters eyes begin to fill with tears, her face turning as they pooled in her wide set eyes.

‘Dad, am I Korean?’ She questions, her voice unsteady.

‘Of course you are, Jaeeun. This woman doesn’t know what she is talking about.’ He cuts in sharply.

‘Ji, let’s just go, huh? Youngbae is going to be waiting for us…’ You knew what was coming. The tension leaching from Jiyong’s body was becoming palpable. Your hands reach for your daughter, and Jiyong passes her to you willingly. Her face burrows into your scarf as you pull her into a hug, her wet tears mixing into the wool.

‘My daughter’s Korean isn’t good - it’s great, because its her first language.,’ His voice has become louder and more blusterous with anger, and your daughter retreats further into you, her tiny arms climbing inside your coat. You cradle her, turning away from Jiyong and the woman. ‘You, though, have an extremely narrow minded view of the world. Of course my daughter is Korean. She has lived here her entire life and has only left the country twice.’

‘But…’ The woman, taken aback by Jiyong’s confrontation, opens her mouth in an attempted rebuttal.

‘No buts. She is Korean. Who the hell are you to say she isn’t and upset her?,’ He opens his wallet, removing a few bills of cash. You catch them out of the corner of your eye, a handful of hundred thousand weon notes. ‘Keep the change. Use it to buy some damn empathy, huh?’ He flicks the notes onto the counter roughly, his fist in an easy swoop, before turning to stalk out of the store. You follow him, your daughter still clinging to you, her face not showing. You coo gently in an attempt to encourage her out.

‘Jaeeun? Are you okay?’ You switch to Korean in an effort to console her, your voice nervously stumbling over the syllables you could usually pronounce without effort. Her head shakes a negative response. Jiyong continues his rapid pace, his long, thin legs carrying him quicker than you could keep step with. He stops abruptly, his body coming to a halt just in front of you. You pause, approaching him. ‘Ji, slow down, huh? I can’t keep up.’ He turns, his head shaking is disbelief, collecting a deep breath.

‘Sorry, I’m just…,’ He huffs, unable to articulate his words correctly. Your head nods down to your daughter, to draw his attention to her distress. His eyes close, his face crinkling to draw inner strength.

‘Jaeeun-ah.,’ He steps forward, his voice low in comfort. ‘Daddy’s not mad at you, huh? You know that right?’ Her small head peaks out from the grooves of your scarf, eyeing Jiyong suspiciously.

‘I don’t know.,’ She replies honestly. ‘I’m confused.’ Jiyong lets out a lengthy sigh, before offering his arms to your daughter. She twists, shifting her weight into him so he was able to swing her onto the ground, allowing her to come to a standing position. She turns to face him, and he bends on his knees to crouch down to her level. His hands clutch her shoulders gently.

‘I’m not angry with you at all. I’m angry at that woman. You did nothing wrong, okay?,’ His hands smooth down her arms, coming to clutch her tiny hands. ‘She was being very rude to you, and when someone is rude to you that makes me angry. No one should be allowed to make you feel bad by being rude to you. Ever. Do you understand that?’ Your daughter blinks her wet lashes at her father, a small nod coming from her head.

‘Why did she say that I’m not Korean? You always told me that I am Korean.’ Her brows furrow, confusion threaded over her face. You can’t bare to look at her, so your eyes flick to Jiyong. To his credit, his face remains staunchly calm.

‘Some people think that if your Mum or Dad is from a different country, you can’t be Korean.,’ He responds. ‘But those people are just stupid. When they say that you aren’t Korean, you have to tell them they’re stupid, okay? In your biggest, loudest voice.’ His fingers reach up to nip her cheek in a pinch, and she giggles excitedly.

‘I can call them stupid?’ Both her eyebrows arch in surprise.

‘You can. I’m going to let you say that to them, but only them okay? I don’t want to hear you calling anyone else stupid.’ She nods her head in understanding, her little secret agreement between her father and her bringing a widening grin to her face.

‘I won’t. I promise. But she was stupid!’ She shakes her hands, unable to calm her physical excitement at saying the world. A deep chuckle rumbles from Jiyong’s throat.

‘Who loves you?’ Jiyong asks, kissing his palm and balling his hand, holding his clenched fist out for Jaeeun. She leans forward, and he opens his palm, pressing it into her exposed, plump cheek. His fingers burst into movement, dancing down her neck to tickle her. It was their secret greeting. You’d had no idea where it had originated from, but they both adored it.

‘You do.’ She giggles happily, her shoulders shrugging up to avoid his fingers.

‘I do.,’ He pauses, looking at her, his hand cradling her face. ‘Come give me a hug, my Korean princess.’ She moves quickly into him, slotting easily between his crouched knees as her hands reached up to wrap around his neck. He pulls her close, lifting her feet slightly off the ground with the power of his hug. He holds her, longer than usual, the emotion he was feeling seeping through him. He settles her down again, his arms still holding her, but loosening slightly to allow her to step back.

‘Are you sad, Daddy?’ She questions as she studies his face.

‘A little bit.,’ He answers truthfully. ‘I don’t like it when people make you upset or when you cry.’ Her hands reach up to his face, squishing his cheeks to purse his lips. She leans forward, mushing her lips into his happily, planting a loving kiss on them.

‘I’m not sad anymore, Dad.,’ She says simply. ‘That lady was just stupid.’ She pushes his cheeks once more, before letting him go.

‘Ahh, my smart Jaeeun.’ He replies with a smile. She wiggles out of his arms, taking his hand.

‘Uncle Bae is waiting for us. Let’s hurry.’ She chugs him into motion, her legs thundering on the path as they break into a run. Jiyong stalls, his eyes flicking back to you to ensure you were following, hand reaching out to clasp yours excitedly, and you take it, running after them both.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he removes his t shirt, discarding it neatly into the wicker washing basket at the end of the bed. His head folds down, his hands running through his hair, haphazardly spraying the black strands in multiple directions. Despite his resolve in front of Jaeeun, it was obvious his mind was still lingering on the incident earlier in the day. You place your kindle on the beside table, peeking at him over the rim of your reading glasses. Jiyong had put Jaeeun to sleep hours ago. You’d watched him lay her onto the bed, the new stuffed unicorn from Youngbae taking up most of the space. He’d kissed her goodnight and told her she was beautiful, staying to let her hug his arm until she’d fallen asleep. He’d disappeared into the study shortly after and you hadn’t seen him since.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ You press lightly, eyes scanning him. His frame sinks lower, head bobbing further still.

‘No.,’ His answer is short and simple. He stands, deep in contemplation, and you throw back the covers, swinging your feed over the edge of the high bed frame. You pad your way to him, your silk sleep dress swishing against you lightly. You approach Jiyong, your arms wrapping warmly around his sunken body, your head coming to lay on his wide shoulder blades across the top of his back. ‘Do you think I scared her? I mean, she has never really seen me angry before.’

‘You didn’t scare her at all, Ji. She was just a bit confused. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ You murmur the words into his back, a kiss pressing against the bare skin of his tattooed neck, your lips tracing the lines of ink. Another sigh leaves him, and he sinks into your embrace. Throughout your relationship, you’d learned very early that Jiyong was much more sensitive than he let on. It was one of the most endearing traits about him. However, you understood how hard it was for him to grapple with the copious amounts of empathy he felt for others. He’d often wear their struggles longer than they would. ‘You saw her with Youngbae… She was over the moon. I doubt she is even going to remember it tomorrow.’

‘I know she seemed okay… I just got so angry about it I couldn’t control myself. I can’t stop thinking about how easily that woman shot her down. I want her to have confidence and we’ve both worked so hard to surround her with positive influences. It’s upsetting that in one second someone can say something so casually and it can have such a big impact on her. How could she say that to our child?’ You cradle him, rocking gently back and forward, your head resting on him.

‘We can’t protect her forever.’ Your response seems simple, and he chuckles slightly at your words.

‘You mean I can’t lock her in a tower away from the rest of the world?,’ He shifts your arms gently, his palms pressing to open your hands. He turns, coming to face you, his arms connecting around your body. He meets your eyes, carefully considering your face. ‘It’s not that I want to do that. It’s just I know people are going to see her as less of a person because she’s only half Korean. I know what the lady meant when she was saying she wasn’t Korean. She was saying she wasn’t good enough to be Korean. It made me upset… It made me really, really angry that someone could say that to my daughter. If people say things like that to her, she is going to start doubting herself.’ Your hand reaches up to cup his face, drawing it close to you for a sweet, lingering kiss. The amount of love Jiyong had for your daughter was boundless, and it was something you found intensely attractive.

‘I know, Ji. I know it’s hard. I didn’t know what to say when it happened because I was angry too. It’s difficult, and her life will be difficult. I can’t deny that. But we’re teaching Jaeeun to be a strong, thoughtful, caring person. That’s all we can do. Maybe she won’t get angry about this kind of stuff, but simply feel sorry for people who were taught such a narrow minded view.,’ You kiss his lips again, the fluffy cushion pressing against you with more vigour. ‘I know she has an amazing father that is going to fight for her whenever she needs it. I know she is going to be just as sympathetic and have the same amount of empathy as he does. I can already see it in her, Ji. We don’t have to worry about her.’

‘You’re right.,’ He nods, his gaze shifting off you. ‘You’re totally right. I just hate seeing her upset.’ He shakes his head to snap out of his daze.

‘You wouldn’t be a good father if you didn’t, and it’s one of the reasons she loves you and trusts you as much as she does.,’ Your hand reaches to his face, cupping his cheek to stroke your thumb across it. ‘And one of the reasons I love you as much as I do, too.’ He leans forward, enveloping you in a long, drawn out kiss. His lips rub softly against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands slip low over your hips, coming to cradle the rounded cheeks of your bum. His kiss continues, building in passion.

‘Daddy… Mummy…’ Your daughters voice shatters the moment, calling from behind the closed door. Jiyong breaks apart, his shoulders sagging in disappointment.

‘Damn it… that was going somewhere.,’ He let’s out a low sigh, breaking from your hug. ‘Yes, princess?’ He calls.

‘Daddy?’ She calls again. Jiyong walks quickly to the door, peeling it open.

‘What is it, Jaeeun? You’re meant to be sleeping…’ His voice trails off when he sees her, her own face quivering as their eyes meet, her wet cheeks flooding with more tears.

‘I… I had… I had… a dream… and the… unicorn… died.’ Jiyong sweeps her up in his arms, her wet cheeks burying against his skin.

‘It’s alright, Jaeeun. It’s still there in your bed, huh?’ He coos to comfort her.

‘Daddy… I’m scared.’ She manages to splutter out. Jiyong bumps her gently up and down, shifting to the bed as he attempted to ease her worry.

‘That’s okay, princess. You can sleep here with us.’ You couldn’t fault his suggestion. Your daughter was rarely scared, and for the most part slept through the night. For her to be this upset was unusual. With his free hand, he threw back the covers, before gently laying her down between the crisp whiteness of the Egyptian cotton sheets. She let out a groan, holding her arms out to desperately to Jiyong as he let her go.

‘Daddy, no… You have to stay.’

‘I know, Princess. I’m just getting into bed.,’ He climbs next to her, snuggling himself up to her, and she accepts his hug gratefully. ‘Do you want Mummy to join us too?’ He suggested, his fingers sweeping over Jaeeun’s face to wipe the tears off her eyes. Your daughter nods eagerly, sitting up slightly to encourage you into the bed.

‘Come on, Mummy.’ Her voice is still croaky from her tears. You oblige her request, walking to the other side of the bed. You adjust the covers over both your daughter and husband, pulling them up to their necks, before peeling back the corner of your own side of the bed. It was spacious enough, and Jaeeun was small enough, that her presence made no difference to your comfort. However, you found Jiyong shifting closer to you and sandwiching your daughter between you. She rotates slightly, her sleepy head curling into your shoulder while her arm reaches back to touch her father. Her face is full of innocence and you again can’t help but think how a complete stranger could have been so forceful with her today.

‘Good night, Princess.’ You whisper to her. She leans forward, her lips pressing into yours in a goodnight kiss.

‘Goodnight, Mummy. I love you.’ 

anonymous asked:

So I've noticed you love Hell Bent. I've been looking back at 12's era and rethinking about how I feel about Clara, but I still have a small hatred for Hell Bent. I'd love to understand why you care for it so much and if you could give me a new view on the episode that nearly made me want to give up on the show.

Well, it’s rather a lot.

The thing about Hell Bent, it’s telling a very specific story. Everything about it is built around it. It’s a character-based story about the Doctor and Clara, and the fallout their personality meshing creates. If you’re looking for something else, it’s gonna be a huge letdown. But from the pre-credits, it makes its mission statement clear. It’s a big, melodramatic, poetic song about the Doctor and Clara parting ways, using that lens to approach a massive spectrum of concerns in Doctor Who as a show, engaging with its mythology and privilege and more. And I love it for that.

Everything about it is built around that. Everything. The hybrid prophecy, for example, that the whole arc was built around teasing. “All Matrix prophecies concur that this creature will one day stand in the ruins of Gallifrey. It will unravel the Web of Time and destroy a billion billion hearts to heal its own.” That’s exactly what happens. The confrontation with Ashildr takes place in the ruins of the cloisters on Gallifrey. The Doctor destroyed a billion, billion of his own hearts in the confession dial. And the web of time is torn by Clara’s survival, the Doctor utilizing the extraction chamber. Rachel Talalay has even suggested a later minor detail of Clara’s chronolock tattoo being missing was deliberate, which suggests the web of time was, indeed, torn, with Clara’s fixed death being torn apart. It’s all handled with great subtlety, but on every level, the episode holds together.

And this ties into every big conflict in the episode. It’s a story about care driving people to darkness (following off on a previous finale about the same thing, with Dark Water showcasing why Missy chose Clara, as well). Rassilon, for example. The General reminds the Doctor that “He was a good man once,” but the pursuit of Time Lord survival at all costs pushed him to becoming a raving despot. Missy, too, fits this. She’s always seeking to bring out the worst in the Doctor in the hopes of restoring their relationship, with her even using Clara as a pawn to make that point, because Clara is so like the Doctor and their codependency is so prone to creating drastic consequences. And, of course, we get the Doctor at his darkest, taking down the High Council, in a truly awe-inspiring sequence. On every level, it’s a story about how clinging to something in the hopes of it surviving, even when the end has already come, is a fundamentally damaging thing. And so the Doctor, in the end, has to accept that he must part ways. On his own terms, but part all the same, because it’s time for an ending.

This all fits, what’s more, into a beautiful, feminist concluding statement. Clara was, of course, just like the Doctor. And it would be a cruel, cruel statement to make to fans that young girls shouldn’t aspire to be like the Doctor or they’ll end up dead in the street. Instead, she gets to assert her agency all the way, and as a result become a Doctor of her very own. Donna’s ending, most notably, gets totally subverted, with Clara demanding to be heard. And Clara flies off in the TARDIS as her own Doctor, while the Doctor himself can move on and heal and deal with the fact that an ending has come. You can’t really ignore the gendered implications of it, either. A woman as the Doctor was still a controversial thing that Moffat was paving the way for. Clara, for her part, was a massive piece of that. Hell Bent even cracks the “Clara Who” joke at long last. She’s an exploration of whether an ordinary girl can be every bit as wonderful and flawed as the Doctor (as introduced into the narrative by Missy, herself a huge piece of the puzzle in terms of making a woman Doctor possible), and in the end, we’re told, of course she can. It is, for my money, one of the most triumphant moments in the show, full of pure positive, aspirational joy of the sort that I love Doctor Who for.

And there’s sort of an interesting overlap between that and the Doctor’s angst as a commentary on dynamics of the privileged lead. Because it’s not just a corrupt and damaging thing, but also a fairly patriarchal construct to reject. Like, Me calls him out on thinking he knows best for her fate, for one thing. And we get the nice little moment with the General going from white man to black woman. But better yet is the cut line from Ohila, which explicitly links that thematic thread. As Steven Moffat said in Doctor Who magazine, “There’s a moment in Hell Bent I deeply regret cutting. The Doctor reveals that he’s reassigned the High Council to the sewers, and Ohila remarks that only an aristocrat regards honest work as punishment. That’s the Doctor all over: he knows that the aristocracy must be deposed, but even in bringing it about he reveals that he will always be one of them. If he’s any kind of role model, it’s because he tries to be good, not because he already is. You certainly don’t have to be a white male to play all that - though you can see why it’s a decent fit.” This episode is a big point on that. It’s pretty much saying, it’s time. It’s time for the Doctor to put aside this privilege. It’s time for the show to embrace that a woman can totally fly off in the TARDIS. Doctor Who has to accept endings sometimes, and look forward to a bright future.

For me, it is a script full of emotion and poetry and unambiguous positivity no matter how dark things get. And it’s such a great step toward the future. It was never a given that Chibnall’s era would feature Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor, but after Hell Bent, that beautiful, unambiguous statement about the future direction of Doctor Who, it’d look pretty damn awkward if he got another white man.

End || Bucky x Reader

Summary → After discovering Bucky’s affair with none other than The Black Widow, you feel the need to confront the situation and walk away. 

Word Count → 1.3K

Warnings → Cursing, implied sex/smut, mostly just really angsty!

A/N → Based on this request: “Do you think you could write a Bucky x Reader where he leaves her for Natasha or another woman, and with “ When you realise that you made a mistake, don’t come looking for me ” please ? Angst and maybe fluff if possible ? I love your writing !” Been doing a lot of angst lately, which I surprisingly enjoy? Let me know what y’all think!

“You know, I would have come straight to Bucharest, if you had bothered to pick up any of my calls. Or answered any of my text messages.”

The trademark jet-black knapsack that had somehow become permanently entangled with Bucky slipped through his metal digits, landing with light thud against the hardwood floor. Even from beneath his navy ball cap, Bucky’s gaze was sharp, inspecting you with an expression that bred uncertainty and worry in the pit of your stomach. You remained misty-eyed as you watched the enormous man approach you with caution, somehow entirely different than the man you remembered; the man you had once fallen hopelessly in love with.

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celebrated-as-the-rebel-kind  asked:

TOP TEN BUFFY SUMMERS SCENES ON BTVS (I know there's obviously more than ten so don't feel bad about only *listing* ten. ;)

Oh I love this! Buffy is my favorite character OF ALL TIME, so naturally I could list most of her scenes, but I managed to narrow it down to 10…plus 5! Okay I am just that pathetic that I needed 15…and a few honorable mentions. I’m sorry! I will just put them in chronological order, because ranking them would probably kill me!

1. Prophecy Girl - Buffy’s speech to Giles “Giles. I’m sixteen years old. I don’t want to die.” We had seen Buffy grapple with the balance of being a teenager and being The Slayer, but up until this point, it hadn’t been driven home completely. This scene broke it all open. It put in perspective just how young this girl is and how she was forced to give up her childhood and now, her LIFE. An extension to this scene is the way she marches off to face The Master, despite knowing she will die and then the bad ass bantering way in which she defeats him. “You’ve got fruit punch mouth.” “I may be dead, but I’m still pretty”

2. Becoming Part II -  The fight between Buffy and Joyce, “No, it doesn’t stop! It never stops! Do you think I chose to be like this? You have any idea how lonely it is? How dangerous? I would love to be upstairs, watching TV or gossiping about boys or… God, even studying! But I have to save the world. Again.” The weight of the world is on Buffy’s shoulders, as it always is, and she is pretty much losing everything. This showdown with her mom was long overdue, and the absolute heartbreak of knowing that this young woman has to endure even more suffering to save the world is unbearable. I have to include the other pinnacle moment from this episode as a Buffy fan…when Angelus is taunting Buffy, “No weapons… no friends… no hope. Take all that away and what’s left?” and Buffy simply replies “Me.” THAT is Buffy Summers. No matter what the circumstances, she is there standing between us and the forces of darkness and nothing can break her.

3. Helpless - Buffy is being drugged by Giles on behalf of The Watchers. Throughout the episode we get a chance to see how terrifying her job is without any special abilities. The moment she marches in to save her mother from a viscous, rabid vampire, with no super powers to speak of, gives me chills. She is so scared, but she is Buffy. That means she puts aside her fear and fights. It was an incredible moment which proved that Buffy did not need super powers to be a hero. It is her heart and her mind that made her strong.

4. Earshot - The speech Buffy makes to Jonathan in the tower. It was so incredibly poignant and relevant to teenagers and all humanity, really “My life happens, on occasion, to suck beyond the telling of it…sometimes more than I can handle. And it’s not just mine. Every single person down there is ignoring your pain because they’re too busy with their own. The beautiful ones, the popular ones, the guys that pick on you, everyone. If you could hear what they were feeling: the loneliness, the confusion…it looks quiet down there. It’s not. It’s deafening.” It is so profound, and it makes us all realize that we need to look beyond the surface and empathize with others and understand that we aren’t the only ones to shed tears.

5. Family - The way Buffy sticks up for Tara in this episode makes me cry every single time. Tara had just screwed up. She made a mistake that could have cost the scoobies their lives, and prior to that Buffy had already been failing to click with or really understand Tara. But she understood her in that moment. She saw a woman who was desperate to fit in and be “normal”, she saw someone who, while being different, was fighting similar demons as the rest of the scoobies. She saw a woman who was being abused by her own blood, and she stood up for her. She welcomed Tara into the family with open arms, “You want her Mr. Maclay? You can go ahead and take her. You just gotta go through me…You heard me. You want to take Tara out of here against her will? You gotta come through me.” Mr. Maclay: “You people have no right to interfere with Tara’s affairs. We are her blood kin. Who the hell are you?” Buffy replies “We’re family.” This is just so moving. Family isn’t about blood. It’s not what you’re born with. It’s what you make. Buffy is the greatest friend, and given the compassion and understanding Tara shows for Buffy when Joyce dies and when Buffy comes back from Heaven, you can really see how much this moment meant to Tara.

6. Checkpoint - The scene where Buffy confronts The Watchers Council, “I’ve had a lot of people talking at me the last few days, everyone just lining up to tell me how unimportant I am, and I finally figured out why…power. I have it. They don’t. This bothers them. Glory came to my home today…just to talk. She told me I’m a bug, I’m a flea, she could squash me in a second. Only she didn’t. She came into my home and we had what in her warped mind probably passes for a civilized conversation, Why? Because she needs something from me. Because I have power over her. You guys didn’t come all the way from England to determine whether or not I was good enough to be let back in. You came to beg me to let you back in, to give your jobs…your lives…some semblance of meaning.” Buffy coming to the realization that everyone was trying to cut her down because they were threatened and intimated by her power is amazing. She owns it so well.

7. Blood Ties - The scene in the hospital with Dawn, “It’s Summer blood. It’s just like mine. You ARE my sister.” The way Buffy assures Dawn that she IS her sister, and that she loves her, not because of her duties as The Slayer, but because of the connection she feels to her as a sister. Dawn didn’t have to start out as her family, but like with Tara, we see that origins are not something that concerns Buffy. Family is made not born.

8. Intervention - The final scene with Spike. Buffy pretends to be the bot to find out if Spike told Glory about Dawn. When she realizes he would rather die than reveal this secret, she understands for the first time that his love for her is in fact real, and she takes pity on him with the gentlest of kisses. “What you did for me and for Dawn…THAT was real. I won’t forget it.”, and she doesn’t. It is Spike that she continually trusts to protect Dawn in her absence, above all others. As a Spuffy shipper, this scene obviously is one of my favorites, but as a fan of Buffy it ranks up there too. Buffy values loyalty and with Spike she ends up finding the greatest partner in her fight. Side note: The revelation that death is Buffy’s gift and that she is so full of love that she pulls away from it are also really amazing.

10. The Gift - The whole episode really. “But you’re just a girl.” “That’s what I keep saying.” and the staunch way she fights Giles over Dawn when he dares to say Dawn is not her sister, “You’re right. She’s more than that. She’s me. The monks made her out of me. When I hold her…I feel closer to her than… It’s not just the memories they built. It’s physical. Dawn… is a part of me. The only part that I…” then later Giles says that everyone in the world will die, including Dawn, and her response is the most perfect thing, “Then the last thing she’ll see is me protecting her.”. I also really love her later speech to Giles, “I sacrificed Angel to save the world. I loved him so much, but I knew what was right. I don’t have that anymore. I don’t know how to live in this world if these are the choices, if everything gets stripped away. I don’t see the point. I just wish that…I just wish that my mom was here.” In Becoming, Buffy was able to kill Angel. It was black and white, but now the world is gray, and she is asked to kill an innocent, an innocent that she loves more than she has ever loved ANYTHING. Then of course we have the sacrifice and the speech, “"Dawn, listen to me. Listen. I love you. I will always love you. But this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles… tell Giles I figured it out. And, and I’m okay. And give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.” Buffy never hesitates to give her life. It’s who she is. I don;t think any scene on the series makes me cry as much as this one. The beauty that is Buffy Summers… The amount of love in her heart and the way she gives it all for the people around her… I’m going to cry now just talking about it.

11. After Life - When Buffy reveals the horrible truth to Spike, “I was happy. Wherever I was… I was happy… at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time… didn’t mean anything. Nothing had form. But I was still me, you know? And I was warm. And I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I - I don’t understand theology or dimensions, any of it really… but I think I was in heaven. And now I’m not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out, by my friends. Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch. This is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that. Knowing what I’ve lost. They can never know. Never.” The heartbreaking revelation that this hero who sacrificed herself was ripped out of the ultimate happiness and thrown back into her world of violence and death is just so painful, and it sets up the season and Buffy’s depression, perfectly. And of course, being Buffy, she is still trying to save her friends from the massive guilt and regret they would feel for what they did. Obviously, it really wasn’t Buffy’s time, and she recovers and finds the desire to live in the world again, but the pain of loss in this scene is just so intense.

12. Conversations with Dead People/End of Days - Getting to the root of Buffy feeling both superior and inferior, “I feel like I’m worse than anyone. Honestly, I’m beneath them. My friends, my boyfriends. I feel like I’m not worthy of their love. ‘Cause even though they love me, it doesn’t mean anything ‘cause their opinions don’t matter. They don’t know. They haven’t been through what I’ve been through. They’re not the slayer. I am. Sometimes I feel…this is awful…I feel like I’m better than them. Superior.” I always love the scenes when Buffy discusses what it means to be The Slayer and the complexities of it. I couple this one with the scene between Buffy and Faith in End of Days when Faith says “Me, by myself all the time. I’m looking at you, everything you have, and, I don’t know… jealous. Then there I am. Everybody’s looking to me, trusting me to lead them, and I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life. And that’s you ever day, isn’t it?” to which Buffy replies “I love my friends. I’m very grateful for them. But that’s the price…being a slayer.” Faith finally grasps the severity and pressure that rests with Buffy, and is such an honest scene and a great finale for their relationship.

13. Bring on the Night - The end speech…it is seriously one of the most epic scenes ever written. Buffy was beaten to a pulp, nearly killed, and she walks down those stairs and she faces the group with the most resolute conviction and strength that I have ever seen on my television screen and says ” I’m beyond tired. I’m beyond scared. I’m standing on the mouth of hell, and it is gonna swallow me whole. And it’ll choke on me. We’re not ready? They’re not ready. They think we’re gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I’m done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, we’ll give ‘em one. Anyone else who wants to run, do it now. 'Cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on, we won’t just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one, until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I’ll kill it myself. There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil, and that’s us. Any questions?“ If that doesn’t make you love Buffy…if that doesn’t give you serious chills, there is something wrong with you.

14. Showtime - When Buffy faces off with the ubervamp (Chaka Khan lol) to teach the whiny potentials a lesson…it is pure genius and just SO Buffy Summers “I’m the thing that monsters have nightmares about.” All Buffy needed to find was her confidence. Whenever she sets her mind to something, she does it. It’s not about the weapons. It is all in her strength of conviction. She decided to slay the ubervamp to make a point, and she did just that. “Here endeth the lesson.”

15. Chosen - Buffy shares the power of The Slayer with all potentials. It is such a lovely and empowering moment seeing so many women finding their strength and rising up. The plan Buffy concocts and the way it is executed is so amazing. As is the way she builds the confidence of Willow and of Spike, who play key roles in the fight. The way the battle shifts according to Buffy’s state, when she is down her side starts losing. But when we see her rise up and tell the first to get out of her face, the entire game changes. Of course the moment she finally admits to herself and to Spike that she loves him, as their hands clasp in flames while she both cries and smiles is just poetry. The revelation is so true and so beautiful. And there is her smile at the very end, at the realization that she no longer has to carry the weight of the world anymore. Perfection.

So yeah, I managed to leave off a ton of scenes I love like the way Buffy chooses Xander/Willow as her friends in Welcome to the Hellmouth when she could have picked the in crowd. There is the wonderful scene in The Prom when her peers recognize her for everything she does or the way she finds her strength again in season 4’s “The Freshman”. There’s also the moments of her teaching Dawn and the potentials how to fight and the way she goes into the vineyard to face Caleb alone in Touched. Not to mention the scenes in season 7 where she champions for Spike now that he has a soul or the scenes in Wrecked/Same Time Same Place where she accepts Willow despite her magic issues, first helping her with the addiction then literally giving Willow her power to help her heal. Gosh there are just so many. This is why Buffy Summers is by far the most brilliant, amazing, loyal, strong, courageous, and complex character ever created.

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 13 - Pizza and a movie

Originally posted by rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts

Blake let out a long sigh, coming to lean against the metal railing that ran around the outside balcony, overlooking the Sanctuary lot.

It had been an hour since Blake had been marched back down the main marketplace hall by Gavin.

Various men and women, dressed in dark clothes, all carrying guns and weapons of varying sizes, had filed past her as she went, obviously making their way out to the trucks. Leaving for what Blake supposed was Alexandria.

She hoped Rick and the rest of her friends back there would be safe. Her mind flitting to baby Judith and the kids of Alexandria, innocent in all this.

Blake hadn’t see Negan again, but had mooched around the marketplace stalls, watching as people stood in line to exchange their wares for points. It had been quieter that it was when she had walked through with Negan. And so after a couple of laps around the place, Blake had wandered the corridors.

Her mind had, of course, flitted immediately to David…heading for the staircase leading down the basement floor where she knew his room was.

She hadn’t seen him since their run in in the canteen yesterday and as much as he had frightened and hurt her she knew that all of it…it was for him. She loved him….right?

But as Blake had reached the staircase, she found a broad shouldered black man standing there in front of it, blocking the way, with a gun held steadily in his hands.

Blake had pursed her lips, ,meaning to push past him, but he took a step to the side, blocking her path.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered in a soft voice. “I can’t let you go down there.”

Blake had given a frown.

“Everyone? Or just me,” she asked a little confused, stepping back and staring up at the man, but he just shook his head.

“Uh, just you I’m afraid,” he said insistently. “Negan’s orders.”

Blake scowled, giving a huff, and had been about to protest, but had thought better of it at the last moment.

What good would it do?

Arguing with this guy wasn’t going to solve anything.

So Blake had huffed and headed back down the corridor, finally finding herself out here, back on the balcony….in the same place Negan had offered her lemonade, just a day ago.

She still could not believe that was yesterday.

It all felt like a lifetime ago now.

Blake leant across the railing, folding her arms and staring out across the gloomy, grey lot.

The fence today, was covered with the living dead, or walkers at Rick had used to call them, and not just the ones that had been tied up and impaled there.

There had obviously been a mass build-up overnight, and today, several men in baggy grey jumpers were out there, trying to wrangle the walkers into position as best they could, as several Saviours drove knives and posts through their skulls.

It seemed like a slow process and by the looks of it they could do with a few more hands.

Hands that Blake certainly could offer them. Especially if it meant that she could carry a weapon again.

Blake looked around, noticing a tall, armed saviour with a black goatee and cropped hair, standing by the stairs leading down to the lot.

Brushing down the back of her navy pants a little apprehensively, she approached him.

“Hey, you think I could go down there and help out,” she said raising her eyebrows and looking up at him. “I mean, I know my way around a knife-”

But before Blake could even finish her sentence, the man gave a scoff, cutting across her.

“Pfft, sweetheart, do you really think I’d let you do that?” he raised giving an amused chuckle and staring at her incredulously. “Negan would kill me….no worse than that…..he’d probably make sure I suffered real bad THEN he’d kill me. So beat it, ok?”

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Sherlolly Week 2017, Day 1: First Meeting

Prompt: First Meeting (Non-Canon/Headcanon)

Rating: T, for a tiny curse.

A/N: This is a soulmates AU imagining of their first meeting, in which a timer on one’s wrist stops counting down once they’ve met their soulmate. I also added my own take on the timer thing. Hope y’all enjoy this one!

Sherlock straightened up from sealing a box labelled ‘Lab Equipment’ and cursed under his breath when he heard a knock on his front door. He glanced at his watch, letting out a soft annoyed groan at the sight of the timer on his left inner wrist. I haven’t even phoned Mycroft, and his impeccable and dramatic timing won’t allow his movers to arrive too early. It can’t be my landlord, and my parents are in Oklahoma. A client then. Sighing, he picked his way around the numerous boxes littering his sitting room. He dramatically swung the door open. “May I help you?”

The petite, auburn-haired woman standing before him paled. “I’m… Uh, I’m…” She hitched her white tote bag with green stripes higher over her shoulder, her hands fidgeting with the straps.

He rolled his eyes and heaved an impatient sigh. “This had better be at least an eight if you’re a client. I don’t have time for anything less than that.”

She knitted her eyebrows together and frowned. “Client? Wh-why would I be your client?”

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As a black woman

I might need a moment for this - I am beyond angry. I’m frustrated. I’m tired. I’m not surprised.

Here’s the thing - I don’t ever think I will be comfortable talking to nonblacks about the racism that black people face day in and day out. I can already hear the people screaming that it’s my job as a minority to be open to those kind of discussions and help relieve ignorance - but but the older I get the more I feel that black living should not be about the opinion/thinking of nonblack people.

Sitting through those feeds and then coming back on social media and seeing the same shit happen - the laziness in the hatred is mind blowing. Y'all try y'all hardest to put the blame where it belongs. Somehow in talks mind she was such a weakness player but the house was noticing her game 😒. Dom’s only game was a social one. It wasn’t even fantastic it was great for her and her situation yes - because they’d been dropping her name and she was still staying in people’s pockets who wanted to protect her. Yet I see the tag trying to rewrite history. Y'all eat up the excuse of the interview 😪 again like they didn’t hate her and want her out waaay before then and that weren’t using that and the vote - that they know she DIDN’T do. But it’s about these thing huh? 👌 Fuck all y'all.

People have sat here and claimed that Dom shouldn’t have talked in circles that she should’ve just said his name straight out….and really at that point it was like for what?! The moment Elena lied - yes she did lie because Paul straight up sat there and told her a private conversation he had with Dom in the nature of trying to get her to dislike Dom - the moment that happen Dom knew she was done for because she had no proof, she just knows he’s a snake from talking to him and him being sneaky as hell with her. They tell Dom she has to prove she didn’t do something - something they know she didn’t do. This was a wall, a hive mentality and she knew it.

Dom mistake was caring what they and the outside was gonna say about her and her character. This is the mistake most black people make. We think that if we don’t act a certain way, that if we give into the opposite way they say we are then by default they can’t hang us…WRONG! This is 2017 and this year alone we’ve had many black people killed and America and those watching America has been okay with that, have excuses that. The box they give us to act in is a way for them to make slaughtering us (figuratively and non-figuratively) easier. Dom did her damnedest to not give in to the black stereotypes they bind us with…and still he spoke on her responses in the same way. They still set her as ABW. They paint us with savagery and then if we act within those so call traits we’re proving them right, but if we act opposite - guess what they still act like we’ve acted within those lines….but instead of overt examples they use the little things…didnyou see how she looked at me…shes dangerous…intimidating…aggressive…there’s just something about her. And it’s not just white people. Alex has been hating on Dom since day one. The things that supposedly makes Dom a civilized human and separates her from the black downfall are still her downfall. They complain she’s too godly, she doesn’t come right out and get confrontational about her views. She’s things she so classy so above everyone else because of how she speaks and how she acts. The problem - she’s black…ain’t no escaping that.

Black people like Dom are also gonna have to realize that. Even in Ika Wong game…oh they were giving it to her hard. Even people she was fucking saving. Only one who had some respect was Dem. even though Ika would have been gone earlier if not for him (protecting her with comps) it is still important to never be apologetic about your passion and anger when you’re black just like Ika (and Ika was like this in season 2 also so don’t come with that she just act like that because…). If people are talking shit…shut them the fuck down - who gives a fuck cause they’re gonna call you aggressive anyway! They’re allowed to get anger and demand respect…but so are you. And yes you’re gonna get the L…but they were gonna give you the L anyway so take that bitch knowing that you stood for yourself.

I watched BBcan5 and when Ika told Kevin that he would not try her like that, that he would be honest and real about the situation and why her and Dem were on the block. When she looked him dead in the eye and told him that he better put some respect all over her - that he better put some respect on her name and on her game because she was a better player than him and he would win despite that fact. I got emotional seeing that. They will do it to you…don’t let them. You deserve to be angry when they’re fucking you over…you deserve your respect and your right to demand it. Do not go passive. You can’t allow yourself to be afraid of what’s already happening. You can’t be afraid to get an A (aggressive/abw) on your chest when that bitch already there.

It’s frustrating because I can tell that Dom is a woman who has to constantly deal with this form of racism and it’s built her to react a certain way - for survival. But sometimes you have to wonder if we’re really surviving - we feel this on a daily. At our jobs, in social medias or our entertainment outlets, within our friendships and sometimes even our romantic relationships. It’s a suffocating feeling. I understood Dom’s every bitter laugh, her every scoff, her deep sighs.

Social medias response of ‘omg not the race card can we not talk about this’ don’t surprise me none - those who believe in that oppression always want silence to reign. This post post ain’t for y'all…I don’t give a shit about you. It’s for for the black people who always have to bite their tongue, who have to compose themselves, who have to bend and break themselves down trying to get some respect or to be heard.

anonymous asked:

More Abaslout Heresy please. Of the coming back for more kind. *eyebrows wiggled*

This fic is for all you heretics out there.


Title: Comfort Zone

Characters: Saint Celestine x Yvraine ( F x F smut)

Summary: When you step out of it, there is no turning back

Also available on AO3 for all you heretics who want to leave me Kudos (I worked hard on this!!!)

Also, I don’t know much about either of them, so if they are OOC, IT’S NOT COMPLETELY MY FAULT.

No plot. Don’t expect any and don’t ask me for one, you’re not going to get it. XD

TAGS (If I forget anyone it was not intentional): @the-fluffy-underbelly @askbelisarius-cawl, @possiblyhereticalultramarine @ask-khayon-the-black, @fainterbread678, @ask-saint-celestine @fulgrim-the-phoenician

‘I do not trust you.“

The eldar stopped in her tracks, she barely turned her head to acknowledge the speaker.

“I am a stranger in this world, Mon'keigh.” she raised a brow. “I am surrounded by your kind…and while I house the God of Death, your sheer numbers may or may not overpower me. ”

She turned around to confront her accuser. Her arms crossed on her chest. “Need I remind you who is at an advantage here?”

“I need to know what your purpose is.”

“Your comatose leader is up and about. Is that not enough?”

Celestine met the eldar’s eyes with her own. “What do you want from us? Why did you raise him from the death sleep?”

“Why not? Would you rather I have not? That can be arranged.” Yvraine sidestepped the living saint to head back to the hallways when the latter stopped her.

Celestine’s wings spread out to block the other woman “You’re going to have to get past me before I allow you to touch my Lord!”

Yvraine , acting quickly, swept the human aside towards the wall, pinning her on it with a combination of physical and psychic might. She put both arms on either side of Celestine’s face, her hands trapping her wings. She leaned forward, cornering the Mon'keigh, her face so close to the living saint that Celestine could feel her breath on her cheek. “I did not know you were the jealous type, Mon'keigh.” she sneered, a corner of her mouth lifting. “But if its any consolation to you, I like my Mon'Keighs of a different flavor.”

Her heart raced wildly, her breathing hastened. Celestine’s mind debated on struggling against the Eldar as her grip on her sword tightened. She did not want to cause a great discord because of her paranoia of the Xeno. “I am not sure what you’re imp…”

But she never got to finish her sentence as Yvraine pressed her lips against Celestine’s open mouth.

It was brief. It was deep. It was nothing like she had ever imagined.

Everything around her seemed to stop.

Her eyes closed at their own accord.

Her lips responded without her behest.

But it was over before she could wrap her head around it.

Yvraine pulled away slowly, pausing an inch away from Celestine’s face before laughing a little.

“Not bad for a Mon'Keigh.” she murmured before completely pulling away. The eldar straightened up, completely releasing the stunned human. She turned about, slowly sauntering away before announcing. “There’s more where that came from…” she turned her head slightly, sweeping Celestine with an inviting gaze. “Wing kink? Is that what you call it?”

Celestine said nothing as the xeno vanished around the corner. She looked around, breathing a sigh of relief that no one had witnessed their exchange.

She touched her mouth which was still warm from their contact.

She found herself smiling a little as she went the other way.

God Emperor help us all….


An apology is not out of the question.

In fact, it should be the first thing she should have done.

Celestine contemplated on this as she slowly made her way to unfamiliar territory.

No one had known of what had transpired between her and the Eldar. No one should, anyway. It was sure to earn her more distrust from the already suspicious Inquisitor Greyfax.

She stopped at the isolated door at the end of the hallway.

It took her a few moments to gather courage to knock at the door.

“You may enter.”

The voice from the other side sent goosebumps on her neck.

Maybe she should’ve just sent a gift basket with a handwritten note. It would cause her nerves to be less tumultuous.

The door slid open, and the living saint stepped through.

Their guest had her own temporary quarters on the fortress, at least until they were to leave, which, from what she knew was going to be fairly soon. The Eldar apparently had their own agenda in the other craftworlds.

The subject of her apology sat before a mirror. She was out of her usual attire and appears to be in a loose sheath dress of simple white. Her pale, white blonde hair still gathered on the headdress she typically wore. She had the long strands gathered to one side as she brushed it.

“Saint Celestine.” she was addressed by the Eldar. She turned her head slightly to acknowledge her. “A pleasant surprise.” she said in a tone which the other woman was unsure was welcoming or condescending. “Have you any more accusations to throw at me?”

The human stepped closer, ignoring her remarks. “I came to apologize Lady Yvraine.” she spoke earnestly. “My words were without merit.”

Through her reflection, Celestine could see that the Eldar was not quite convinced. “I suppose I should accept it.” she remarked as she slowly ran the brush through the delicate strands. “This is not exactly a good way to start an alliance.”

Celestine swallowed. “I understand my faults, my Lady. I would, appreciate it if this matter could be left between us.”

The Aeldari said nothing and continued to brush her hair.

The few minutes she stood there awkwardly in silence felt like an eternity. “I should take my leave now.”

She turned away, walking a little faster than she normally would.

“Saint Celestine.”

She turned about, expecting another verbal barb.

“May I ask for your assistance?”

The human did not expect this question, as she took a few steps closer to the Xeno. “How may I be able to help you, m’Lady?”

The priestess motioned to the complex headdress she wore. “This would be easier to remove if I had some extra hands. Would you care to?”

She nodded as the Xeno turned about to face the mirror, a small smile painted on her lips. “Just untangle them from the braiding.” she said, reaching up to demonstrate. “Like this.”

The process looked easy enough, and for all the guilt she felt, Celestine figured it was the least she could do. She started on one end as Yvraine began on the other.

Celestine had never encountered anything like this.

It was a very different experience indeed.

The Eldar’s hair was twisted tightly around the hair piece and she tried to undo it as gently as she could.

“Let me know if I’m pulling too hard.” she said with a note of worry in her voice. Yvraine’s hair was fine and rather silky, a stark contrast to human hair with its unusual texture. It was like undoing fine threads from a silk loom. Needless to say she liked the way it ran through her fingertips.

What in the Emperor’s name am I saying???  

She shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts when the Eldar handed her the brush she was using earlier.

“It would please me if you could use this.” she asked with a mild tilt of her head. “It helps straighten it out of the weave.”

“Of course.”

Yvraine was unable to rid her lips of the grin she wore.

Celestine was thrown off guard without a doubt, she thought. She would be lying if she said to herself that the Mon’keigh’s discomfort was something she did not enjoy. She thought…no, she knew …that there was something more to the human’s awkwardness than just the whole incident.

She was going to prove that.

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Now you see it, now you see it again Pt 14: A coat tale

Coats of the late 1920s tended to be simpler than the outfits worn underneath. They typically closed with just a single, large button or extravagant, feature tab and buckle, wrapped and fastened to one side. They had few decorations; trim was usually narrow side panels, sometimes with cording, self-fabric trim, or embroidery on the sides or back. Many had fur shawl collars. Belts were not required and were optional as an ornamental feature that usually did not go all the way around the coat. 

Phryne wears a black and white woven cheviot wool coat, with white panel inserts at the sides and back, as well as from elbow to cuff, accessorised with black and/or white. It makes appearances in both Series 1 and 2.

And what a tale this coat could tell.

In Raisins and Almonds a complex plot involves allegiances - adherence to causes and family relationships that are tested. Marriage is scrutinised from the perspective of those honouring the commitment despite physical and emotional distance.

Phryne is investigating the death of a young man, Saul Michaels, a supporter of the Zionist cause. She, with Simon Abrahams, visits Josi Stein, a fellow Zionist, at the Kadimah to learn the meaning of a hand-written classical Hebrew note on a page from a text, which might offer a clue to the mysterious death.  We see the coat, accessorised with black and white down to the shoes, including a rather extraordinary brooch of  yarn and miniature knitting needles:

Josi Stein has little interest in helping Phryne investigate his friend’s death and is more interested in keeping the document than providing a translation.

Phryne: Mr Stein, I’ve unearthed some evidence that may explain your friend’s death, but I need help to understand it. 

Josi: … Saul was a student of Kabbalah, religious philosophical teachings. It may be from one of his books. That is all I know. 

Phryne: And this handwritten annotation, do you know what that means? It looks like Old Hebrew. 

Josi: Perhaps I could translate, but I would need to refer to some texts. If I can study it… 

Phryne doesn’t fall for that ruse and takes herself to the dead man’s rooms above the shoe shop.  Whilst an apprentice to Chaim Abrahams the cobbler, the victim was also a student, so the room is part bedroom, part study, part chemistry lab.  The coat contrasts the bright yellow walls of the bed-sit as Phryne begins to see that there may be a link between the Hebrew text, the lab and the young man’s death.

But the discovery of something far more rudimentary in the room leads to a more immediate clue…

and a consequent confrontation with Miss Leigh, to this point the chief suspect in the case. 

Phryne: Were you having a dalliance with Saul? 

Miss Leigh: That is none of your business. 

Phryne: For goodness sake, woman, I’m trying to save you from the gallows! 

We see the bars of the cell shadowing the wall and across Phryne’s coat as Miss Leigh admits to being Saul’s lover, despite the fact that she knew he would return to his wife overseas once he was able.

Miss Leigh: Saul had more to lose than I. He had a wife in Poland. They married at 16, but when he left, she promised that she would wait for him until they could be together in the Holy Land.

And a seque  - to the coat, Phryne and our Jack as Miss Leigh’s circumstances, and Phryne’s urging of her innocence, lead ultimately to Jack’s own revelations. First, his knowledge of Science.

Jack: I doubt my Ancient Hebrew will impress you, but I studied enough science to recognise those symbols. This is the symbol for lead and the symbol for gold. He who could turn lead into gold could cure all disease and make men immortal, theoretically. But how does it help Miss Leigh? 

Phryne: She wouldn’t have killed him, Jack. She loved him. They were having an affair. 

Jack: He was married. 

Phryne: It happens. 

Jack: Well, there’s your motive. Miss Leigh wouldn’t be the first woman to kill in a jealous rage. 

Phryne: Miss Leigh doesn’t seem the type to rage. 

Then Phryne and the coat go off to find the translation of the annotation.

Phryne: I need your help with my investigations, Mr Abrahams. I understand that you can translate from Old Hebrew…

Mr B Abrahams:  This is mystical nonsense. 

Phryne: But it was important to Saul, and I suspect it has something to do with his death. 

Mr B Abrahams: Show me. ‘The invisible will become visible only through flames.' 

The man of honour is able to reveal the significance of the ‘mystical nonsense’, 

and whilst contemplating what to write to the distant widow, the most intimate of his reveals is divulged:

Jack: I went to war a newlywed. 

Phryne: But you came home. 

Jack: Not the man my wife married… 16 years ago. 

Phryne: War will do that to you. 

Jack: My wife’s been living with her sister for some time now. But a marriage is still a marriage, Miss Fisher. 

Phryne: Especially to a man of honour.

(I know, I know, she wasn’t actually wearing the coat in the last two pics but I just couldn’t stop myself it was required for context.)

And so to a favourite Ep for many of us: Dead Air.  

The coat appropriately reappears in an episode where Phryne’s outfits reflect the glamour of the radio stars of the 1920s.  Teemed again with the black French ‘cat-burglar’ beret, she also wears black gloves, and the coat supports a large cream cameo brooch to the lapel.

The radio station airs a popular series called The Polkinghorns with the main characters played by Jimmy and Hazel Creswick, her role winning Hazel an award.  

Playing parts is a motif throughout - Jack plays Archie, Phryne  plays a role or two, and Jimmy who plays Maurice Polkinghorn is really Harry. Uncovering who’s really who is critical to solving the murder.

It’s late in the ep that Phryne goes back to the radio station to flush out the killer by playing an old recording of a program associated with a past murder.  Sleazy Clarry continues to try his luck:

Phryne: Could you play this next? Special request. 

Clarry: Do I get one in return? 

Phryne: Save your breath, Clarry. Your charms are lost on me.

The recording of Twilight Melodies reveals Jimmy Creswick’s true identity, that of the former Harry Redpath, who is forced to show his hand (holding a gun).

Phryne: Louisa found you out, didn’t she, Harry? Remembered your voice from her time in Perth… You dragged her body outside. Clarence couldn’t hear any of it. Then you continued on to the awards night as if nothing had happened, and poor old Dodger saw it all. You realised he witnessed the murder, so you killed him too. 

Jimmy/Harry: You’re not moving until Hazel walks through that door. She defied me, and if I can’t have her, no-one will. I will kill her. And I’ll kill you too, Miss Fisher.

Phryne manages to clobber Jimmy/Harry and Jack arrives to make the arrest, his transformation from Archie back to DI complete.

And some teasing from Phryne:

Jack: Miss Fisher? 

Phryne: Hope you enjoyed the show, Jack. 

Jack: Constable, get him up. Harry Redpath, you’re under arrest for the murders of Guinevere Redpath, Louisa Singleton and John Lockhart. And the attempted murder of Hazel Creswick. 

Phryne: You took your time.

And so ends this coat’s tale, although the episode concludes with Phryne wearing a  stunningly sensuous evening gown that reflects the colours of the coat.  (And I need any excuse or feeble link to post that duet…).  It is chiffon and lace heavily sequinned and beaded with black and white pearls in intricate floral and fleurs de lys patterns. It swings and sways as she sashays into the room where Jack is at the piano.

Phryne and Jack celebrate a successful outcome (and an engagement) with a tinkle on the ivories while they plan their next move:

We’re all alone, no chaperone ♪ ♪ Can get our number ♪ ♪ The world’s in slumber ♪ ♪ Let’s misbehave

There’s something wild about you, child ♪ ♪ That’s so contagious ♪ ♪ Let’s be outrageous ♪ ♪ Let’s misbehave

You know my heart is true ♪ ♪ And you say you for me care ♪ ♪ Somebody’s sure to tell ♪ ♪ But what the heck do we care?

They say that bears have love affairs and even camels ♪ ♪ We’re merely mammals ♪ ♪ Let’s misbehave ♪ ♪ We’re merely mammals ♪ ♪ Let’s misbehave

Ana Lily Amirpour Responds to Racism Charges — But Won’t Apologize For Making You Uncomfortable

Ana Lily Amirpour seems like the ultimate counterpunch to Hollywood’s diversity problem. She’s an Iranian woman director raised in America, directing inventive genre movies with an anarchic sensibility all her own. While much of the country celebrated the feminist leanings of “Wonder Woman,” Amirpour had already finished “The Bad Batch,” her horror-sci-fi-western hybrid about a dystopian world in which a young woman battles cannibals in a desolate wasteland. The movie, which premiered at the festivals last fall, confirmed Amirpour’s capacity for exploring marginalized figures through the empowering lens of ferocious female characters first seen in her acclaimed debut, “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night.”

Which was why, eight months into her promotional tour for “The Bad Batch,” Amirpour was astonished to find herself accused of racism. During a post-screening Q&A for “The Bad Batch” in Chicago, Amirpour was confronted by a woman named Bianca Xiunse, who demanded to know why all the black characters in the movie were killed.

The complaint appeared to be a reaction to one scene in particular. In the film, which is set in a near future in which prisoners are unleashed into a lawless desert, Arlen (Suki Waterhouse) comes upon one of the cannibals who had kidnapped and mutilated her in the opening minutes.

Now armless, Arlen confronts Maria (Yolonda Ross), the wife of Cuban cannibal Miami Man (Jason Momoa), along with her young daughter. Arlen shoots Maria, but spares the child; later, Miami Man tracks Arlen down to exact revenge, but the pair end up falling in love as they face down a much scarier threat — a stone-faced tyrant named The Dream (Keanu Reeves), who lords over the nearby town of Comfort with an iron grip.

While one reading of “The Bad Batch” would find two outcasts (a one-armed woman and a vilified immigrant) joining forces to take down an evil white man, Xiunse wanted to know why Amirpour felt it was necessary for the black characters to perish.

“I found it offensive,” she said. “So I’m curious, what was your message for it?”

In video of the moment, Amirpour cocks her head, seemingly baffled by the response, and asks the moderator to repeat the question. (As she would later explain, the filmmaker is 30 percent deaf.) Finally, she offered a succinct response. “Just because I give you something to look at, doesn’t mean I’m telling you what to see.”

The audience cheered, and Xiunse turned to Twitter to further vent her frustrations. “I have never felt such an embarrassment in my life,” she wrote. Later that night, Amirpour checked her social media account, saw the complaints, and blocked Xiunse; when Xiunse called her out, Amirpour wrote, “How am I supposed to respond you calling my film anti black? It’s so crazy. It offended me. So I blocked you.”

So began a social media storm of vitriol on both sides, with Amirpour’s fans leaping to her defense and others lashing out against her; Xiunse herself even did an interview about the experience. Amirpour acknowledged that she reacted too quickly on Twitter, which she has since deleted from her phone, but she’s still aghast about the experience as a whole.

“I’m a brown woman immigrant, my family escaped the Iranian Revolution, I grew up on two continents, English wasn’t the first language in my home,” she said over lunch in New York a few days before the film’s release. “I know what it is to be the ‘other’ very, very well. My film and my filmmaking is all about asking questions about how the system pits us against each other. If anything, this movie is about how we are eating each other. It’s fine, I get it, some people don’t see those things or ask those questions. Cinema is a private, personal experience for individual. But this felt personal against me.”

She was also astonished about the complaints regarding the color of the character’s skin. “Why wouldn’t he be married to a black woman? Jason Momoa is married to a black woman. It’s how I see the world — it’s a modern relationship,” she said. “They have a mixed-race child. She’s the future, in this wonderful way.”

But Amirpour didn’t have the opportunity for that nuanced reaction at the time, and then came the second wave: Internet forums picked up on an old photo posted to social media in which Amirpour dressed up as Lil Wayne for Halloween. If she had been a white person wearing blackface, that would have been ever tougher to wriggle away from — but Amirpour’s not about to apologize for that one, either.

“What could I do?” She asks. “I feel nothing but joy about the fact that I dressed up like Lil Wayne for Halloween. I’m brown. I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s what I look like when I put my hat on and tattoos on my face. I love Weezy. I just have to believe in myself, that I’m a good person, having fun on planet Earth like anyone else.”

Amirpour’s experience may not permanently tarnish her reputation, but it’s indicative of a single-minded director who has been gradually forced to deal with the challenges associated with a rising profile. The last two years of her career were all about forward momentum, with support systems to sustain her vision on her own terms.

When she came to Sundance with “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night” in 2014, she had no agent, and insisted on controlling every facet of her film — including its distribution deal, which she decided to avoid closing until after the festival. “I was going off instinct, but my instinct was, if you want to fuck me now, you have to want to fuck me four months from now,” she said. (The movie eventually sold to Kino Lorber, well after it opened New Directors/New Films in New York that March.) In the meantime, she had started writing “The Bad Batch,” and after Sundance she was approached by Vice creative director Danny Gabai. From there, a wealth of new resources came her way.

Next page: The creative wisdom of taking acid at Burning Man.

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LawLu Story Idea 41

Snow White:

Luffy was nicknamed Snow White when he was born for his blindingly white smile. All who look upon him proclaim that he is the cutest baby ever born. He grows up loved by his mother and father, a ball is thrown in his honor for his every birthday, with noble families from across the kingdom invited to attend, sometimes even neighboring royalty. But on Luffy’s twelfth birthday the Queen is stuck by an illness and dies, leaving the King devastated. Luffy is neglected as the King attempts to find solace in the arms of women, eventually marrying a noblewoman named Boa Hancock who was well known as the most beautiful woman in the kingdom and as a hater of men that had made the King an exception. This exception did not apply to his son Luffy, however, so she declares that he is forbidden from being in her presence, a rule that is eagerly enforced by her sisters and guards. In fact, all of her followers go out of their way to make Luffy’s life miserable.

Years later Luffy has grown into a fine looking young man, still maintaining his innocence and cheerful attitude against all odds, when one of Hancock’s followers consults her magic mirror and finds that Luffy will soon surpass her to become the most charismatic person in the land. Determined to stop any from surpassing their Queen they hatch a plan to have him die in an unfortunate accident. Unfortunately for them Luffy had great instincts, and deftly avoided all of the traps that were set up for him around the castle. But the attempts became more and more serious, causing him to grow concerned. So before another plan could be put into place Luffy escaped the castle, not wanting to take any more risks that they might one day succeed.

He wandered through the nearby forest, completely ignoring all of the danger signs that had been placed at its entrance, in search of a place to stay in for a while. Who knew when those crazed fans would actually succeed in killing him? Unfortunately, in his rush to get out of the castle he had forgotten to steal some to take with him as his lunch and was now faint from hunger. And though he had been in the forest a number of times his sense of direction was not the best, so he was very lost. Luckily he stumbled his way to the home of the seven dwarves whom he had befriended in his previous adventures outside the castle. Zoro, Ussop, Sanji, Chopper, Franky, Brook, and Jimbe were all glad to see their precious friend again, but were concerned about his condition; it was very unusual for him to come to the forest so unprepared; he would have normally brought food at the very least. They decide to let Luffy stay with them until whatever is troubling him is resolved.

Unfortunately one of Boa’s followers is a proficient witch and is able to track Luffy down to the house in the forest and prepares a final attempt at his life, a poison apple that would trap him in endless sleep until he is kissed by a Prince. One of Boa’s sisters then disguises herself as an old woman and visits the cabin while the dwarves are away and gives Luffy the apple and watches him collapse. At the same time a cloaked figure watches the scene with concerned eyes and quickly mounts his horse to report back to his boss, he needs to know as soon as possible.

Hours later Prince Law of a neighboring kingdom is still muttering under his breath about his fears for Luffy being founded, no matter how many times Sachi and Penguin have accused him of being overprotective. Of course that beautiful idiot would have people trying to kill him. He’d been unable to forget the raven-haired prince since he had seen him all those years ago at one of his birthday celebrations, just a small boy with a beautiful smile, blissful innocence, and the desire to make Law his friend. He will always remember the warmth of the small hand that held his when he was pulled into joining Luffy’s ridiculous dance and the delightful giggle he received when he finally gave in.

So he was traveling deep into a supposedly cursed forest, hoping that he’d reach Luffy in time. By the time he reached the cottage Luffy’s comatose body had already been laid out on a bed and despite all of his knowledge of medicine (which he liked to study in his free time) he could not find a way to heal Luffy. As a last ditch attempt and a prayer Law leaned down and pressed his lips on those of his beloved before turning away in anguish, unable to look at his still form any longer. The seven dwarves joined him with their heads lowered in sorrow.
Not seconds later Luffy began to stir, a yawn forming on his features, the resulting sounds alerting everyone in the room to his presence. He was soon covered in the overjoyed forms of his friends, who seemed determined to break his ribs in the act of making sure he was ok. Then he suddenly noticed the last figure in the room and wondered who he was. The white, furry hat and wild blue-black hair were giving him a sense of déjà vu, yet he couldn’t place where he remembered them from. But the minute their eyes met the memories came flooding back. The ball, Torao’s scowl, his desire to be closer to the other, and finally the moment he finally got him to smile.

The journey back to the castle allows the two princes to grow closer and when Law eventually finds the courage to confess Luffy immediately knows that he feels the same for Law, now that he has a name for the mysterious urge to always be around him and make him smile. When they reach the castle Law immediately confronts the King and reveals all of the plots of Boa’s followers which shocks the Queen as she had no idea this was going on. She decides to finally give Luffy a chance despite being a man and ends up becoming a doting mother, becoming perhaps a little too obsessed with her step-son. None of her followers dare harm Luffy after that. After this incident the King realizes how much he had been neglecting his son and promises to be there for him in the future. And he is more than happy to allow Law and Luffy to become engaged once he sees the love they hold for each other.

Sorry there wasn’t much romance, this ended up getting very long. ^^; I’m glad people seem to be enjoying my fairytale series, thank you for all the likes and comments. My ask box is open if you have a question or request (or just want to say hi) and authors are always welcome to write my ideas (just ask first). ^o^/

Accusations & Stray Thoughts.

What two monumental episodes for RiKara.

There is a lot to be talked about the episodes. First..i LOVED how it took time for it to play out. If Omkara said his side of the things yesterday, Gauri got today’s episode to put up her side of the case. This was an misunderstanding which had been between them for the past 8 months and frankly I can’t find another way to clear it once and for all.

Getting to Gauri later on, first I want to talk about Omkara.

There’s no way I will defend or justify his accusations. He was wrong, period. He had constructed an entire story based on two words. And then he chose to end it all as per his fancies without bothering to find out whether he is right about his interpretation or not. SUCH an Omkara thing to do. But not justifying it doesn’t mean I don’t understand where he came from. It’s messy and ridiculous but that’s how humans are.

Methinks Omkara is the only character in the show whose atrocious actions are actually backed up years of abuse that he suffered. It does NOT make him a precious cinnamon role character who needs to be protected by all means i.e. brushing off the abuse HE does as okay. But it does provide a good character study. Let me just talk about his elaborate confrontation that he had planned for Gauri.

I read a lot of opinions that said that Omkara was being “jealous” at the thought of Gauri being with Arjun and hence his anger. I’d like to differ from that. Omkara wasn’t acting out as a jealous, possessive lover who was planning an elaborate revenge on his lover for deceiving him. Karzzz nahin chal rahi yahan pe. Omkara was acting from a place of total hurt.

“Bohat gehri chot di hai tum ne mujhe..”

His hurt wasn’t her deception. His hurt was his realization that he lost something that could very well be his own version of ‘happy ending’. Yeah…the whole “mujhe dhoka mila pyaar mein uwaan uwaan” was a factor but I’d like to believe that his utter rage wasn’t at just that. Before Gauri disappeared for 15 days, Omkara was well on the way to confessing that Gauri was his life’s most special person. In Omkara style he was slow and hesitant but he was moving there. He was being patient, he wasn’t missing chances of talking to her, he was opening himself to her even when all her doors were shut. He was trying to accept a relationship for himself that has never really been a source of happiness for him. That takes time.

Then the past comes up and all his past insecurities come crashing over him. Omkara has been used and abused by the people closest to him. His mother has emotionally abused him. His father keeps emotionally abusing him. His girlfriend used him for her own benefit. Omkara doesn’t have a LOT of relationships to boast about to begin with and even within them half of the people haven’t really done him well. Gauri was the one person who he saw as someone who was the one who WOULDN’T do that. When he realized that his initial assessment about her was wrong, Omkara had subconsciously put Gauri on a higher pedestal than him.

And the pedestal broke.

That’s the thing about the hurt caused by bad incidents – the feeling never really goes away. When someone hurts you, even if you end up forgiving them and being happy with them, you don’t really forget. Whenever the memory of that past hurt resurfaces, it still stings. Which is the case with Omkara. Except it doesn’t just sting him, it burns him. He had to deal with the fact that the woman he thought wasn’t like the ones who selfishly used him turned out to be just that. Plus he had to deal with the fact that he was once again on the of being made a joke out of because Gauri so obviously was going to leave him for some other man. Or even if she didn’t, she was playing him for a fool by carrying on with her two-timing right under her nose.

Omkara is often said to the Tej in his relationship with Gauri. And he was. The way he abused Gauri..that was a Tej thing to do. But Omkara is also a Jhanvi. The woman who put ALL her faith and loyalty in one person and ended up being hurt cuz of it all her life. Omkara is both his parents. If he has Tej’s ruthlessness, he also has Jhanvi’s loyalty. And both these things clash. Jhanvi wasted her life away by remaining foolishly loyal to Tej because she didn’t have the backbone to break free. Omkara’s loyalty to Gauri was turning out just like Jhanvi’s. Whatever nameless feeling he had for Gauri it was so strong and overwhelming that he couldn’t possibly feel it for someone else. She saved him both literally and symbolically. How do you move on from that?

Except..he is also Tej. Had Tej been treated by someone the way he treated Jhanvi, his reaction would’ve been different. The Tej Singh Oberoi with all his almost god-like power..THAT Tej wouldn’t have just sat back and let the other person have his way. No, he would’ve lashed and attacked BEFORE the other person had the chance to deal their final blow. That’s what Omkara did. Instead of sitting around waiting for Gauri to reach at the point where she could leave him and ONCE AGAIN prove Omkara’s thoughts right that he can only be abused in the name of relationships..he chose to break her. End her game before she has a chance to play. And be free and revel in the glory of his victory. VERY Tej thing to do.

Well that all spectacularly failed.

If we take his lashing out in these context..his atrociously ugly words still remain atrocious and ugly but they start making sense. WHY did he say what he said. Once we know that we can have a better understanding of his character even if we hate it. As much as Kunal Jaisingh was BRILLIAANNTTTT in the entire scene with his micro expressions that changed from disgust to soft gazes of a lover…Omkara was horrible. He demonstrated his obvious flawed theory about human beings being either black or white and he refused to consider any other alternative for the situation. Sure, Omkara had progressed a lot in terms of how he treated Gauri but his OWN personal view about life and people hadn’t really changed, had it?

This was necessary. For Omkara to spew ALLL the poison that he had inside of him. For him to say every pathetic shitty thing he could say about the ONE person who was actually above and beyond all that. Had he not..all of it would’ve come back to once again rear its ugly head and make him again go on the path of self destruction. Cuz honeeyy really..there’s no way Omkara destroyed anyone but himself in his side of things. ONCE he had tried to let go of his misunderstandings without getting full clarity and that didn’t do him any good in the long run. Now he will have all the clarity for him to last his seven generations.

Because on the other side, there’s Gauri.

{to be continued}

anonymous asked:

Could you please give a brief synopsis of your stories? Your art is fantastic by the way!

Oh dear, I’m not great at being brief, but I will try my very hardest.

Cele Trei Creaturi:

It’s a flat world named Topis with ruling gods and magic, but 90s level technology and countries that vaguely resemble our modern countries.

Thousands of years ago, humans were chosen by the pantheon as the dominant sapient species over the Three Vampiric Species, who were the bats, cowbirds, and spiders. The Vampiric Species were powerful mages and could shift between a big and little form. They retaliated to the pantheon’s choosing of the humans over them by drinking the blood of man and gaining the ability to shift into a human form. The pantheon punished them for this act of defiance by taking away their ability to use magic outside their bodies, limiting them only to shapeshifting.

The protagonists of CTC are Caine Killian, the wide-eyed enthusiastic bat kid with a habit of trusting the wrong people; Thaddeus Lance Masters, the womanizing asshole cowbird who doesn’t trust anyone; and Conner Mungkhoru, the antisocial reclusive spider teen who would rather read books and sleep than interact with anyone. They are all homeless in their own ways when the story starts, but meet by chance in New Pari, and through a series of events end up stealing the mayor’s house (that is attached to a giant bird) and living together in it. They don’t get along very well at first, but slowly start to bond as the story goes on.

The main plot starts when Death confronts them and asks them for help in defeating Ulysses Maximilian Steel, a godlike force of destruction inhabiting a human body. Ulysses is roving around killing gods, which is kind of a big deal, and he plans to kill Candentia the Creator, destroy the world, and build a new one of his own. Caine, Conner, and Thaddeus aren’t sure why Death wants their help specifically, but he is offering them huge amounts of money as payment, so they are totally willing to work for him.

It’s a globetrotting sort of adventure with a huge cast of characters and a very detailed setting, so half the fun of this story is all the cool people and places in it.

Mushi Cure Magika:

In a world inhabited by adorable bipedal arthropods called mushi, five highschool girls are chosen to battle a sapient fungus with magical powers and weapons granted to them by their adorable talking pets (that are also bugs). The fungus is sending out little walking mushrooms/fruiting bodies that will attack, cling to, and zombify mushi, sorta like the cordiceps fungi. The girls kill any fruiting bodies they find, and cure those who have been infected with their magic. There’s also a mysterious dark magical girl who is working for the fungi. It’s pretty adorable and fluffy and heavy with mahou shoujo tropes. There is lots of high school romance. And lesbians. And cool bug facts.

Victor and Lex:

There’s a small town near the edge of a huge forest in the Appalachian Mountains. The forest contains a magic “well”, a non-physical source of energy which fills the forest with magical creatures and makes it far bigger than the geographical location should allow. This particular well used to exist in the British Isles a thousand years ago, but went dormant and migrated.

Victor and Lex live in the town. Victor is a biracial (mum is white and dad is black) 10-year-old boy, son of two field biologists who vanished many months ago while away doing research in South America. He currently living with his rich, reclusive aunt (mother’s sister) who is creepily possessive of him but emotionally distant. She lives otherwise alone in a huge mostly-empty house near the edge of the forest. Early during his stay with her, Victor was cursed by a witch, and is now proportionally approx three times as large as normal kid, and his neck, torso, and newly gained newt-like tail can expand freely in length. He looks like a noodle, sorta, and has trouble being bipedal and usually walks on all fours. His aunt forbade him from going out in public ever since his curse, and Victor often explores the forest to kill the boredom.

Lex, birth name Alexandria, is a 10-year-old Irish boy living in a run-down apartment building near the forest. He frequently escapes into the forest to avoid his parent’s screaming matches. He met Victor in the woods and they became friends after discovering their shared interest in documenting the forest’s creatures. Lex draws them, Victor takes notes on them. They have adventures.

They eventually run into Colibri, Tasha’s familiar, and start hanging out with her. She’s a witch who also lives at the forest’s edge. It turns out she’s dating Lex’s older sister. Small world.

Victor is based off of a recurring character in my dreams. The story doesn’t have much in the way of a plot right now.

The Scientific Method:

A couple hundred years in the future, human genetic modification has become a government regulated thing, there is a company, AGEL, which produced the first GMH (genetically modified human) in the United States, Karen.

Karen is a woman with a dog-like body and long tail who can run on all fours at great speed, and jump long distances as well. Elizabeth, the fonder of AGEL, was her lead engineer, genetic donor, and due to their lack of artificial womb tech, her rather literal mother as well. She started a trend in the company, and AGEL’s more recent GMHs, Grace the winged human and (currently nameless) the monkey-like human, were also carried in-utero by their lead designers. The lead designer on the latest GMH is male, and they at this point have artificial womb tech. So it all works out nicely. Elizabeth and Karen have a healthy mother-daughter relationship and are notorious pranksters.

The other two protagonists are Louis and Todio. Louis is a grumpy young robotics and programming prodigy who frequently butts heads with Elizabeth (his antithesis, an old jokester and genetics prodigy) and gets into ridiculous competitions with her over robotics engineering vs bioengineering that tend to escalate out of control. It’s all in good spirit. Mostly.

Todio is a college student interning as Louis’s assistant. He meets Karen through this, and they become good friends, much to the dismay of their warring associates.

It also doesn’t have much in the way of a plot. It was mostly created as an excuse to design GMHs, and as a reaction to every story about GMHs being about the most awful terrible human rights violating lab ever. There are more subtle social issues to explore about human genetic modification beyond, just, illegal labs treating GMHs like animals. Augh, drags hands down face. Louis is a recycled middle school character that in retrospect was actually a pretty fascinating character, and Todio is based off a cool looking person I saw that one time.

Runaway to the Stars:

Staraways for short. Same universe as the GMH girls story! Just. Waaaaayyy farther in the future, and there are aliens: four races; the humans, the avians, the centaurs, and the bug ferrets. There’s a whole bunch of protags, including Idrisah the Muslim xenointerpreter and her girlfriend Gillie, a deaf reject catgirl GMH, a centaur named Talita who works in a junkyard but aspires to be a star ship engineer, Bip a stranded AI and ex-pirate(ship), an introverted pinkie ferret, an emotionally traumatized brown ferret, a rich brat skimmer avian, and her flightless avian dunservant. They all manage to end up on the same ship somehow. This story, unsurprisingly, was created as an excuse to design aliens.

Update: the story starts with Talita, who stumbles upon a still-living AI in a spaceship wreck in the junkyard she works. She manages to save it by transferring it to her computer, and aspires to give it a new body (ie spaceship).

And that’s about it. There’s much more detail if you dig into the tags for these stories.

anonymous asked:

Modern college roommate AU! (Your writing is amazing)

Thank you so much!  I enjoyed writing this and I’m sorry if it got a bit feelsy, I like angst.  Thank you for the prompt, college/hs AUs give me life

~~~ (Implied child abuse/neglect)

Patroclus ended up taking the bus to the town where his school was, all of his possessions stuffed into an oversized duffle bag.  Everything else he either wasn’t allowed to take or was too replaceable and unimportant to spare the space for.  He had enough clothes to last the week before he did laundry, a handful of crumpled bill to buy what else he would need, and the hope that things would be better. University was supposed to be different, a new experience, and he only hoped it would be a good one.  His mother didn’t notice him leaving, his father was glad to be rid of him.

No one paid a second glance to him as he walked with his bag slung over his shoulder from the bus stop to the campus, they were all too busy getting settled and hugging their families goodbye.  He didn’t mind drifting through the background on the very edge of their attention, it was familiar.

Keep reading

There Is No Moving Forward Until White Women Own Their Shit

Before the marches took place, I read multiple articles written by Black women explaining why they would not be attending. Some of the reasons included the appropriation of the name of the march (March on Washington), the fact that white women would do little to nothing after the march, and also the idea that white women only included women of color because they needed bodies. And I thought to myself that these perspectives were worth considering. But after witnessing the outcome of the marches, I realized that they were completely valid.

It is estimated that around 4 million people marched across the country yesterday, a number I am sure not many people expected. Looking through the crowds, there were a lot of white women that attended, most holding signs that read “my p*ssy grabs back”. The white celebrity outcome was also very interesting. I saw Scarlett Johansson, Miley Cyrus, Amy Schmuer, and Chelsea Handler. All of them: peak white feminist. And white feminism=white supremacy.

Remember when Scarlett stole a role from an Asian woman? Remember when Amy equated Black men to predators? Remember when Miley Cyrus spoke over and tried to silence a Black woman?

Seeing these women at the marches and knowing that the crowds were filled with thousands of their clones angered me. Scarlett Johansson said in her speech that after the election results, she realized just how much work “we” have to do. And while that is a very privileged statement considering WOC and LGBT+ activist have been working since the beginning of time, she’s right. White women, you have some serious work to do.

Around 4 million people marched yesterday. But where were all of you during Ferguson? Or Baltimore? Or Baton Rouge? I can bet some of you were at home, wagging your fingers and shaking your heads in shame. Maybe you thought we were protesting the wrong way. But what about the thousands of peaceful protest that you would deem acceptable? Where were you then? What about Standing Rock? Or Flint, Michigan? Or is it you are only acting now that you are being personally attacked. Well, that is not enough.

53% of white female voters voted for tr*mp. Let me say that again. THE MAJORITY OF WHITE FEMALE VOTERS VOTED FOR TR*MP. What got us here in the first place was white supremacy. Something you benefit from. Understand that a majority of white women elevated their race privilege above their well being.

Nothing will come out of these marches if things stay the same. White women cannot continue to show up to these protest and ask WOC to do the hard labor. Practice intersectionality every single second. Your “feminism” is shit and it is false without it (talking to you TERFs). Confront your family members. Correct them. Do not sympathize with them or pander to them. Check your Amy Schumers and your Lena Dunhams and your Miley Cyrus’ and your Tammy Lorels. They are dangerous, and if you are really about it, you should be working to remove their faces from your brand of feminism. At these movements and protests, understand that it is the work of Black women and LGBT+ folk that have paved the way. Do not speak over them. Listen. Recognize and check your privilege. Do not show up and then go home and do nothing. And for all that is good in the world, stop policing our anger. It is not your place.

Understand that there will be no unity, there will be no “us” until you own your shit. Past and present. 



So by (somewhat) popular demand, I’m making a post analyzing the clues we were given for Asylum before the season aired. Like I did in the Coven Clue Analysis, I’m going to go through each teaser and figure out what it hinted at in the season. And again, this is all my personal interpretation, if you find anything else please let me know! (Also there were a shit ton of Asylum teasers, so I apologize in advance for the length of this post).

Special Delivery (0:00-0:20)

Our first look at the “White Nun”, as we see her dumping buckets of body parts in the woods. Looking back now it’s evident that the White Nun (who appears in almost half of the teasers) is Sister Mary Eunice, and this represents her feeding Dr. Arden’s creatures.

Blue Coat (0:20-0:40)

We see a Black Nun (who likely represents Sister Jude) praying in a cubicle as the White Nun hangs a blue coat on the wall. Clearly the blue coat is a reference to the little girl in blue who Jude ran over, and so this signifies Sister Mary Eunice haunting Jude with her past. You’ll notice that the coat’s arms extend outward when the White Nun sits down, almost resembling a crucifix.

Hydrobath (0:40-0:55)

We’ve seen the hydrotherapy room many times, most notably when Lana and Grace were in there in “Tricks and Treats”. The woman probably represents Lana, since she appears to be submerged in milk (“baby needs colostrum…”). The zipper of the bath also vaguely resembles a certain female body part (hint: vagina), and that could refer to Lana birthing the son of Bloody Face.

White Rose (0:55-1:05)

I think this is another allusion to Mary Eunice. On the outside she seems beautiful and pure (the flower), but on the inside she is dangerous and demonic (the psycho girl that we are zoomed into). Plus I can’t help but think of SME’s line about “rosebud tits.”

Ascend (1:05-1:20)

Another SME reference! The “stairway to heaven” is blatantly obvious, as we have the innocent Mary Eunice trying to climb up it, while the crazed demon inside her is descending the other way. This girl climbing up the stairs backwards is an homage to The Exorcist, yet another clue that a possession takes place.

Glass Prison (1:20-1:30)

This is kind of tricky. Based on the noises the creature makes, I’m assuming it’s one of Arden’s raspers, but who knows. The glass prison may also just be a metaphor for the institution, or for how sanity is transparent? 

Red Rave (1:30-1:45)

We see a rave of inmates/raspers as a bucket full of guts is passed along. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

White Rave (1:45-2:00)

My personal fav, this time the White Nun is crowd surfing (note, also in a crucifix position). This likely symbolizes Mary Eunice being “carried” away from her purity by the corruption of the asylum.

Taste (2:00-2:15)

A patient being fed a pill by a figure probably meant to be Arden. Shows the use of medicine on the inmates.

Bandages (2:15-2:25)

Another tricky one. I’ve seen people think this has to do with the alien abductions, but the red dress leads me to believe this woman represents Mary Eunice again. The bandages remind me of the ones the Monsignor wore on his hands after being crucified, so perhaps this shows Mary Eunice’s end at the hands of Timothy Howard?

Fork (2:25-2:40)

The fork throws me off here, because one might think that symbolizes cannibalism, but we don’t see that in Asylum, unless you’re talking about the raspers. The skin makes me think of Bloody Face… maybe a knife would have been a better utensil to use.

Que Sera Sera (2:40-3:35)

Quick rundown: Leo is holding a camera since he’s on his haunted honeymoon tour; his other arm is obscured by Teresa (and one of his arms was cut off by Johnny). Mary Eunice is surrounded by the buckets of body parts that she must feed to the raspers. Kit is covered in welts from Jude’s beatings, and Grace is comforting him. Shelley is sex on sex with a side of sex. Lana’s writing on her arm to try to remember the truth, while Wendy lovingly looks at her. Thredson tries to control a patient similar to Jed Potter when he was being exorcised. The Monsignor and Dr. Arden sit on opposite sides of the bed, signifying the opposition of science and religion, and also their secret agreement to continue Arden’s experiments on the patients. Lastly Sister Jude looks like a BAMF. Also notice that Thredson and Mary Eunice are in patient beds, even though they were staff, which was probably the earliest indication that they would be Bloody Face and possessed, respectively.

Stitches (3:35-3:45)

The only thing I could think of is Bloody Face stitching together different skins to make his lamps and mask.

Help Us (3:45-4:00)

We have the White Nun and the Black Nun on opposite sides of the room, symbolizing Mary Eunice and Jude’s power struggle. The patient is forced in between the two.

Hellevator (4:00-4:10)

I like to think this represents Sister Jude as she descends into insanity. Also another tie to the “stairway to heaven” with the opposite of an “elevator to hell”.

Slipping (4:10-4:25)

Clearly this is a hint at Sister Jude’s red slip. Need I say more?

Spinning (4:25-4:40)

Not much to make of this one. I immediately think of the first time we meet Pepper, as she’s spinning around outside. The fact that it takes place in the woods makes me also think of the raspers.

Veiled (4:40-4:55)

This is another great one, and another hint at SME. The cracking sound makes me think of the statue of the Virgin Mary, which was smashed to pieces by Arden. It also alludes to the hard exterior that Mary Eunice has as she hides her real self beneath it. If you look closely the nun is also wearing lipstick… Ravish Me Red, perhaps?

Exam (4:55-5:05)

This hints at both the aliens’ experiments on their abductees, as well as Arden’s experiments in his lab.

The Woods (5:05-5:15)

Dr. Arden’s raspers hiding out in the woods outside Briarcliff.

Spiral (5:15-5:30)

Another allusion to the “stairway to heaven”, this time we see Jude walking up and confronting some patients on the stairs.

Awakening (5:30-5:40)

Another one of my favorites! The White Nun emerges from a sea of hands briefly before being forced down by them again. This represents those few moments when the innocent Mary Eunice would pop out and beg for a release, before the Devil would take over. I always thought the “awakening” meant Sister Mary Eunice would be revived, but that was just wishful thinking after her death.

Door (5:40-5:55)

The White Nun knocking on a door, which probably represents the solitary cells. I instantly think of the scene when Sister Mary Eunice comes to free Kit but insists Grace must still undergo sterilization.

Face (5:55-6:05)

Last but not least, our very first introduction to Bloody Face. We see the skin and leather hanging on the wall behind him, along with some of his equipment. If you look closely you can see some of the teeth from his mask. And if you listen closely you can hear a radio broadcasting the weather report, similar to the one Arden was listening to during the nor'easter.

Warning: long post….
but so good.

Close To Home: A Conversation About Beyoncé’s ‘Lemonade' 


A Beyoncé album release is now a communal experience. Who among us (and if you’re here reading this, you’re one of us) made it through this weekend without a conversation, typed or yelled, about her intent, her intonation, her read, her past, her bat, Serena, Tina, Etta, Warsan, Pipilotti, Zendaya? Whether you love her, hate her, or stay strong in your neutrality, our exchanges are kind of the point. This is what art makes us do. No doubt our opinions are in some places monetized and our vocalization of them surely buoys the price of Lemonade on up to $17.99. But what Beyoncé’s got us talking about now is what we women are really always talking about, under our breath, late night on the phone, after the kids are down, over coffee, at the bar, in tears, irrespective of anybody’s album drop: our worth. The video version of this album reflects the private lives of a certain group of women who share a set of memories and experiences; the arc of its narrative will be harrowingly close to home for all of us.

We asked Professor Regina Bradley and writer dream hampton to share their dialogue about the visual album with us, to show the many directions Lemonade is sending people, knowing the two of them don’t come to the art or the artist from the same place, knowing they require different things if they’re to feel represented, knowing that feeling is a major factor in what’s happening right now culturally, but it’s not the only thing. Uniting their perspectives here is our attempt to arm each other with information and knowledge and hard-earned truths. So that when we’re talking about Beyoncé, we’re really saying something. Regina and dream spoke on the phone Sunday afternoon. —Frannie Kelley


Regina Bradley: I was like, wow. So much wow. That was my immediate reaction. And then I went on a Twitter rant. Because I saw a tweet that was like, “Well, this is so much that I don’t understand.” I heard everything from “creepy” to “It’s not for me.” So of course I put on, you know, my southern hat and I was like, “Some of the stuff in that video wasn’t meant for everybody!” It was a love note to southern black girls.

dream hampton: I’m not on Twitter and haven’t been since last August, but I went on there and I saw that the Internet was melting. I was looking for rare Prince video, because a lot of people are sharing amazing performance footage and I just couldn’t get enough this weekend. And I saw that Bey had released this album, which I of course knew she was releasing. I mean, we do have to say that part, like: I know these folks, or whatever.

I saw someone who was a writer for Hannibal, the very dark TV show about cannibalism, and I saw her tweet out that she didn’t think this album was for her, but she still was intrigued. And I thought, I bet when she was creating her scripts and her art she wasn’t telling NBC, “This is going to be a show for cannibals. That’s who’s gonna watch my show.” But in this moment, confronted with this many black girls on camera — and thank you Kahlil Joseph for honoring us in this way, to create this kind of visual altar to black girls, and black girl femmes — you know, in that moment, you can’t locate yourself? I wasn’t looking for myself inHannibal, a story about FBI agents or cannibals, because I have no desire to be either. But I loved what she was doing and I didn’t begin my read on that work with this feeling of rejection. And that was what was in her tweet. She’s a white woman and she felt rejected looking at this video.

Regina Bradley: I think what made folks uncomfortable was the fact that she was pulling from not only a blues tradition, but a southern black woman blues tradition. Shug Avery, Bessie Smith, Rosetta Tharpe and other blueswomen performers used their voices to sonically and lyrically expound upon their personal trauma and strife as a collective call-to-arms for black women. Blueswomen in the south traveled and wandered and did not censor their existence. They made people uncomfortable. I say Beyoncé made people uncomfortable because her performance in Lemonade wasn’t just a curation of the blueswoman aesthetic but an active reckoning with it as it manifested in southern spaces. Pair the blueswoman tradition with the traditional memory of the south as traumatic and backwards and you get a ripe space for unpacking the multiple layers of black women’s healing and existence that Beyoncé tackles in this project.

dream hampton: When I think of the mashup that’s happening here in terms of artists — and there are two collaborators that stand out, obviously, in this project, even though there were many — one of them is Warsan Shire, the poet who I have loved since I found her on Myspace in 2009. She’s a Somali Muslim raised in London and her writing is beautiful and these are her musings on romantic love.

And then you have Kahlil Joseph, who is interested in all kinds of black magic. He did a beautiful short film on Oklahoma rodeos. He did Shabazz Palace’s first video, “Belhaven Meridian,” a nod to the great filmmaker Charles Burnett. He also did a conjuring video for Flying Lotus, which cast Lotus as an Elegba/Eshu in a Cadillac who kind of comes to collect the beautiful Brooklyn dancer Storyboard Pete. Kahlil is absolutely a director who is influenced by Terrence Malick, and he really looks at film as a philosophical medium. And then you add Beyoncé.

Ann Powers wrote a great piece when Beyoncé did the 2013 Super Bowl. She was looking at Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child and that whole syncopated, southern marching band tradition and stepping contests. Beyoncé, even though she’s incredibly popular, probably the most popular artist we’ve had since Michael Jackson, is performing very straightforward R&B and always has, since Destiny’s Child. She has always performed very southern, black music since Destiny’s Child. I thought her first album reminded me of Prince in that it wandered. I’m talking about songs like “Speechless,” like “Naughty Girl,” like “Hip Hop Star,” like “Be with U.” I think that people were kind of happy when she came out with the album after that, B'day, because it returned to the Beyoncé that they were used to, with these big giant hits, from Destiny’s Child. But that first album, besides “Crazy In Love,” was to me deeply influenced by Prince. And then when she did B'day she returned to songs like “Upgrade U” and “Get Me Bodied” and “Ring the Alarm,” “Freakum Dress” — that album felt more like Destiny’s Child, Michael Jackson, I’m coming for you with hits. And Lemonade comes back to the kind of wandering and exploring she was doing on her debut. When you take away all of the videos, you get some very interesting mashups. The James Blake. The White Stripes.

Regina Bradley: I was listening to “Don’t Hurt Yourself,” the song that plays during the section of Lemonade called “Anger,” and I thought about Prince. The live instrumentation, the boisterousness of the music, I thought, this was for Prince. And I think she’s always in a space to do that. But I really enjoyed the fact that she’s making folks uncomfortable with her music right now and the imagery associated with it.

I guess on the one hand I feel like my ear has been tainted when listening to Beyoncé, because for me it’s mostly been what I’ve heard on the radio and it wasn’t until lately that I was like, let me actually dig into it and think about what these influences mean. But one thing that I, as a literary person, was looking at during the actual video album yesterday was so many references to black women writers, singers, and just this quotidian black woman experience that I was so in love with. Finally, you didn’t have to have these supreme cosmic influences just to have a conversation. I felt like it was an everyday conversation that I was having with her through these videos. Ok, well — maybe not the red light, going around town knocking people out with a bat named Hot Sauce. But for me, I saw the influences of Zora Neale Hurston.

dream hampton: I would say in that moment you’re also seeing Kahlil Joseph, who also has a real connection and interest in Zora. That’s what I mean that this is a mashup. And some of it is just musings — Warsan could be happy in a romantic relationship. Now her poems and Beyoncé’s lyrics are being taken literally and used to speculate about Jay and Beyoncé’s relationship. But in the end, these three artists, Warsan Shire, Kahlil Joseph and Beyoncé, are reflecting what they choose to, of their interests, back into their art.

Regina Bradley: The actual visuals probably teach a lot more than the lyrics. And I’m not trying to discount those at all. But we’re in a current visual cultural moment and we learn more through what we see than what we hear.

dream hampton: But let’s not act like lyrics have ever been deep. I mean, that’s what makes Prince an anomaly. Literally. These kind of love musings tend to never be deep. But that’s where Warsan Shire comes in and complicates it. And I say that loving music! As an academic yourself, as someone who writes, myself, we would probably overwrite songs. Because we would be overthinking them. Now Prince, of course, knew how to do thinking but simple love songs. He knew how to make really complicated lyrics make sense in a pop song — when you listen to a song like “Lady Cab Driver” and he says, “This is for the moon … so beautifully complex.” We don’t expect our pop love songs to be sonnets. You’re not going to hear that in an average song. By “average” I mean the very best. I mean The Beatles.

And that’s why it’s lovely that Kahlil brought in Warsan Shire and had her go even deeper on a literary level than a song. That’s what makes this project a masterpiece. Because all of them are playing their parts. Beyoncé is the consummate performer, she is black girl magic personified in this moment. Warsan is bringing that literary genius to it and, because Kahlil is deeply invested in a visual folklore, he’s directing all that into an ancient yet modern visual folklore around black people.

Regina Bradley: I’m still processing it. Even though I’ve watched it three times, there’s so much stuff I’m still missing. One of the things that stood out to me is when they were preparing dinner. The whole idea of soul food as a southern trope, and actually having a seat at the table that black women have been preparing for others, that was big for me.

dream hampton: That was a visual nod to Julie Dash’s Daughters Of The Dust.

Regina Bradley: Daughters Of The Dust and also Alice Walker’s In Search Of Our Mothers’ Gardens.

dream hampton: Yes! And Carrie Mae Weems’s Kitchen too! It’s gorgeous, this idea that we’re going to feed one another into love and healing. That food is healing, that our fellowship is healing. That all women’s spaces are sacred. And all of that comes through. I’ve said this before, but I don’t measure a woman’s strength by her ability to endure suffering. I think true strength is about reaching out when you need help. It is about forgiveness, which Bey has in there. But there’s also a call for accountability. Accountability in our most intimate relationships and accountability as it relates to the images of the mothers of these three victims of police violence.

Regina Bradley: That accountability is real, though. Like Beyoncé’s done so many times in the past, she’s putting her money where her mouth is. She doesn’t speak up in public spaces other than her music. I feel like her work begs the question, “What else do you want me to do?”

But I’m most struck by her use of antebellum imagery to situate her southernness. Southern black girls and women are at the front of Beyoncé’s vision. Not in the back. Not in her peripherals or tucked away under the heavy assumptions of southern black women and girls as hopeless. We are in the front. We are joyful. We are communal. Antebellum blackness as joyous and fruitful seems oxymoronic for black women. Slave women are the most silenced and traumatic representations of southern black women. It is a massive undertaking to sift through the forced silence regarding the physical, social and spiritual violence of slave women to locate the quiet of black women’s endurance. In Lemonade, the trauma of slavery itself does not propel the images of black women in undeniably southern spaces forward. Rather, the antebellum south serves as an entry point for Beyoncé to recognize the historical and cultural horrors of black womanhood while reclaiming the survival techniques passed down over time.

Towards the end of the film, a group of girls runs from a garden with fresh vegetables in their arms. Another shot shows a group of black women in antebellum dresses proceeding into a kitchen to chop vegetables, grind spices and prepare to literally and figuratively break bread. The agency of the antebellum south as the epitome of white southern pride gives way to the quiet dignity of black women as workers, healers and conjurers. The imagery is not new: Black women in head wraps, simple white dresses gathered in communal spaces like a cooking house and a southern plantation manor with black girls running through white columns off of a porch are referenced in multiple slave narratives like Linda Brent’s Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.

Yet the work being done is for the women’s own benefit, culminating in a communal dinner underneath a massive oak tree with Spanish moss and performances by Beyoncé of her song “Freedom” and ballerina Michaela dePrince. The gathering women and girls are of multiple ages, smiling and conversing with one another. This scene juxtaposes with an empty candlelit table and a lone black girl — possibly a house slave — sitting at the table. The scene quickly cuts back to the same communal table in the dark under candlelight. The rapidness of the transition between the two scenes is like a blink. It suggests that the women at the table are the dream of the solitary black girl. What I most appreciate about Lemonade is its ability to pull the viewer through multiple lenses, historical periods and vantage points to complicate southern black women. It demonstrates healing as messy, non-linear and generational. Sometimes we deal with the same s*** that our mothers and grandmothers and foremothers experienced. The responsibility of remembering is not only a collective, but it’s a collective for multiple generations of black women.

dream hampton: The other thing that I really loved in the film is this way that she really loved up on her father and on Jay Z as a father. Kahlil reflects that back to us with all these everyday fathers in New Orleans loving on their baby girls.

Regina Bradley: I thought it was gorgeous. I cried a little bit because it made me think of my dad. Especially when he [Beyoncé’s father, in a clip of home video] was like, “What would you do if your grandparents were here?” And she was like, “We would have fun.” He said, “Tell them.” I’m like, yes! The ancestors are everywhere. We have to speak them into existence. We have to remember to keep them alive. He was instilling that in her.

dream hampton: And then the father that Jay is with Blue Ivy is something that she has to love the most about him. I know that, having been his friend for the past 20 years, this is my favorite phase of his life. This phase where he gets to be deeply connected with his daughter. Because for him, and he’s been public about this, this isn’t me snitching on him, at least he was public about this in the book we worked on together, Decoded, he healed his relationship with his father at the very last stage of his father’s life; his father was dying. And that made it possible for him to be in his first real love relationship, which is with his wife. And to see him be able to do more healing around that karmic energy, with his own daughter, is beautiful. Beyoncé must really love that about Jay.

Regina Bradley: And it’s an ongoing process, too. That idea of the vulnerability that’s associated with being a father. For me, one of the things I’ll always remember about my dad is we had a kind of rocky relationship in the beginning. I remember one time we were talking when I was 14 and I was like, “I don’t need you” and he cried. I had never seen a grown man cry before that. My dad was a big dude. He was like 6'5" and 300 pounds. And he was crying. He said, “But I need you though.” With Jay Z being such a public figure and actually letting us see him be vulnerable with his daughter, it wasn’t refreshing, but more like like, “I’m also human too.” It added levels of humanity for him that we don’t often reserve for superstars.

dream hampton: And I think that’s something that we’re guilty of, which is stripping celebrities of their humanity. The way that we talk about them. Grown people who may or may not have given birth, which is a big deal, openly speculating about whether she had her own child. This kind of viciousness. I remember Jay saying early on, when he first started dating her, there are only two headlines to write about a celebrity couple: They’re together and they’re divorced. And that’s all anyone’s interested in.

We really do say the worst things to our lovers. And we really do treat our lovers the very worst and the very best. That’s part of what intimacy is about, being so up in somebody’s stuff that they can’t avoid all the parts of you. But I do love that Beyoncé, unlike blueswomen before her, rejects the idea of sacrificial love as the wife’s duty in a cis-het relationship. In this suite, she demands accountability before we get forgiveness. She’s also being fully present in her rage, and fully understanding of what it is she deserves.

Some classic standards are hard for me to listen to: songs that were recorded by some of my favorite black women, Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington, but weren’t always written by them. Often they were written by white men and they’re sacrificial songs, they are not about being in your power at all times. Beyoncé brings us this power. She’s not the first to bring us this — '70s rock star Betty Davis, Miles Davis’ ex-wife, brought us this, in the “Anti Love Song,” for instance. We’ve seen it before, we’ve absolutely seen it in hip-hop. But it’s so good for Beyoncé to bring that archetype back — “I know what I deserve, I know that god lives in me, I am a divine being and that I deserve all the respect and all the care.” And that’s what the accountability piece is, that you will care for me in the way I deserve to be cared for.

Regina Bradley: And I’m starting to care for myself.

dream hampton: Or that I’ve always cared for myself! We don’t always have to have the hero’s journey, where people have to hit rock bottom and come back up. That’s not our tradition: a single person on a single journey.

Regina Bradley: Multiple journeys.

dream hampton: And not just multi-journey, but your crew, with your woes.

Regina Bradley: You need a squad. Every woman needs a squad.

dream hampton: And in that sense, Kahlil turns away from the hero’s journey and populates this video, even though it’s clearly about Beyoncé, with all of these other black women in different phases of their life. And I think that that’s important.

Regina Bradley: Yes. Because squad love is the best love.


I’d promised not to do spoilers, but I’m taking a break from that promise to talk about the main villain of Ghostbusters and how anyone saying he’s a bad character is quite simply wrong. Also much talk about Patty Tolan because I see posts about Gilbert’s and Yates’s involvement, but not hers. So, even if I keep things as vague as possible, spoiler warning. (I have tagged this “Ghostbusters spoilers” if you want to quickly blacklist.)

Rowan North is a white man. He is unhappy about life. He considers himself worth more than he gets from the people around him and has experienced bullying. All this has brought him to regard himself with a certain grandeur of the misunderstood genius and if society won’t give him its acknowledgement and praise, then he will destroy society. In the most bombastic way possible literally with his own personal army.

I’m seeing reviews that act like North is not well-motivated. All of the above is all you need to know about the character to understand his motivation and all of it is in the movie, though I concede that one needs contextual understanding to put the pieces together. But every one of us should have that contextual understanding. Are there people who by any chance don’t engage with the news? “Rowan North” is the guy who every half a year or so shoots up a concert, a movie theater, a school, a center, and wherever it is folks gather. Or is this about engaging with the news too much? And what is complained about is the emptiness detected when suddenly the story doesn’t talk about “Rowan North”’s childhood and hobbies.

Like, the concert case? Where North walks casually through the crowd, being greeted and greeting people in return when he’s actually there to kill as many as are going to be caught up in his Day of Reckoning scheme? Not subtle at all. It frightens me there are people who don’t pick up on this. Or demand more of him.

I will keep saying as long as is necessary that the quality of the 2016 movie is to be placed in context of the 80s movies. And if we do that? Gozer is a primordial entity worshipped by the population of the Mediterreanean-Middle East in The Old Days, though somehow is kinda white. Not that the situation would improve with a racially accurate actor, but I’m tired of this reduction of culture to props. It’s so very Lovecraftian (let me tell you about how much I hate that names like “Dagon” and “Tiamat” sooner associate with horror than a beautiful piece of history). Its demigod servants are Zuul and Clortho. Gozer’s storyline is that they’re an ancient evil that wants to kill us all because that’s what ancient evils do. For Gozer to get access to our world, their demigod servants first have to possess two humans, a “gatekeeper” and a “keymaster”, for what is heavily implied to be a ritual involving sex. Because why the heck not. And without consent of the hosts whatsoever.

Vigo the Carpathian is barely better. The Mediterreanean-Middle East is exchanged for neighborino East Europe. “The Carpathian” still sounds nicely “other”. His goal is a reign of terror, somewhat for revenge but mostly because that’s just how he is. He too goes the “minion, get me access to this realm”-route by abducting a baby for body hijacking.

How the bleeping hexagon can you consider either of these two well-written but Rowan North “unfinished” (the people saying this tend to praise the 1984 movie)? North’s the better villain, whether you like the fact he’s a white American man from the present or not. I assume the problem is that the racist & xenophobic fantasy of the inhumane powerful other in the end soundly defeated by the casual-but-secretly-awesome self not only is not applied, but that this round the villain is that casual-but-secretly-awesome self. And this villain could be the person standing next to you and you’re the neighbor who’ll one day be interviewed whether you saw it coming (spoiler: you didn’t), but just as easily it is the person within you. That’s not a story as easy to accept as the dangerous yet inferior foreigner.

There’s probably also something to be said about a reversal of gender and gender performance considering Gozer’s gender-ambiguity and Vigo’s hyper masculinity (I recall him being called butch?) compared to Rowan’s “just a guy” as well as the 1984 gender (performance) dynamics of the heroes vs the 2016 ones, but I’m not the one for that task.

And this is where I’m bringing in Tolan. Admittedly, there’s a note of sympathy to have for North in the sense that you end up asking “Did this have to happen?”. The receptionist and the waitresses paint a lonely picture of rejection, but the concert-goers demolish that picture. And so does Tolan. Because Tolan is like North, “stuck” in an unappreciated job and smart enough to know that maybe they don’t belong there, even if there’s no feasible way onwards. But where North goes for the apocalypse, Tolan doesn’t falter to smile to every patron even if they ignore her. That’s why North talked to her. He sympathizes with her because she’s like him, but she disgusts him because she’s not bitter or vengeful. He literally promises her she’ll be among the last of his victims, getting extra time, but being worthy of death all the same.

Patty Tolan is a black woman. I can’t name a case in which a black woman is the aggressor, but I can name plenty in which they are the victim. Dear Tolan remains polite, not recognizing the danger. She does keep an eye on him for his odd behavior and sees him go on the tracks. Presuming a suicide attempt (I think? If so, foreshadowing), she goes after him herself and that way comes into contact with the paranormal. She survives and keeps control of the situation by getting herself help from experts, thereby being a parallel to Dana Barrett. But where Barrett got the sexualized damsel-in-distress treatment, Tolan takes her steps self-consciously to always be with the situation. She doesn’t send the ghostbusters to the ghost, she takes them to it, and after that joins them on her own initiative and on her own conditions. It is her unique encounter with North that lets her later identify him and get her team to his lair timely. The confrontation is one of multiple stages and one has the ghostbusters offer him sympathy and a way out, which of course he doesn’t take because that’s not what he’s been fantasizing about. And if you’ve seen the movie, you know the rest of the story.

I am not commenting on the matter of Patty having or lacking a degree, because an education would not make it impossible for her to be a subway worker, but Patty being an everyman is of relevance to the story. Because only by being in that unassuming role, she was someone North thought he could vent his arrogance on, which ended up being the biggest mistake in his entire scheme. It bought the ghostbusters time, brought them knowledge, and got them Patty Tolan on their team. If we look at Zeddemore’s role as an everyman in the 1984 movie, then we see someone who does not contribute anything unique in that form. All the role does is create more room for Venkman and, by making Zeddemore join for money and explicitly not genuine commitment, for part of the movie he has this potential to become the traitor hanging over him. This is played up at the end where his “arc” is resolved by him getting enthusiastic about the job. But if anyone is the traitor in the 2016 movie, it is Gilbert, who, despite being the narrative lead, also is opportunistic and selfish until she makes the jump and the one contributing nothing unique. Yates is the core that the others flocked to. Holtzmann is the gadgeteer. And Patty is the perspective. Maybe my memory is failing here, but I can’t think of a thing Gilbert adds that is inherent to her. This doesn’t make Gilbert a bad character, but her personal journey is far more significant to her presence than her team contributions. And from there, notwithstanding that the movie follows Gilbert, notwithstanding what each member of the team had to overcome and accomplished, but Patty Tolan is the hero of the movie. Because she was promised to die and not only she didn’t, but no one else died either thanks to her.

Whether Tolan ultimately is a good character and treated fairly by the narrative is a discussion not for me and larger than the observation I wanted to write down. Feel free to comment. Although I would like to take the moment, speaking as a chemist, to ask people to stop emphasizing that Patty is the only one who isn’t a scientist. Because she’s an historian and I fail to see how someone with my skills would be more “admirable” than someone with Patty’s skills. It’s right to point out how Patty’s differences combined with her being the only non-white ghostbuster are othering, but urgently please put an end to “Scientist > Historian”. As for Rowan North, in short, he’s an excellent villain with clear motivations and I worry about those who act like he isn’t. On an individual level and a societal level.

Princess - DP

Drabble request: Princess


Everyone had deemed it the fairest and safest way to solve the ghost problem.  Sam had even agreed… right up until her name was drawn from the box to be the sacrificial lamb.  Then she had disagreed – violently.  It took four cop cars, an ambulance, and a good portion of the Amity Park bomb squad to get her here and make her stay here.

She stood in font of the Portal, stiff and unresponsive to anything anyone had to say.  Her parents were sobbing, and Sam didn’t think it was just for the camera.  The Fentons looked nervous and horrified.  The lone cameraman stood there, filming what was about to happen, but looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.  No doubt the image would be shaky and blurry.

At least the dress was black.  She picked at the soft fabric.  It had been her demand – black, no lace, and not overly long.  She might have to be forcibly married off to some sort of prince in the Ghost Zone to stop a war, but at least she wasn’t going to go there wearing a long white dress and flowers.

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Elsanna One shot - The London Underground

Rating: T - Perfectly safe but I’ll stick a T rating on just in case.
Words: 2734
I hope you enjoy!

Oneshot – The London Underground:

Each morning in the city of London there are thousands of businessmen and women rushing around the busy streets. Each are in their own little worlds, conscious of the meeting they’re late for, the pile of work that awaits them on their desks, thinking how they can avoid their bosses long enough to finish off a report that’s due. Yes, step into the streets of London any morning and look around. Most likely you’ll be knocked to the floor as you stop against the flow of those busy people, but you will quickly notice two things about the surge of madly rushing workers. One, they have no regard for people have fallen over, and two, each of them is lost in their own routine.

Elsa Sonticus was one of those who had such a routine. Each morning she would emerge from her studio apartment, whip around to the the local Costa coffee shop to grab an Americano with two sugars and soy milk, pick up a buttery croissant from the Tesco next door, walk down two small side streets while pulling out her Oystar card and Kindle, and finally walk down the steps of Holland Park tube station to catch the 8:20 train. Elsa would do this every single day almost at the exact same second while passing the same people and observing the same advertisements boards. The only thing that changed in Elsa’s daily routine were the posters inside those advertisement boards.

Now if there was one part of the morning journey Elsa enjoyed, it was her trips on the 8:20 train. She had her own spot that she had managed to fend off from the other passengers over the years. It was at the left end of the middle carriage, right by an open window that blew in a gentle breeze that took away the unbearable heat of the underground. The usual passengers of the middle carriage knew this was the fierce looking business woman’s spot and no one dared approach her, coffee drinking, croissant eating, Kindle reading domain. They had seen young, over-confident businessmen stride up to her and mutter some cheesy chat up line about her slender figure or neat bun of white-gold hair. Each of these poor fools along with any other who disturbed Elsa during her morning journey all met the same fate. She would throw them an icy cold death stare that could turn the burliest soldiers into blubbering children. Elsa never needed to open her mouth or lower her Kindle, the stare would soon send the cause of the disruption to the other side of the train.

You can imagine her surprise then when one Monday morning Elsa’s train pulled up with a girl with fiery auburn hair wearing a smart business jacket, white shirt, and sleek black pencil skirt was already stood in her place, bobbing her head along to the no doubt jumpy pop tune playing through her white earphones. Elsa got onto the train looking paler than usual. Some of the passengers had noticed and were whispering to one another while they stared at this poor young redhead. Elsa was already in full death stare mode when the young woman finally looked up and caught Elsa’s eye. She looked down the train to some of the few staring passengers, then back at Elsa and gave a cute, oblivious smile. The smile was horribly infectious. Elsa could hardly maintain her death stare as she pursed her lips and bit on the side of her cheek to stop herself smiling back. The young woman carried on bobbing away to her songs, quite unaware of Elsa’s fury over losing her place on the train. Eventually the train pulled up at Elsa’s stop and she had to get off without gaining so much as an inch of her spot back.

Elsa brooded with silent anger for the rest of the day.

How dare she waltz onto my train and take my spot without a single thought, Elsa thought while she focused all of her fury into slamming down on the stapler to staple a series of important documents.

Now it might seem a little extreme, being so upset about a place to stand on a train, but Anna Renidens had quite innocently broken a silent rule of the London morning worker march. Never ever disrupt a person’s routine.

Elsa was quite sure that this smiling girl had no idea of important things such as a morning routine. She had contented herself then that this girl was subject to randomness and would quite happily be in a different carriage in another person’s spot the next day. Oh how wrong she had been.

The next morning Elsa’s face dropped when the 8:20 train pulled up at her stop and there stood that very same girl bobbing along to another tune. Elsa was distraught. How could this be? This was her spot and it had been for years now. How could this strangely energetic girl usurp her rightful spot in a day?

Elsa thudded onto the train with a face like thunder. Anna once again, broke her concentration away  from the fast paced beat of the song, looked up at Elsa and gave her the warmest look she could manage at 8:20 in the morning. Anna was quite confused why this tall, pretty business woman kept staring at her and giving her funny looks. Anna had only been in the city a month so she guessed that the early mornings did strange things to people here. Hell, the mornings were a struggle for Anna too. But the moment she stepped on the train and stood in this oddly cool spot, she felt wide awake and was gently dancing away to herself in seconds. She thought then that this blonde woman needed the same sort of pleasantness in her mornings so Anna decided to give her a cheery smile.

The days passed by and still Anna stood in Elsa’s spot every working morning without fail. Elsa was half tempted to get on the train on the weekend just so she could remember what it was like to stand there. Elsa’s fury grew stronger and stronger and still Anna stood there without any knowledge of the unspoken crime she had committed. One morning when the shop assistant at Tesco informed Elsa that her buttery croissant wasn’t going to be in stock today she had had enough. She flew down the corridors and escalators of the underground and stood waiting for the 8:20 train like a cat waiting for a mouse to come out of a hole in the wall. The train pulled up and sure enough, there stood Anna Renidens hungrily eating a rather large sandwich baguette. Elsa crossed to her in the blink of an eye. The passengers of the train looked on with bated breath, this was the confrontation they’d been expecting to see for just over a week now. Elsa was waiting for Anna to notice her standing a little too close. She was going over the clear set of arguments she had thought out on the way down when she actually looked at this girl for the first time. She had a light sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks, with pinkish-red lips and bright turquoise eyes. She was beautiful. Elsa was too lost in her thoughts to even realise that Anna had pulled out one ear phone and was asking her if she was okay.

“Hey, excuse me, are you feeling okay?” repeated Anna.

Elsa finally snapped out of her trance enough to make some attempt at speech, “Uh… um… well…”

Elsa couldn’t quite meet those brilliant eyes so she kept looking at Anna’s forehead instead so that this girl knew she was being addressed, to an extent.

“Oh my God,” said Anna as her eyes went wide with shock, “I have chocolate on my forehead don’t I? Oh my, I’m so sorry. Here I am dancing away to myself when in fact I’m being a disgrace to the entirety of London!” Anna began scrubbing at the middle of her forehead asking where the stain was.

This wasn’t how Elsa planned things to go. She hadn’t done anything to get her spot back. All she had managed to do was get this girl to draw attention to them both. Every eye of the passengers was on them now.

“No, no it isn’t that. There’s nothing on your forehead,” said Elsa impatiently.

“Oh. Phew! You have no idea how many times my mother used to warn me about that. She claimed that I once strode about for an entire day with half a chocolate bar melted on my head when I was a kid.”

Elsa blinked. She had no idea what was going on any more. She just wanted her place back, no matter how adorable this girl was being. “Listen… here’s the thing,” said Elsa now gone shy, “I… uh.. you see… this is where um-”

Anna looked on with that same cheery smile as Elsa stammered along.

“Your stood in my spot,” Elsa said after several attempts.

At first Anna laughed rather loudly. She had no idea this blonde woman was funny too. After Anna wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye she soon realised this was no joke. Elsa stood there with a stern expression set on her face, arms crossed firmly.

“Oh… You were serious?”

“Serious? Of course I am,” Elsa hissed, “I’ve stood in that same spot for the past two years. Every morning I get my coffee and croissant and read a book while standing in that very place. My spot.” Elsa’s face had slowly turned deeper shades of angry red, or pink in her case since her skin was so pale.

As for Anna, well this made no sense to her whatsoever. How could someone that pretty come onto a train and be so rude! Anna wasn’t giving this spot up now. “What makes it your spot?” she said, deciding to poke the beast of fury that was this blonde woman.

“Weren’t you listening? I’ve stood here for the past two years! This is my routine and no one interrupts. Especially by taking my spot.”

“Like hell this is your spot. I don’t see your name on it!” Anna retorted like that same small child who once had half a chocolate bar melted on her head, “Plus I was just starting to get real comfortable here. I think I might bring a fold up chair with me so I can stretch my legs out too.”

Elsa was beginning to defy her natural skin tone and was quickly reaching the deepest, darkest  reds. But before she could open her mouth and let loose on this infuriating girl, Elsa’s stop pulled up. Anna shot her a sly look of victory as Elsa stepped off and the train pulled away. Anna even had the nerve to give her a little wave.

It could only be expected then when the 8:20 train pulled up the next day with Anna grinning like the Cheshire cat, her hands on her hips, standing defiantly in Elsa’s spot. There would be no holding back today Elsa decided. As soon as the doors opened the arguing began. Elsa would lecture Anna over the importance of maintaining simple order so that everyone could have an organised and pleasant morning. Anna would disagree on every point she could, saying that Elsa was selfish, caring only about her own comfort.

“Of course people are selfish!” Elsa would cry, “This is London for heaven’s sake!”

And so this soon became the routine of Elsa, Anna and the passengers of the 8:20 train on the Central line. The train would pull up at Holland Park station, Elsa would get on, the passengers would moan and groan, and the two young businesswomen would begin arguing. Now people stayed away from the spot not because of an icy death stare, but because they didn’t want to get caught up in the unrelenting debate. Once a guard tried to break them up but Elsa and Anna turned their anger on the poor guard instead, both arguing against him until he backed out of the middle carriage and dared not come back in. Their arguments weren’t even about Elsa’s, or everyone’s as Anna insisted, spot. They would argue about books, movies, sushi, even the latest posters in the advertisements boards. Anna had the cheek one day to wait till the train arrived at Holland Park before pulling out a fold-up camping chair out of a rucksack and sat in it before the doors opened. Anna soon regretted this decision when the train started moving again and the chair slid out from underneath her. Elsa managed to catch her before she fell to the ground only to begin arguing with her about how much she liked to wind people up.

This all carried on for another few months until Elsa was off ill with the flu one day. Anna realised on that oddly quiet and lonely day that she actually enjoyed arguing with Elsa in the morning. She was wide awake every morning now, always set for her daily dose of Elsa confrontation. Through their countless arguments she got to know Elsa quite well, she knew what she liked, she certainly knew what she disliked, she knew how Elsa would purse her lips and bite her cheek when she didn’t want to burst out laughing or smile, she knew the way Elsa would dress on the certain days of the week. All of this was only the start of her Elsapedia. Anna wondered how on earth that in the few months of living in London, the person she knew the most about and liked the most was someone she argued with daily. Before her thoughts got carried away with themselves, Anna noticed that the passengers were enjoying the peace a little too much. She was half tempted to start arguing with the lot of them just to add some noise to that unfamiliar quiet.

The next day the 8:20 train pulled up to the platform and Elsa, despite being slightly fluey still, was ready to make up for the day of arguing she missed. She was shocked then when the doors opened to reveal her spot empty with not a flicker of auburn hair in sight. She tentatively stepped onto the train. Surely this is some kind of trick? She thought. She knew it had to be a trick. Any minute now Anna would probably run down the train and slide into the spot. Elsa looked down the train and saw Anna stood on the other side alone and beaming at her. Elsa quite forgot about the spot now. This simply wouldn’t do. How dare Anna move to the other side when there was a debate to be had! The passengers closest to the hotly contested spot sighed with relief as for the first time in months, they would be away from the ceaseless argument that began at 8:20 everyday. The passengers near Anna, however, looked on with horror as the tall, blonde businesswoman strode purposefully towards them.

“I demand to know the reason behind your sudden immigration to this side of the train! Do you care nothing for routine?” said Elsa gripping onto a nearby pole to steady herself.

Anna meanwhile continued to beam at Elsa as she enjoyed her attempts to start an argument about anything at all. Curiously, Elsa became redder with anger because Anna simply wouldn’t argue back, she only smiled. Elsa, to her own frustration, found herself admiring Anna’s features all over again.

“This is all a big trick isn’t it? To get me away from my spot! Well let me tell you, Anna Renidens-!”

“Would you be interested in going out for something to eat this evening?” said Anna looking down at the floor, occasionally casting shy glances back up at Elsa.

Elsa was taken aback. That was the last thing she expected Anna to say. She soon found herself stuttering as she had once done when she first spoke to Anna. This was also the first time Anna had said something that Elsa couldn’t or didn’t want to argue with.

“Wow, um- well, I mean… I’d love to.”

Both girls went pink to their ears.

“Finally!” Shouted a blonde boy further down the carriage.