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chat-noir-always-here · 3 years

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“Hey Arnold!” and “Miraculous!” parallels

Ever have an idea for a post that you take forever to get around to because 2020 is

actively

trying

to kill you?!

Welp, that’s me. I mean, uh, this is that post.

Long post is long and I don’t like cuts cuz I’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” I use it for walls of text like these.

So there’s this show from my childhood called Hey Arnold!

Having been on air before I had cable (I and my unsupervised brothers and sisters spent our childhood watching Jerry Springer and Maury because there was literally nothing else on our cheap little TV. How hilarious is that?) I didn’t really have much of an experience with Hey Arnold! aside from brief little glances at it when i visited a friends home or the rare occasion where they showed cartoons at school. By the time I got satellite, the show was no longer on the air save for some late night reruns and the Christmas special which aired in December along with other Nickelodeon Christmas episodes (THE best Christmas episode EVER btw).

Really I couldn’t remember much about it until hearing about the Jungle Movie finally getting a release date (a total flop but at least its no cliff hanger) and decided to re-watch the entire series in preparation for said movie.

By which point I had discovered another show—Miraculous.

At first glance the two shows have absolutely nothing in common. Miraculous being a French-born mahou shoujo-esque CGI superhero TV series about a couple of middle schoolers who regularly battle a walking peppermint-frappucino-looking psychopath. Hey Arnold! being a more realistic children’s sitcom about a young football-headed boy who deals out humanitarian aid in the form of advice and simple good deeds to his neighbors, classmates and friends.

In terms of setting, logic, and animation the two series are as different as night and day.

So imagine my pleasant surprise to discover a whole post’s worth of parallels shared between the two shows???

And here they are in no particular order:

1)Arnold’s Parents/Adrien’s mom

Prior to the start of Miraculous, Emilie Agreste disappeared under mysterious circumstances leaving her family behind. Later on it was revealed that she was in fact sleeping (dead?) in a glass coffin beneath the Agreste mansion--unbeknownst to Adrien, or anyone else in Paris save for Gabriel and Nathalie.

In a similar fashion, Arnold’s parents, Miles and Stella, also disappeared prior to the start of Hey Arnold! and like Emilie were always referred to as “missing” rather than “dead.”

The Jungle Movie later revealed Miles and Stella weren’t dead, but like Emilie appears to be doing in her coffin, they were sleeping. Having caught a bout of sleeping sickness (apparently they do not need to be hooked up to IVs or other medical devices while in a comatose state cuz fuck logic) they simply needed their orphaned son to come and cure them with the help of the magical golden heart Helga provided him with.

Perhaps Mari holds the key to waking Emilie? That would be nice to see.

Not the miraculous of course--but some other key.

Although personally I’m hoping for a hardcore, devastating ending like Emilie dying, Gabriel going to prison where he belongs, and Adrien leaving the country for a bit until the second Hawk Moth shows up because I just like devastating cliffhangers and angst and being in utter turmoil over fictional people. But that’s just me.

2) Their best friends are dating

Smol parallel here: Arnold’s best friend Gerald and Helga’s Best friend Phoebe wind up together in The Jungle Movie after being imprisoned together by Lasombra. Similar to how Nino and Alya ended up together after being imprisoned by Ladybug (for their protection, of course).

3) The Bag of Money Episode/ The Ladybug episode

OOh boy both of these episodes make me rage.

Some context about the Bag of Money episode: Arnold and his friends Gerald and Sid find a random bag of money containing almost $4000. Sid is ecstatic and wants to split the money evenly between the three boys, but Arnold worries it could just be lost and convinces them to let him, Arnold, take the money to the police station. On the way he accidentally switches the bag with another one that is identical and contains a bunch of useless junk, and when he tries to explain what happened to his friends they don’t believe him because their bag of money was accidentally taken by an “old lady with pink hair and a peg leg.”

Arnold’s a good boy and he’s telling the truth--but the truth sounds crazy, even to my ears. Sid accuses Arnold of stealing the money and spreads lies to their classmates, whom Arnold has spent the ENTIRE SERIES helping in some form or fashion. Despite everything he’s done for them though, the vast majority of the class come to believe Arnold is a thief. Even Gerald, Arnold’s closest friend, nearly believes Sid over Arnold but eventually comes to Arnold’s defense. The other kids (save for Helga who doesn’t really make an appearance this episode) gang up on Arnold, but thankfully the old lady with pink hair and a peg leg shows up with an officer and together they explain the bag of money is now at the lost and found where it will remain and if gone unclaimed will be returned to Arnold, Gerald and Sid.

Pretty much everything is resolved and things return to normal between the kids.

But I hate this episode. I hate this episode so, so much. Arnold has spent the entire series helping these people out in some form or fashion. Literally thats the entire show. And after everything he’s done for them they’re so. Quick. To. Turn. On. Him.

Sound familiar???

4) Hidden Personality vs. Surface Personality

I do not refer to the cruddy “true selves” thing half the Miraculous fandom believes in. Depending on one’s individual circumstances, environment and how comfortable they are, said person’s behavior can fluctuate or even do a complete 180. This can be kinda frustrating when dealing on one’s own--”Who am I anyway? Is that me or is this me???”

It’s all you, fam.

Arnold and Helga are themselves too, no matter what metaphorical/actual mask they put on. There’s the side that everyone sees and then there’s the side almost no one sees. The hidden personality isn’t hidden due to a lack of trust, necessarily, but rather it is the result of retreating to their respective “shells”--ones which both Arnold and Helga were kinda punched, kicked, and shoved into.

Helga’s surface personality: Class bully, puts up a tough front, constantly torments Arnold because she can’t stand him and his niceness

Helga’s hidden personality: Poetic, abused and isolated, is in love with Arnold to the point of being obsessed with him and bullies him via surface personality in order to hide that fact

Of course Adrien is no bully--his reasons for not being the “cunning, funny, ultra-charming Chat Noir” 24/7 DOES have a lot to do with his toxic household, his dad, and the overwhelming expectations which are constantly smothering him as Adrien.

Adrien is a bug under a magnifying glass (or so he feels)

Chat Noir is a chance for a freedom.

Adrien’s surface personality was molded by his dad.

Helga’s is the result of her entire family. Her father is brash and loud, her mother is a confirmed alcoholic, her sister is a gifted prodigy, well-rounded and spends most of the series at university or elsewhere. Although her sister, Olga, has been shown to genuinely care for Helga, Olga is kinda the reason their parents neglect Helga. With their first daughter being the genius and prodigy she is, Helga’s parents poured all of their pride and affection and parental devotion onto her. Meanwhile Helga had to walk to pre-school alone. At four years old. In the rain. Not for the last time.

Which leads me to the next parallel.

5) Umbrella in the Rain

squeals in delight over this parallel<3<3<3

If you’ve never seen Hey Arnold! do yourselves a favor and watch this short little clip over how Helga and Arnold first met. If you have seen it, watch it anyway because it is the most adorable clip in the entire show.

youtube

Dr. Bliss: “So nobody’s ever noticed you?”

Helga: “...There was someone.”

The soft way Helga confesses that--you can actually hear how grateful she is to have such a tender memory from such a painful time.

In a similar manner, Adrien offered his umbrella to Marinette. Of course Adrien did it because Mari had to walk home in the rain and Arnold did it as a simple gesture of kindness (seeing as they were already at the school)--one of the many kind acts he displays throughout the series.

But just like Adrien needed unconditional love coming from somewhere, so did Helga. They were both denied this one common necessity which everyone else around them had. It’s not a lot to ask for, and they should’ve already had it coming from their families--but they didn’t.

And then, one rainy day, there it was--the unconditional love they needed.

6) Clinginess

What happens when you take someone, specifically a love-starved abused child from an unstable home environment--deprived of the one thing most crucial to their mental well-being--and miraculously provide them with that very necessity?

Clinginess.

I can’t really think of the correct word to describe this. “Clinginess” is pretty close to what I’m trying to describe, if not on point, so let’s go with that.

What I mean is Helga and Adrien both need Arnold and Ladybug respectively. That’s not a bad thing--it’s okay to need somebody else. What’s bad is hinging your entire being on this one connection. For if either kiddo were to be left behind they wouldn’t handle it very well.

It can’t really be helped with either Helga or Adrien. They didn’t really have the option to learn certain things and went deprived of unconditional love for such a long time. They’re kids--nine and fourteen/fifteen respectively. They’re not perfect and they’re traumatized for life. Being denied love from your family--the very people designed to love you--would do that to a person. Naturally they would cling to the first people to show up and provide them with the love they needed.

The Hey Arnold! wiki says this about Helga and Arnold’s relationship

Due to her unstable family upbringing where both her mother and father constantly neglect [Helga] and shower all of their attention onto Olga, leaving her deprived of the love and attention she needed growing up. On her way to preschool, Arnold helped her by keeping the rain off her with an umbrella and even complimented her on her hairbow. He even later gave her crackers during their snack time. Arnold's kindness and being the first person to notice her quickly caused Helga to transfer all of her love and attention to Arnold.

Of course Adrien’s tunnel vision isn’t quite as bad as Helga’s.

He treats his friends better.

He does love his father--

Even though his father is THE.

WORST.

PARENT.

EVER!!!

--because he’s Adrien and he’s just too precious a cinnamon roll and that’s still his dad even if the man does belong behind bars.

7) Unhealthy Obsession

I--

I...

Ugh. I am not going to delve too far into this. You’re just going to have to take my word for it. Helga’s creepy stalker behavior is a thousand times worse than Marinette’s. That pic up there of Helga hiding out in Arnold’s room watching him is pretty decent evidence to back up my argument, but it’s hardly the only example or even the worst incident.

Honestly I’m amazed at what Nicktoons were able to get away with in the late nineties/early 2000s.

But yes, Helga’s obsession with Arnold is rather unhealthy in the most extreme moments leading her to display behavior which is more often than not disturbing and concerning.

The Hey Arnold! wiki has this to say about Helga’s obsession with Arnold

Helga is possessive of her love for Arnold and thinks non-stop about him to the point of obsession. This is evidenced throughout the series by the many shrines and poems she makes of Arnold and of her frequent dramatic soliloquies about her love for Arnold.

Again--Mari isn’t as bad as all that. She’s a sweet girl with many healthy relationships in her life. She has ambition, creativity, and drive. But yeah she can be rather possessive of Adrien too, and that needs to stop. Like right now. Adrien doesn’t need another girl being possessive of him and thinking he’s perfect--he needs someone who acknowledges him as a flawed person and loves him despite that.

As for Helga and Arnold--show creator Craig Bartlett confirmed they are “made for each other” and wind up married with three kids, so I’m guessing Helga grew out of some of these bad habits? Or at least I hope so...

8) Helper/Humanitarian tendencies

As mentioned before, the plot of Hey Arnold! is more or less about Arnold helping people. As stated by Gerald in The Jungle Movie, “He’s a humanitarian! Like his parents!” Of course not every episode is about Arnold helping people. There are episodes devoted to supporting characters and they’re just as enjoyable and satisfying.

But as he is the titular character he spends a lot of time in the spotlight.

Remember that “best christmas special EVER” episode I mentioned before?

The reason it’s the best special, in my less than humble opinion, is due to a few things.

The special is not about Santa Claws. In fact, I don’t think he’s even mentioned, let alone shown and treated like an actual living character.

The focus on the entire episode is again on Arnold helping someone, but he doesn’t succeed. Not really.

The one who succeeded in helping someone was Helga, who accomplished the goal Arnold had set out to do.

The episode deals with some rather dark subject matter and is actually quite heartwarming as the “perfect present” Arnold was trying to provide someone with wasn’t something you can buy in the store

It’s also one of the episodes where Helga’s love for Arnold leaves her to do good and as her love for him is a secret, she expects nothing in return. She’s just happy to help him.

Kinda similar to Mari who is, as Adrien puts it in Mayura, “Our every day Ladybug.” Her kindness and devotion to helping others is what drives her as Ladybug and Marinette. It’s what brought Ivan and Mylene together. Is the reason Nathaniel and Mark now have a comic book together. And at the end of the day, that’s the reason for her strange behavior around Adrien--she wants to help him. Even if it’s just as a “good friend.”

9) There are two main characters

Although Hey Arnold! is technically a show about Arnold, one could argue it is just as much Helga’s story.

Similarly, Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir is named thusly in order to convey the fact that Adrien is just as much a main character as Marinette is.

Although I must say Hey Arnold! did a much better job of giving it’s co-character their dues. GIVE. ME. MORE. CHAT NOIR. FOCUSED. EPISODES. DAMMIT.

But, yes, in terms of screen time, Helga gets about as much as Arnold does. Her story and struggles were given just as much importance as Arnold’s and many people have even come to believe that the show is really about Helga. I’d say its about both of them.

10) Constantly bumping into each other

Granted this happens between Arnold and Helga more often than it does to the love square dorks.

But yes the two people meant to be together keep knocking into each other in their respective universes.

I forget who, but I remember reading that someone a while back theorized that this was the universe’s way of trying to push Arnold and Helga together. Kinda like the “Now kiss!” meme

Perhaps it’s the same for Adrien and Marinette?

;)

#long post #adriennette #shortaki #hey arnold #miraculous ladybug #love square #nicktoons #zag toons

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

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I just wanted to make you smile again; 10th Doctor x child reader

*Author’s note*

Okay to the anon who requested this fic THANK YOU FOR BEING SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PATIENT WITH ME!!!! To those anons and users who have sent me requests literally since last year I thank you all for your patience, I AM GETTING THEM DONE SLOWLY BUT SURELY. I’m already in process of doing another DW fic w/13th doctor (one of the first requests I got when I opened them last year) so I hope you all enjoy this fic.

This takes place after the episode Journey’s end so to those that haven’t seen the episode yet SPOILERS AHEAD!!! Angst and fluff is what this fic is. Enjoy my lovelies and until next time ;)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@platawnic

_________________________________________________________

Things have been—tough. The Daleks, one of my daddy’s biggest enemies nearly had us and almost succeeded in destroying all of life and matter as we know it. But thanks to some fast thinking and with the help of a clone of my dad, we managed to stop Davros as well as the rest of the Daleks.

But honestly that was the easy part. The hardest was saying goodbye to all of our friends. Rose and her mum went back to the parallel world with the meta-human clone of my daddy, Captain Jack took Martha and Mickey off on another adventure, Sarah Jane (an old friend of my dad’s long before I was born) went back home, and Donna—oh poor, poor Donna.

Daddy said that in order to help stop the Daleks, Donna, who had touched the severed hand of my dad when he first became this new version of himself, gained so much knowledge of the Timelords and of our home that it could overwhelm her brain and eventually kill her. So my dad had to absorb all memory of Timelord knowledge, including all the times she spent with us.

After taking her back home, daddy told her father that it was too dangerous for her to remember anything. If there was a glimpse of her recovering her memories, she would die. So my dad and I left her and her family and he never went back.

Since that day, almost seven months later, he still carries that guilt. And what’s worse is that he hasn’t been the same. He doesn’t smile as much as he used to before. I think out of everything that I love about my daddy, it’s his smile that always made me feel happy and safe.

I stepped out of my room to see him where he usually was, standing at the controls with that dazed but intense look on his face. I looked down at paper butterfly and cautiously walked towards my dad. It’s always a touch and go of how he’ll react whenever he’s in that deep haze. One time he actually shouted at me and I was scared to even go near him for an entire week till he apologized to me with some Turkish delights.

“Daddy.” I said softly. “Umm…uhh daddy?” he snapped out of his daze and looked down at me.

“Oh (Y/n). Sorry I was just—I was just trying to find….nothing. What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Well I—finished my paper butterfly and I-wanted to give it to you.” I held it out to him and he looked down at me. He knelt down and took the butterfly from my hands and I saw his eyes grow soft.

“It’s beautiful love. Thank you.” he gently ruffled my hair and placed my butterfly right along the controls. It didn’t work.

I had hoped that my paper butterfly would get him to smile. He always smiled whenever I made him little trinkets of my own design, or beautiful art projects that I’ve seen on Earth. I thought that by doing an art project, he’d smile again but it didn’t work.

I was currently in my room reading some books written back in the 20th century. I’ve always found that time period to be rather splendid. It was a simpler time (if you don’t count the 2 World wars, the Great depression, and every war after that. You know why must humans always start wars?)

Anyways, the start of the 20th century is always my favorite place. It’s quiet, tranquil, and peaceful. A nice place, especially out in the countryside. People can have picnics, host carnivals, and yeah the grown men partake in Foxhunt but I think it’s a barbaric sport and yet they call it tradition.

Maybe if—maybe if we stayed there for a while, daddy could get better and smile once again. I think the more time we stay in the TARDIS and just keep going through space and time, the more unhappy daddy’s gonna get, like I said he always gets lost in his head and the more bad things that happen around him, the more he keeps it bottled up inside and the more sadder he gets.

The only question now was this—how was I gonna get there? I don’t know how to drive the TARDIS cause daddy always told me to keep my grabby little paws off of it. Oh wait that’s it! I raced over to my drawer and pulled out the middle one and dug through it till I found what I was looking for.

A special teleportation watch gifted to me by Uncle Jack when my dad was in his previous form (just shortly after we first met him). I placed the watch on my wrist and I set the time and date that I wanted to go to. Once the coordinates were typed in, I pressed the center of the watch and I disappeared from my room and went to go set up my surprise for daddy.

*10th Doctor’s POV*

I was fiddling around with the controls when I turned and looked up at my daughter’s butterfly. For months now she’s been making these little trinkets and art projects for me, and I really haven’t been fair to her. A lot has happened to us, especially with what happened to Donna, and I hate to admit this to myself but I’ve been neglecting my little butterfly.

Maybe she would like it if I took her to see her favorite constellation, or maybe Barcelona (she always did like Barcelona). Oh! No wait! The Music of the Spheres! Yes brilliant! She and I could use some music in our life, the sound of the universe singing to us.

“Hey (Y/n)! Can you come out here for a second?” I called out to her. No response. Okay I know it usually takes her a bit of time to come down from her room but usually she’d be right here by now. “(Y/n)? (Y/n) I said can you come here please?” bah she must be listening to that loud music again, that lass I tell you what.

I left the console room and headed on over to her room and saw that her door was shut which was surprising cause she usually keeps her door open. I knocked on it and said.

“Poppet, are you okay? You’re not—upset or anything are you?” I still didn’t hear anything from her. “Look I—I know we’ve been through a lot the past several months, and I have no excuse for not speaking to you. I’m sorry. So—can you please open the door so we can talk?” still nothing.

Alright I know she has a right to be upset but she can’t give me the silent treatment forever. I opened up the door and snapped.

“Alright little madam you listen here I—” it was then I saw that she wasn’t in her room. “(Y/n)?” I looked around her room to see if she was hiding in her closet again (she always takes every advantage to jump out and scare me) but when I saw that she wasn’t there, that’s when I began to get worried.

As I left her room and began to look all around the TARDIS from the backroom pool, to the library I still couldn’t find her.

“C’mon poppet don’t do this to me.” I searched high and low, near and far and every crack in between but she still wasn’t around. “No, no, no, no, no love don’t do this to me! (Y/n)!”

I raced back towards the console and went over to the computer monitor and I quickly typed in her lifeform energy. Since she was the only Timelord in existence (well next to me), I knew that she could be pinpoint at any time in any era she might be in. I only hope that I can get to her before—no! NO DON’T THINK LIKE THAT!! You WON’T lose her like you lost Donna!

“C’mon you blasted thing LOAD!!!” I screamed at the computer before finally I got a hit. London, England 1908. Of course, she always said the start of the 20th century was her favorite time period. I punched in the coordinates and flipped the switch and soon the TARDIS started back up and I was sailing back in time over 100 years into the past.

Once I arrived, I peeked out of the TARDIS and found myself adjacent to a large park. It was pretty peaceful, families were out and about doing their normal human interactions. I shut the doors to the TARDIS and I quickly raced over to the park and searched for (Y/n).

This was where her last known readings were at. At this exact spot so where could that little troublemaker be at? I walked up to a couple and said.

“Hi sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you have found a little girl around 5 years old with (h/l) (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes? She’s my daughter and she’s wondered off again.”

“No sorry. We haven’t seen any little girls fitting that description.” Said the man as he and his wife continued on their walk. I then found another couple who seemed a more upper-class couple due to the diamond necklace around the woman’s neck.

“Excuse me could you both please help me I’m looking for my daughter have either of you……”

“We don’t have time to look for lost children, that’s what the servants are for.” Said the man.

“And who loses their child anyway? Such irresponsibility.” The woman snide. I looked at them offendedly and said.

“At least I don’t dump my child on anyone else! I’m surprised that people like you could even have children.” They looked at me appalled before huffing and walking away from me.

I grunted and adjusted my jacket trying to compose myself when a small Cockney accent said.

“You said you were looking for (Y/n)?” I turned around and there was a young ginger haired boy with freckles speckled all over his face. His bright blue eyes staring up at me and he wore a paper boy’s uniform.

“Yeah that’s my daughter’s name. Do you know where she is?”

“Course I do Gov. Just got done talking with her before I started my work sir. She’s right by the lake.”

“The Lake! Oh thank you lad. Thank you so much.”

“No problem, good luck governor.” I raced off towards the lake and when I got there, I soon saw my daughter sitting right by the lake surrounded by flowers and in her lap it looked like she was in the process of making a flower crown.

The important thing was that she was safe, but that little missy is sooo going to get it now.

I trudged my way towards her and exclaimed.

“(Y/n)!” she stopped her work and turned around. Her big (e/c) eyes staring up at me and a smile spread across her face. She stood up and ran towards me and hugged around my legs.

“Daddy you came!”

“Yes I did.” I knelt down and began to check to see if she was hurt or worst case scenario been replaced by a Graske. “Are you hurt?”

“No I’m perfectly fine.”

“Answer me this then. Who was the first companion that we had together?”

“Rose Tyler.” Okay this was my baby girl. I immediately hugged her and whispered to her as I rest my head on top of hers.

“I thought I had lost you.” I then separated from her before scolding her vert sternly, “Do you have any idea how worried I was!? You leave your room with no note! How on earth did you leave the TARDIS without my knowledge?!”

“Uncle Jack’s time jump watch.” She said nervously as she held out her wrist. I looked down and right there was the time teleport watch that Jack had given her shortly after we met him for the first time in my previous state.

“That figures. Remind me to never let him give you anymore teleportation gifts without my permission.” I muttered to myself. “Bottom line is that you left the TARDIS without my permission and had me scared to death! What if something happened to you hmm? Did it ever cross your mind about how that would make me feel!?”

Yes I know my voice was steadily getting angrier and angrier but she should’ve realized that my one rule for her is to never, ever, ever leave the TARDIS without my permission or knowledge and she broke that rule.

“I—I’m sorry daddy. I just……thought that if I brought you here, you would be happy.” My anger quickly vanished and confusion now took its place.

“What?” I asked her.

“Ever since—” she deeply sighed. “After what happened with Donna you never smile anymore. No matter what I’ve done, I could never get you to smile. Your real smile, the smile that always made me feel loved and protected. I thought that maybe we could—stay here for a while till you were happy again.” She looked down with regret.

I rubbed my hand over my face and through my hair before looking back down at her. I cupped my hands over her face and I said to her.

“What would I ever do without you my little butterfly?” she smiled softly.

“So we can stay?” she asked.

“For now.” I answered her. She squealed happily and immediately hugged me around my neck repeatedly telling me thank you. I smiled and embraced my baby girl back and kissed the top of her head as I rocked her back and forth.

This little madam truly does have me wrapped around her little finger, and she seems to know it as well. But she was right. Staying in one area made you stop and admire what’s around you, and not stay trapped inside your head letting your demons torment you.

We stayed in 1908 for about five months just enjoying each other’s company. Going to the park every day, having picnics and tea parties out in the garden of our rented little cottage, and stargazing every night teaching her more about the galaxy and the stars.

For the first time ever, I felt—peaceful, no regrets, no painful reminders of what I had to do to Donna, it was just me and my daughter.

#doctor who #doctor who fandom #doctor who fanfic #doctor who x reader #doctor who imagine #doctor who imagines #doctor who fanfiction #10th doctor #10th doctor fanfic #10th doctor fanfiction #10th doctor imagine #10th doctor imagines #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x child reader #david tennant

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troutpopulation · 4 years

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What is your opinion on SkekLa, SkekAth, SkekGor, SkekShakt and SkekGrim?

I don’t know who skekLa is.

I LOVE ATH MORE THAN ANYTHING MY SON IN LAW MY EVERYTHING MIJO MY POOR BOY. skekAth is a brilliant character with an intricate, delightful, and fulfilling story. I love how he is just, so sweet and delightful and so much fun as a skekling and as a skeksis, gritty and painful to watch his drastic fall from grace. His design is INCREDIBLY iconic and I love the symbolism and parallels that he has with Raunip and the way he balances youth and power. Love his look love that hes gongaga. The way that, in a way his existence begins and ends with pain but in the middle its so, SO wholesome just hits home for me fr. I love skekAth.

I am not super familiar with skekGor’s story or personality but his design is BRILLIANT I absolutely love how massive and husky he is. I love it. I love it so much he is powerful and a LOT of fun to draw. There’s so many themes and elements to his look that are just delights, the texture on his face, the skull pads, the HUGE hump carapace reminds me of a grizzly bear and I love it.

HHHH MR. SHAKT <3. Pirate dad. I love him he is so, so handsome and I really dig his design. He’s got similar motifs to skekSa but he’s got such fun variations and unique details that make me absolute *ape noises*. I just love his design so much and his personality from what I have seen is a lot of fun and I cannot wait to see more.

hhOUGH I love Grim. I love Grim so much. The conflict between her and skekSil is so intriguing to me and I love how her design is both unique but familiar. I like her story and interactions with other characters, both canon and oc a WHOLE lot. Her design is near and dear to my heart it reminds me a lot of fantasy RPGs and it just kind of reminds me of things I like about TDC, namely the fantasy aspect of it.

ocs owned by: @candythemew @holic-user @queenofthetides @juliejewel24

#skekath #skekath the linguist #skekgor #skekshakt #skekgrim #skekgrim the cavalier

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angel-gidget · 4 years

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Amethyst #1: A Riveting Reboot

I could say Amethyst #1 written and illustrated by Amy Reeder is a work of art and you’d all be like “no duh, gidge. comics are half art” but Amethyst #1 is also clearly a work of LOVE. I’ve been reading and flailing and feeling like I should review, but have been uncertain where to start. So I shall try to simply pick 10 delights that stand out to me.

Heads up for spoilers!

1. Her mom and dad. Amy’s origin has clearly been restored from the left turn at Albuquerque that was the nu52. I love that Reeder shows right out the gate that Amy’s adoptive parents are supportive yet struggling with raising a daughter that spends more and more time in a magical realm they can’t enter. Or can they? We will see what the rules are as we go.

In the original series, anybody who didn’t have magic risked getting lost and stranded between realms if they tried to cross between the Gemworld and earth. That doesn’t conflict with the glimpses we’ve seen in YJ, exactly, so we’ll wait and see how things unfold.

2. One thing that DOES conflict with what we’ve seen in YJ though: Turquoise’s number of arms. Or, the number of arms on anybody living in her entire kingdom for that matter. Might be that Reeder and Bendis didn’t get a chance to double-check those details against each other before committing to their scripts. But who thinks to ask about things like that though? (“Hey, your redesign of this character has the standard 4 limbs or less, not 6, right?”)

You know what? I’m okay with this. We get pretty Bendis/Gleason?/Timms? design and this totally funky four-armed broad-sword user and I think I will enjoy seeing if they actually DO come up with an in-canon explanation of the discrepancy.

Also, apparently this Turquoise is married? He’s clearly a consort rather than a ruler, and I wanna know more. (All of the bullpen appears on board with avoiding the Amy/Topaz/Turquoise love triangle from the original series and that’s probably for the best. I just hope that we’ll get to see my boy Topaz at some point anyway, even if he’s no longer a romantic candidate for either fair lady.)

3. Hallelujah! We have a name! I have always loved that Amethyst rides around on a pegasus/pegacorn (another YJ mismatch here, but seems like semantics to me). BUT HE’S NEVER HAD A NAME. HE FINALLY HAS A NAME! IT’S A BADASS NAME. Ypsilos. Greek & unique. I dig it. ‘Bout time.

4. Her mentors. Granch and Citrine(a) are back! Ok, they’re actually missing, but it was good to see their faces smiling down on itty bitty!Amy. I dug the way “witch mother Citrina” would roll off the tongue in the original series, but it didn’t make totally sense that everybody gets to take the exact name of a gemstone while Citrine gets her name kinda anglicized by sticking an A on the end. Small fix, I appreciate the logic.

I’m wondering if Cintrine is as powerful of a magic user in this story as she was in the original. I mean, probably not, bc of House Amethyst disapearing without a trace, but it will be cool to see how it goes. I dig how Amy notes how much she usually relies on them, and how this sensibly leads to…

5. Noob ruler, a lil’ tone-deaf. She’s clearly trying. Taking some good speech-giving cues from Braveheart, probably. But this scene shows she IS inexperienced and bc she’s still in training, she doesn’t have a lot of trust from her neighboring common people. PEOPLE IN THE CROWD ARE MISSING LIMBS. Turquoise warned her about this. These people clearly HAVE been fighting. They aren’t turning her down bc they lack courage. They’re just insulted that this tiny neighbor princess showed up in a BALLGOWN royal-splaining warrior grit to them.

I gotta admit, I was a bit worried when Amy Reeder’s interview (also at the back of the comic) came out, and she talked about Amy Winston having a “little miss perfect” personality. There were some character details that never got fleshed out about 80′s Amy, but I’m relieved that this new iteration actually has some of the original character flaws shown.

She’s a lil’ presumptuous. She gets her ideas from watching Earth movies and TV. Sometimes it pans out, and she’s like “Of course it did! You backwards middle ages people are so quaint. No worries, I will bless you with my high school knowledge of democracy and vaccination.” But she lacks the foresight to see when and why a youthful earth-style plan won’t work in the Gemworld’s environment.

Re-worked Amy just gets really lucky here that Nameless Warrior of the Cool Haircut and Rad Caterpillar Creature sees that she’s such a tiny summer child and decides to assist, impugning of honor aside.

6. Monsters vs. Innocent Creatures. This was always a fun aspect of the Gemworld! Is that a terrifying monster or a cute critter? Maybe it’s both! Or maybe its not a monster at all, and you’re just biased. Nice to meet you, Stan.

7. Living birth parents? That’s a twist (Or, it still CAN be.) In the original series, Amy’s birth father was revealed be the host of a Lord of Order (If that sounds familiar, it’s a Dr. Fate thing.) That meant she technically had an original living parent, but… that’s where the writing went South and turned obnoxiously edgy and tangential. But this implies that both her bio mom and dad are plain-ol’-fashioned alive. Which is new and an intriguing dangling plot-thread. Cool cool.

8. He’s just… so evil. It’s great. I’ve already blubbered about the pleasant simplicity of Dark Opal’s villainy, but I also appreciate that his funky face clasp is back, and I dig the drone-spiders. In the original series, his adopted son Carnelian was the techie, so I’ll be curious to see if there any nods to that in the future.

9. One seriously solid exposition page. Pretty, concise... and just enough holes to entice. This implies that the events of the first Amethyst mini series have ALREADY HAPPENED in this continuity. But some things are CLEARLY different. (Turquoise kingdom world-building, Amy does not change her age between realms, etc.) That leaves some surprises in store.

10. First issue parallels. It’s her birthday. Again. Her parents are giving her title-drop jewelry. Again. She’s all gussied up in an over-the-top dress for her mentor’s sake, but it’s completely inappropriate for battling evil which is what she’s gonna have to ACTUALLY go do bc that’s her luck. Again. I do love me some good symmetry.

TO CONCLUDE... I am so, so happy to read this. Reeder has done right by my girl, and I look forward to issue #2. Huzzah!

#amy winston #princesss amethyst #amethyst princess of gem world #dc comics #comics #comic review #gidgeblog #young justice #yj rebirth #wonder comics

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blodreina-noumou · 5 years

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I had fun with 6x02. It was angsty “why can’t our kids just get along” fun, but still fun!

The Big Things I’d be down to discuss:

1 - We got tiny little crumbs about Alpha/Sanctum itself, the people who live there, and how/why they’ve lived on this moon for the past century or so. The backstory with the very obvious Bellarke stand-in (that had to either be the best or worst little nod ever for shippers), including the sudden and unexpectedly violent death of Sanctum Clarke (I know she has a name I just forgot), shows us that the people of this world have been dealing with the eclipse psychosis for a long time, which definitely explains the kids’ books and general “this is a thing that happens sometimes” attitude of the people we’ve met. The mother, father, and daughter of that group are the Lightbournes (no idea how to spell that yet), who are seemingly worshiped in this world. How did that happen, when Daddy Lightbourne went nuts and murdered his wife and daughter? Jumping to the present, one of the lines between the older hijacker woman and her dying daughter - “the bodies, you have to make sure -” “I’ll take care of it” - definitely makes me think that there’s something about death/corpses on this planet that we don’t know yet. (Which makes me think of poor Shaw, quickly buried in that grave by that random field.) Both women seemed very concerned with recovering the bodies of their husbands, beyond the usual “respecting our dead” worries. And finally, that ending. The little girl, Rose, seemed to be dressed a bit more “royally” for lack of a better word, than the other children. Maybe it was just a design choice to make her stand out - if she’s got a name, she’s gonna be important. She had those “wise young leader” vibes though. The most interesting thing - her asking Clarke if they’re there to “take them home” and Clarke responding “isn’t this your home?” Sanctum believes they’re going to be rescued, I think we can safely guess that this is a big part of what makes them culty. So what are they going to do now that they know a rescue is impossible, because Earth is dead? Why do they still want to go home - to reconnect with a world an indeterminate number of lightyears away, where none of them were born? Why? Is it something about Sanctum that makes them long to return - something more than just the Eclipse Psychosis?

2. My favorite interactions were between Murphy and Clarke. I think something significant happened between them when Murphy finds Clarke holding that knife to her own throat. I think Murphy has a moment of realizing, “oh, maybe Clarke hasn’t let go of her baggage, maybe she carries more guilt and self-loathing than she shows us.” He gentles a lot as he talks her down, tells her that the radio she’s hearing all of those terrible things from isn’t even on. I do think they have a better understanding of each other now, and will probably snipe at each other less. Probably. Maybe. I appreciated Murphy telling Clarke that her taking some responsibility for being “the bad guy” was “a good start.” I do think Clarke needs to make serious strides towards apologizing properly, and she came closer than she had before to doing that in the argument she and Murphy had while they were locked up in the school. She was passive aggressive, but I think part of that is her frustration that anyone would think she doesn’t regret the things she’s done. She’s lost so many people who are important to her, and, given what Delusion!Abby said, Clarke also clearly blames herself for all of it. I think part of why she can’t apologize to anyone is because it’s hard for her to live with herself without justifying the why of those lives lost. She has to remember what she did it for, who she did it for, or she’ll lose it completely and surrender to her darkest, self-destructive impulses. This episode helped me with Clarke a bit, I’ll admit it. I hope this isn’t the only thing we’ll get, but I’m not holding my breath.

3. The different reactions everyone has to the psychosis is worth a hundred metas and at least twenty crack posts. I wanted to make a “tag yourself” meme about what everyone does (Echo “nopes” herself right out; Emori flips and attacks her “it’s complicated” lover; Bellamy becomes an Angry Rage Dad; Jackson and Miller try to protect each other to death; Clarke just hates herself (I don’t even have a good joke for it, it was honestly pretty sad); and Murphy would just be “????”; a bonus would be Octavia, who managed to behave as if she was under the Eclipse Psychosis, but it turns out our girl is just Losing It For Real Now, No But Like For REAL For Real - but I’m not good at the image-making thing, so anyone who sees this is free to steal the idea and adapt it to their own interpretations (just lmk ‘cause I wanna see it)!

4. Was Murphy affected? By the time Emori, Jackson, Miller, and Echo are all down for the count, Murphy becomes the voice of reason for Clarke and Bellamy. He has to protect himself, and them, from themselves and each other, and he does so in a very level-headed way. He isn’t shaking off the delusions like Clarke does when Murphy and Bellamy are fighting. He isn’t raging and ranting like Bellamy is. His craziest moments come from believing that he’s the only sane one left. Yet he shoots at Bellamy and Clarke, and clearly seems paranoid that they’re out to get him at certain moments. So what gives? Which parts were potentially Eclipse Psychosis, and which parts were just Murphy? I’m inclined to believe his needling of Clarke is 100% Him - given how he stomps off from their little fireside chat in 6x01 (that smile was sarcastic af y’all, not him really being like “you win”, he was pissed), I don’t think he’s able to hold himself back from speaking his mind to Clarke about her decisions, once they’re both tied up and stuck in the same room together. So when he shoots at Clarke and Bellamy, do we think he’s trying to protect them from themselves, or does he genuinely want to hurt them? So much to analyze.

5. Speaking of Octavia, I am both elated and devastated to see that Niylah is pretty much her only friend right now - it makes my Niytavia heart happy, but it’s rough to see Octavia struggling so much, and being so alone in it. It’s clear Niylah is so scared for Octavia, and might be the only one who really sees how much she’s hurting. She’s the only one who recognizes that Octavia is egging everyone on, trying to get them to fight her, probably even kill her. Octavia is lashing out so much right now, and it’s definitely not a good look. I think it’s the only thing that makes sense for her character right now. She lost everything - all of the honor and respect and (yes) power she had, all of the hope she had for finding redemption in Eden, all of her closest friends and supporters (with the exception of Niylah - also, side note, I hope we see Indra and Gaia soon), and her brother. She’s never been good at actually reflecting on her mistakes. Now that she feels she has pretty much nothing to lose, of course she’s going to lash out and act like an angry kid throwing a tantrum, baiting people into punishing her. She wanted to die in that gorge - she believes she deserves it. Now, in her own words, “none of it makes sense”. I don’t know how much darker and angrier she’ll have to go before she finally confronts Blodreina, and all of the reasons she had to become her. She has to accept what she did, and forgive herself, before anyone else will.

6. What will the fallout from the Bellamy/Murphy fight be? Everyone was throwing out some sharp barbs, but Bellamy’s comment about Murphy being a court jester, and how that was “barely” better than useless was a low blow. It’s also a long way from the premiere last year, with Bellamy pinning Murphy and refuses to let him up until Murphy says he isn’t worthless. Will they brush by it as Eclipse Angst, or is this indicative of bigger problems between Murphy and Bellamy down the line this season? Bellamy definitely wakes up looking hella guilty about how close he came to killing both Clarke and Murphy. Does he really feel that way about Murphy, does he see him as an equivalent threat compared to Clarke? Why, and how?? Not to beat a dead horse, but Clarke has been pretty traitorous lately and has been much more dangerous to trust than Murphy has, for Bellamy for sure. Clarke’s own self-destructive thoughts seemed to be the genuine truth, what she believed about herself. Who’s to say we can’t assume Bellamy was being equally genuine about Murphy?

7. What’s going on with Murphy at the end there? Before he went into the water, he was mostly okay. After he comes out and passes out for a while, he’s suddenly near-death, with crazy black shit visibly running through his veins? I’ll admit I’m a little scared for him! I’m sure he’ll probably be fine, but the source is what unsettles me - the biggest difference between the three of them by that ...pond? puddle?... is that Murphy went under and inhaled a lot of water. Is even the water toxic when the eclipse is going on? That’s going to mean that the Sanctum people, who clearly have some safe place to go to during the eclipses, will have a lot of power over the safety of everyone on the planet, even more than we originally suspected. So our traumatized heroes are going to have to adapt and assimilate to this new society, and we really have no idea what that’s going to look like yet. We’ve already gotten some hints that it’s weird and culty though, and culty things have never boded well for our characters. Has it been mentioned how often these eclipses are? I don’t think so. We know they last two days, but not how often they happen. We also don’t know much else about the dangers in the world, and what life is like for other parts of the moon’s surface.

8. The parallels between Clarke and Octavia so far this season are delightful and frustrating. They both have so much in common, and it’s interesting to see the different and similar ways they’re reacting to the terrible things they were forced (and chose, at times) to do as young, inexperienced leaders. They both don’t think they deserve to be alive. They both have tried to hurt or kill themselves because of that. What frustrates me a bit about 6x02 is that it feels like a reversal from the way we saw Octavia at the end of 5x13. Octavia seemed ready to accept responsibility in that gorge “Wonkru is dead. I broke it.” and Clarke seemed more willing to stand by her convictions as a Mama Bear. Now Clarke is slowly starting to accept some accountability, and Octavia is calling out everyone for their “sins”. But I think on some level, they’re both motivated by the same self-destructive self-loathing. Both Clarke and Octavia attempted to sacrifice themselves (Clarke at the end of s4, Octavia at the end of s5) for the sake of their people, and also in an attempt to make up for how fall they’d each fallen from their own moral centers - they both wanted redemption and absolution for the terrible things they’d do to other people for the sake of survival. Both of them were robbed of this opportunity when they survived their attempts at martyrdom, yet their attempts do save the people they love. They’re both pretty much in the same place at the beginning of s6 - on the edges of their groups (although Clarke has been treated far more warmly by ReconKru than Octavia has been on the Eligius ship), feeling alone except for one special girl (Madi and Niylah respectively, although also Bellamy was being pretty nice to Clarke before the Psychosis thing happened), and they both have so much blood on their hands. Both have lashed out to an extent, but both have also directed their anger and guilt inward, and against themselves physically. I don’t know what the intention is behind these parallels yet - both women need a lot of peace and time to heal from what they’ve been through. Will they both actually be allowed that, on this show? I doubt it. That scares me, because as much as I complain about Clarke, I’ve never wanted a tragic ending for her. But if it comes down to a choice, I think y’all know what my bias would be. And right now, Octavia looks more likely to meet that dark end than Clarke.

This is long enough, so that’s it for now! Let me know your own thoughts!!

#the 100 meta #the 100 reactions #6x02 #the 100 spoilers #s6 #octavia blake #clarke griffin #stephspeaks #long post

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swishandflickwit · 5 years

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Marichat/Adrinette — somehow i know (he's always with me) 1/1

Summary: Somehow, they always find their way back here.

Adrinette + piano + Identity Reveal

Sequel to anywhere you go (let me go too)

Words: 10.8k

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Stormy Weather 2 spoilers!

AN: Me working on the sequel that no one really asked for instead of finishing the ones that were asked for lmao.

As the French would say, c'est la vie.

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

"You snore in your sleep, you know.”

Marinette gapes.

“I do not!”

Beside her, Chat Noir giggles and though she feels heat creep up her face in whorls of blooming red—she cannot help but laugh along with him.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about!” he reassures with an innocent bat of his eyelashes.

(It should have been her first clue)

And because she is Marinette, she rolls her eyes but believes it to be the end of that particular line of conversation, anyway.

(She should have known better)

“Besides, it was a cute snore,” he continues boldly. “Like, really cute. Like—”

Chat proceeds to emit some rather inelegant snorts. Rumbling, gurgling, disjointed and completely over exaggerated growls which seem to stem deeply within his throat in harsh exhalations. She would have worried, had he not been expelling them at her expense.

(She really, really should have known)

“Get out,” she deadpans, or at least she tries to, amongst his obnoxious grunting and chortling.

“Like an adorable, black-haired, blue-eyed, baby pig,” he wheezes.

“I will push you off this this balcony.”

He halts his amusement in favor of flexing an arm in front of her.

“Not with these muscles, you couldn’t—Eep! ”

It is her turn to laugh something fierce and relentless as he squeals his surprise—a tinny, high-pitched and utterly girlish sound that tickles her to no end—and scrambles for the metal balustrade, though it remains stationary beneath him.

“You were saying?” she inquires sweetly, guilelessly, even as her hold on his bicep remains his only salvation from slipping off his precarious perch on her railing.

(As if he couldn’t catch himself! And not that she would let him fall, of course.

...maybe)

“Marinette,” he whines. She does not capitulate, seeking retribution for herself with another cackle.

“Say the words,” she coos. He narrows his eyes at her. “What words?”

She sticks out her tongue before huffing. “You know…”

Another mewl from Chat, before he sighs. Marinette crows her victory and delight.

“I’m sorry,” he yips through gritted teeth. She tuts.

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” she comments, leaning into his space in feigned flirtation as she drops her voice and teases him airily. Something shifts just then. It drains the mirth from his face, slips the smile from his mouth—but not the light from his eyes. No, that is ever glowing… ever present. But there is something serious about the way he looks at her every time he does it, and he has done it more often than not in the past week since they played the piano together at midnight, her falling asleep on his shoulder, him taking her home and then tucking her in.

Internally, she groans as the memory of the morning after comes to her and she saw she was no longer in the school but in her room. In her bed. There was only one way she could have gotten there, considering her last recollection was of Chat Noir’s elegant fingers flying over the keys, the stark contrast of his ebony gloves against the white scales enticing her designer’s eye as remnants of the music he played swirled within her mind and lulled her to slumber.

Thinking about it still makes her blush like mad, though nothing salacious happened. Yet no one but her parents, Alya and Tikki had ever seen her asleep. So for Chat Noir to, it was a moment of vulnerability, and it was… private. It felt intensely intimate. It was sacred. She doesn’t know where they stand because of it, and now it's as though they are not in the same place in their companionship—is it a parallel plane or has it ascended? Or maybe they hadn’t moved at all and she was building it in her head? And it isn’t as if she’s uncomfortable with this new stance they are taking with each other. If anything, their friendship feels stronger than ever despite the masks they continue to wear, both the literal and figurative kind. But even that armor is slowly chipping away, chink by little chink, so that she has to be careful around him lest she give herself away. And she wants to. Bon dieu, does she ever want to.

(To the point that she begins to ask herself, in the nights when Tikki falls asleep before her and she has only her thoughts for company, so what am I waiting for? Why don’t I just tell him? )

(She knows why)

But she doesn’t tell him the truth of her identity, and here they are. And it’s moments like these, when he looks at her and it’s as if everything apart from the two of them fades, she just, she does. not. know. She does not know anything except everything is changed. Somewhere between him saving her and promise me and a forehead kiss. Between sunsets and macaron snacks and late night rooftop conversations. Between the smiles and the laughter and the music and his arms around her… things are different.

They are different.

“Marinette,” he murmurs, hands easing so that one finally grabs hold of the bannister while the other… the other one inches ever so gently up the length of her arm. She's never been more grateful for her blazer, as it conceals the goosebumps that trail in his wake, his fingers dancing up her porcelain skin so it feels more like the ivory of a piano than flesh.

“Marinette,” he trills once more, her gaze ripping from the path he makes so she meets his eyes. He bites his lip, as if to contain his smile. She pouts, and that's when his hand meets its journey's end at her chin, his thumb tracing the bow of her bottom lip.

“I am sorry, princess.”

She groans at the nickname he can't seem to let go of. He chuckles at her obvious ire, though it doesn't dim the sincerity from his apology.

“Ok, not a princess then,” he yields, albeit with a hint of that omnipresent mischief. “But do be an angel and save me from this perilous height.”

She rolls her eyes, all the while she ducks her head to hide her own grin.

Angel, he called her. She likes that.

She steps back so he has room to put his feet down but she doesn't stray far, not that she could even if she wanted to.

(She doesn’t want to)

The hand that had been holding the railing now nestles comfortably on the curve of her waist, as he lands on both feet in front of her. When he straightens, she finds their bodies have aligned in—what she is increasingly finding to be—addicting ways. He is pleasantly firm in all the places she finds herself to be doughy, and from all the times they’ve been tangled up in each other in their superhero personas, she is entirely too aware of how he is lean beneath the leather of his suit. He is grounded, stable, which her all too clumsy self finds reassurance in.

His hand moves lazily, sensually, from her waist to the dip of her spine, just shy of her derrière. The wind feels crisp despite the heat bearing down on them from the sun’s unhindered radiance and she feels taught with it, her muscles alternatively coiling and relaxing so that her hand twitches against his biceps. He lets out a soft breath as she (reflexively, she tells herself, it’s a reflex) cossets the leather where she holds him, wishing with all her might she was touching skin instead.

Yes, the shift in them from that fateful night is never more evident than it is now—the air around them filling with a strange yet not unwelcome charge that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end, her belly tingle with an inexplicable excitement and her heart cry out for more of his touch. It feels as if there is a thread around her that binds them and all it would take is a slight pull from him for her to unravel right before him.

There is a look in his eyes, hungry and desperate but oh so fragile too—as if he would just as easily come undone if she so much as tugged at that string. He hums Angel of Music under his breath when he takes a step closer, drawing her to him with the hand low at her back. Hope tinges his dark gaze when she doesn’t protest at his proximity.

Pull, pull, pull.

It makes her wonder if he would unwind if she plucked at that invisible connection, only to twine himself around her. She tilts her head upwards just as he cants his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes, his droning of Angel of Music fading into something unfamiliar yet calming all the same.

Pull, pull, pull, pull, pull—

“Marinette!”

She sucks in a sharp breath and reels back, opening eyes she hadn't realized had shut in the first place until they meet orbs shrouded in rueful, tourmaline hues.

The thread stiffens for another second, just as loathe as the two of them to let go, before finally falling limp and taking all the static electricity of the moment with it.

“I think,” he rasps, voice low and gravelly that he has to clear his throat twice before continuing. It flatters her, especially as she remains feeling weak at the knees. “I think,” he tries again, “that's my cue to leave.”

She knows this. Agrees, even.

If only her hand would cooperate and surrender him.

She curls her digits just a bit tighter, a shudder going through her when she feels his muscles bunching powerfully beneath the suit as he treads impossibly nearer, accommodating her clutch.

You could stay, she wants to utter.

“My dad baked macarons for dessert. It's his specialty…” she says in lieu of such ridiculous pronouncements or a more appropriate goodbye.

(And there goes her mouth too, oh will nothing of hers ever follow her command?)

He grins lopsidedly though his eyes insist on narrowing. “Oh, you don't fight fair,” he returns though she gleans that what he really means is, I wish I didn't have to leave.

Her name pierces the now stale air once more.

“Your mother calls,” he says, rather unnecessarily, a grimace set upon his mouth. That he didn’t want to go as much as she herself wished he wouldn’t gave her the strength to withdraw her hand.

“À bientôt, minou,” she bids in strained articulations, with an even more strained smile, before swiveling on her heel towards her trap door and trying in vain to disperse the bereavement she gains when his gloved hand slips from her back.

She has not taken two steps when she senses the touch of leather on her own hand. He drags her back into his atmosphere and she endeavors to tamper the flutter that arises in her stomach by pasting a faux frown upon her lips.

“Yes?”

His answer falls from his mouth, though not in words. He raises their clasped hands to his chin so that his every measured inhales, his slow exhales, bathe her skin. She expects a kiss upon her fingers, as he is so fond of them whether she is Ladybug or Marinette. And though he does this indeed, she is jolted when he retreats only to wrap warm lips around another knuckle, and the next, and the next, till the entirety of her is ablaze and his kisses seem scored into the very marrow of her bones.

“Till we meet again.”

With the sun sinking low in the horizon behind him, Chat Noir’s face is a study in shadows. But if his visage was the night sky then those eyes, oh always his eyes… they were the glistening diamond stars of the eventide.

“Mon ange.”

And then he is gone, taking all the oxygen with him.

She almost sinks to her knees, having not apprehended how much she was leaning on him till he had disappeared. She braces herself against her metal balustrade to catch her breath, the hand he had marked clutched close to her chest as it continues to buzz with the feel of him.

From her purse erupts a giggle, then Tikki is floating serenely in front of her.

“What was that about?”

Marinette huffs, albeit still in a bit of a daze.

“I hardly know anymore, Tikki.”

The Kwami, never missing a thing, narrows her gaze pointedly onto her hands—the same one still cradled delicately close to her chest while the other fans her overheated face. At her observation, she stills.

“Are you okay?” Tikki inquires, not bothering to hide the teasing glimmer to her tone.

Marinette bites her lip before she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Tikki's laugh is so hard Marinette is certain it echoes all the way up into the galaxy.

Her mother summons her for dinner one final time and with seemingly Herculean fortitude, she follows. But ensconced as she is within the comforts of her own home—her parents laughing jovially before her, her belly full with a hot and delicious meal prepared lovingly by her father—try as she might she cannot escape Chat Noir. How every time he looked at her his gaze crept along her skin like a living touch, how his actual touch felt branded onto her soul, the manner with which he kissed her or held her—as if she was invaluable treasure—and the effect with which he breathed her name, so softly but with so much gravity, like her name was both too precious to be uttered in anything but humble inflections yet it held so much power, too, because he believed her to be strong and fierce that to say her name any other way would be a fault (and it was only her name! Who knew one could divulge so much meaning onto a name? Of course, only Chat Noir could)—it all drove her wild with wanting.

Though she refuses to answer Tikki's question aloud, it is how she knows—without a shadow of a doubt—that no, she is not okay. So long as he is around her, stealing her breath and making her go weak in the knees, she would never be the same again.

Strangely enough, she is just fine with that.

And even stranger though, is Adrien.

He is different around her, a change she traces all the way back to Con Rubato as well. He is more engaging with her, more conscientious. He would stand when she entered a room then sit only once she had, like a modern day Mr. Darcy. He takes her words in with an air of devout seriousness, as if everything she says has the power to change the world, even if she were just rattling off the afternoon specials in her parents’ bakery. Not three years ago, she would have squealed then died at his attentions. But now it merely confuses her. It is as if she has entered an alternate dimension where Adrien is the one who scrambles for any excuse to talk to her only to stutter his way through their conversations, whether to borrow a pen or copy her notes or set up study groups that she finds herself declining more and more.

The part of her that is still 14-years old rejoices at every look he sends her way, every genuine praise or bolstering shoulder graze. But Marinette has always been an all or nothing sort of girl. No, as Alya would put it, she is a “Ride or Die, Bitch” which would appall her were it not so true. She doesn't know how to do lukewarm or in-betweens, and so the Marinette of now would merely receive such affections with a befuddled slant of her head and a small, appreciative smile. That being said, her head is entirely too filled with thoughts of an overgrown, leather-clad, ridiculous yet charming cat. She should be embarrassed, or she would have been, if said cat was not showing up on her rooftop on an almost nightly basis under the guise of her house being on his “patrol route” when they both recognize it for the lie it is, a rose in his hand and a Phantom of the Opera tune purring low in his throat. Though, more often than not these days, each time he is around her he hums that same indistinct harmony—one he resolutely refuses to name with such stubbornness that she doesn't know whether to hate it for the vagueness or love it for its soothing quality.

(Who is she kidding? It's the latter. Definitely the latter)

Still, it is refreshing, for once, to not be part of a story wherein her love is one-sided. Because though they skirt around the topic, both grown yet still too awkward and shy to broach their feelings, it is there. She feels it, that heady tension… that ever-present pull in her navel that magnetizes her to him. It conquers her so keenly it is nearly impossible now to concentrate when they don their superhero personas; when every part of her is abuzz with his nearness—always close enough to touch but never quite able to bridge that gap. Never the right time, never brave enough.

But she knows he feels it too, even if he does give her funny looks when she's Ladybug and she's a little too late to throw her yo-yo or too slow to move despite the tapering of his flirtations because she's too busy being distracted by his, um, assets (she has become that girl now, bon dieu), and that's all that matters.

At least… at least, for now.

Because it's unthinkable to be anything but deliriously content during periods like this, where he arrives onto her rooftop and settles onto the chaise—right across from her—as if there's nowhere he'd rather be, as if he belongs there. Him and the smell of clean boy sweat and leather and that mysterious melody spilling from his lips like chimes hung out on a beachfront porch, light but resonant too. It ripples down to her sinew, till she is teeming with quiet satisfaction and unexpected fondness for the song.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” he replies coyly, though he knows that she knows that he knows he is perfectly cognizant of exactly what it is she's asking for.

“Dumb is not a good look on you, Chat Noir,” she grumbles.

“Everything's a good look on me, Marinette.”

She blinks, deliberately. He, too, is stunned into silence—his mouth intermittently falling agape and clicking shut, as if wanting to take the words back for the unintentional self-degradation but perceiving the futility of it. Wisely, he swallows the protest that no doubt wants to extricate itself from his mouth, clearing his throat instead before continuing as if he never said the quip at all.

She wants to laugh but recognizes the fragility of the moment, and allows him this one free pass.

“Right,” he says, and she picks up where they left off.

“You were about to tell me what it is you're always singing underneath your breath?”

He smiles archly before tutting. “Not so fast.” He wags a finger right between her eyes.

“Such impatience.”

She swats his hand away.

“Hard not to be, when I don't know exactly what it is I'm impatient for?”

He sighs, as if the confession requires a gargantuan effort on his part.

“If you really want to know,” he straightens from the sprawl he has settled himself upon his arrival, repositioning his arms which had been behind his head so that they are folded between his criss-crossed legs. She mirrors his stance, figuring that she ought to put some seriousness into her mien for all the pomp and circumstance he is displaying for her.

“It's a song I'm composing. On the piano.”

She gasps.

“That's wonderful! What's it called?”

His eyes widen, as if it hadn't occurred to him to give it a name.

“You know… I'm not quite sure, yet.” He stares at her for a beat, and his voice is rough when he declares, “I do have an idea, though.”

For reasons unbeknownst to her, she blushes. To hide this, she stands then, her hand outstretched towards him. His brows are furrowed but he accepts it all the same and follows when she pulls him to his feet.

“Well?”

This time, his dumbfoundedness is sincere.

“Well, what?”

“Let's go!”

“Go where?”

She rolls her eyes heavenward and fixes him with a look of utmost disappointment.

“What?” he exclaims again, arms crossing defensively across his chest before muttering, “Sometimes, I don't understand you.”

“Believe me,” she retorts, haughtily. “I know. ”

But excitement colors her countenance once more, till she is bouncing on the tips of her toes.

“I don't have a piano but there's one in the school! Take me there so you can play me the rest of the song. I've only heard bits and pieces and, mon dieu, I've never had a friend who could compose before. I know an actual composer! Can you believe it?”

She'd been talking a mile a minute and would have gone on, but she really does want to hear his original and with the school closed for the day, it means they would have to sneak in (not that it would be their first time). She couldn't exactly transform in front of him so she would need him to break the both of them in. Except he hasn't moved from his place in front of her. There is only that enigmatic smile and his bright eyes, gazing upon her like she is made of moonshine and starlight.

The ardor of his stare has her feeling all the blood in her body has rushed to her cheeks.

“What?” she retorts. “Is there something on my face?”

“Besides your beauty?”

She groans. He is such a cheeseball but damn if it doesn't get her. It gets her so bad that her blood redoubles its efforts of turning her face into a permanent tomato.

He laughs at her obvious modesty, amusement making him bold when he frames her hips between careful claws and gathers her in his arms.

“It's not entirely finished, you know.”

She pouts. “Oh.”

He chuckles again, thumb tracing the plump camber of her bottom lip before resting it on her chin.

“But when it is, I promise you mon ange,” (cue her breath hitch. Blushing intensifies) “you will be the first to know.”

He lets go of her chin so his hand can join the vine the rest of his limbs have made around her waist. And because he is a good head taller than her now, she steeples her fingers on his chest so she can rest her chin upon it as she murmurs, “Deal.”

“Deal,” he parrots.

Then, he adds, “Besides,” he shrugs. “I don't think you're ready to hear it.”

She scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean!”

Rather than answer her, he giggles a final time then nuzzles his cheek atop her hair. She grunts but obliges him by tangling herself around him as well, partly because it's not as if she can force him to (nor does she want to!) speak. But mostly, she likes this—the unconscious ease with which they fall into each other's arms, the subliminal fashion that compels them to gravitate towards each other's orbits and just stay there, like it was always where they were meant to be.

She likes him.

She wants to smack herself when the thought hits her. She likes him, like, really likes him! She might go so far as to say she…

Well, ironies upon ironies that after years of rejection, she now finds herself in the unique placement of desiring to return his affections, granted under a different skin.

And as if somehow linked to her thoughts, he shatters the silence (and her world) when he finally answers her.

“It means,” he starts in a solemn and susurrous murmur, “that I like you, Marinette.”

Her heart beating a tango and a salsa in her throat that her voice comes out hoarse, she replies, “I like you too, Chat Noir.” And because she is an idiot and a fool and afraid, she remarks, “As a friend.”

For a brief moment, he tenses beneath her hands. Then, with a steady sigh, he loosens, his arms travelling from her waist to grasp her biceps.

“And that is exactly what I mean when I say you're not ready.”

There's something broken there, when he says the words and she meets his eyes. It is with growing horror that she realizes she is the one who put it there—that ache and the hurt and the unabashed longing and she wants to eat up her words or not have said anything at all, just held him, tighter and tighter instead, till she was losing herself in him. She wants to take the last 30 seconds back, just anything, anything to erase the sadness that paints his face in the kind of darkness that swallows you rather than emphasize the points of you that are filled with light.

“Chat,” she cries, but he is all ready turning away from her.

And she lets him, because she knows. She knows that even with her powers, even with all the knowledge she claims of the Miraculous and the magic of this world, she cannot turn back time.

“It's getting late.”

“Wait—” she tries a final time, pleading with an invisible force, yanking with all her might at their unspoken tie, to get him to stay.

Pull, pull, pull, pull, pull, pull, pull!

But all the warmth and color is leached from her universe—

He is gone.

Later, much, much later, after begging off dinner from her parents under the pretense of fatigue, when the house is quiet and the bustling sounds of the Parisian streets fade as slumber wraps its lethargic arms around the city, Tikki comes to her and asks, “Marinette…” in that sweet, tinkling tone of hers, so free of judgment and eyes wide with concern, “why did you say that?”

She cannot help but begin to cry.

“I—I don't know.”

How could it have gone so wrong, so quickly?

Tikki touches a paw to her cheek, halting one of the tracks of her tears.

“Try, dear heart.”

Suddenly angry, she turns from her Kwami in such brusque movements that Tikki is forced to float away from her to avoid being crushed. A pang of guilt goes through her. It isn't fair to lash out at Tikki when truly, she's mad at herself. But she holds on to her anger because it grounds her and it feels so much better than the cloud of despair that looms over her, threatening to engulf her and whisk her away to where she feels empty.

“What is the point, Tikki?” she bellows, a bundle of limbs and blankets as she moves from her chaise to stare out her round window.

Waiting, always waiting—for a shadow, a flash of flaxen locks or a pair of sparkling emerald orbs

“It's done. A week has gone and he hasn't visited, not once. There's no point going over what could have been. It's better to move on.” She scoffs. “What am I even saying? There's nothing to move on from, we hardly started. ”

“I wouldn't call a three-year partnership ‘nothing', Marinette,” Tikki reminds her gently.

“It's done,” she snaps again with watery convictions, refusing to hear her Kwami out. But her voice still breaks when she emphasizes, “We're done.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want? It's over.”

“But don't you see? It doesn't have to be!”

She whirls towards her and snarls, “You're such a hypocrite, you know that?”

Tikki doesn't deign her with an equal accusation or denial. She does not speak at all. She just stares at her with that unwavering comfort and understanding. The quiet brims Marinette with blind justification and the fortitude to hurl more vitriol, because if she doesn't fill the silence with words then she would surely fill it with sobs and she is so tired of crying over nothing.

So tired.

“First you tell me we have to hide our identities from everyone, even each other, and now you want me to run into his arms, shouting to all and sundry who I am. Make up your goddamn mind Tikki!”

“I won’t deny that. Yes, it was necessary in the beginning,” Marinette grins, something sharp and sarcastic and devoid of all humor. Though she confesses, the ease with which Tikki accepts blame takes away most of the exhilaration of her supposed victory.

“But you have to remember, Marinette, I have been here before. I have seen countless Ladybugs and Chat Noir incarnates for more than a thousand years. While we and the Guardians always hope for the best, a peaceful partnership, that is not always the outcome.”

It is odd, she thinks. She has always known Tikki was as old as time itself. But when her Kwami moves and speaks and thinks and views the world with such childlike wonder, it is simply too easy to forget. Now though, it becomes difficult to deny, not when the adumbrations that obscure her expression add years to her countenance so that she lists to the side with the weight of her age, her all too palpable grief.

“For every harmonious union there has been an equal and terrible clash. Even with all this power, we are not perfect. Humans are such…” a struggle crosses her eyes then, “well. I suppose that's the beauty of your species, isn't it? That even with so many things binding you together, each one of you is still made so differently, so inimitable, that your actions can never be one hundred percent predicted. It's wonderful,” she smiles briefly, before her sadness ultimately wins out. “But it also makes our jobs difficult, and not all Ladybugs and Chat Noirs are what we desire them to be. Every contretemps has led to any human-mitigated disaster you know—famine, plague, conflict, war. ”

Tikki's eyes transform to a haunted, bottomless well that is awash with misfortunes and loss that Marinette will never fathom in her lifetime. It depletes the anger from her sinews till only the despondency she had been fighting unremittingly to avoid, is all that endures.

“Tikki,” she snivels, sinking to her knees in absolution. “Tikki, I'm sorry. I didn't—I didn't know— ”

“It's alright, Marinette,” the Kwami coos, and it is with slack-jawed awe that Marinette regards Tikki's reformation from ancient, weary god to artless and optimistic Tikki, the Tikki she is more accustomed to. “You couldn’t have known.”

She drifts back to her cheek, pecking serenely at the curve before nestling there. “But what's not alright is this evident denial of your feelings.”

Marinette groans, bringing a hand to her face to swipe futilely at her tears.

“What are you afraid of? Don't you see how lucky you are, that Chat Noir has fallen in love with all sides of you?”

At the word love, her heart rattles beneath her ribcage.

“Is he though?”

“Is he what?”

“In love with me?”

Marinette detects a hint of mirth when Tikki replies with, “would that be a problem if he was?”

“Could I really be that lucky? For him to fall in love with me, twice over?”

Marinette yelps just then, when Tikki bites at her skin.

“Ow!”

“Only you could find some fault in a situation that would benefit both parties.”

Nursing her cheek, Marinette grumbles, “I just think it's too easy, is all. If something's too good to be true, it usually is.”

Tikki stares at her in horror. “Look at you, Marinette! Exactly what part of this has been ‘easy'? No,” she shakes her head. “You're afraid, and it's about high time you admit it to yourself!”

“Alright!” she bursts. “Maybe I am scared! But can you blame me? If we're to start a relationship, I want there to be no more lies. I want us to be together, like Alya and Nino are together or like my parents, properly together—not sneaking out, always waiting for the sun to set. That means no more lies, no more hiding, no more masks. It means, revealing our identities.”

Tikki's brows furrow in confusion.

“Well, we both know Chat Noir has no objections to that. And I've all ready said that I'm fine with that, too.”

“But I'm not!”

And there it is.

“Hawkmoth is still out there. If we know each other's identities and one of us gets Akumatized,” she shudders—real, quaking, anxious tremors rocking her body at just the idea, “I couldn't bear the thought of hurting him, if it were me. And if it were him, Tikki, I don't think I would be strong enough to fight him. No, I know I couldn't fight him. And I can't let Paris suffer because of my emotions… because of my weakness.”

It is a long time before either of them speak. And when the pregnant pause is broken, it is Tikki who offers a final piece of advice.

“You are worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet.”

It is a reproach, but Tikki manages to deliver it with such gentle sibilance, it merely makes Marinette weep harder despite her want to protest.

“Say you don't confess or reveal your identities to each other, or he confesses before you and you reject him, again, ” (she winces) “because of your fear. Who's to say that won't be the act that tips him over the edge to being Akumatized? Don't you see, Marinette? Either way, confess or not, the misery would be inevitable.”

“There must be some way to stop it? To control it?” she wails, desperately.

Tikki sighs, lovingly ruffling her hair.

“That's the thing about life, isn't it? There can be no peace without chaos, no joy without anger… no love without suffering—for how can we know happiness, true happiness, if we don't first know what it feels to be dispossessed?

“When we open our hearts, Marinette, we expose it to everything. Yes there will be pain, but there will be such pleasure, too. Such merriment behind the agony, such sweetness alongside the sourness of humanity. Wouldn't you rather have someone experiencing it with you, always by your side, than carry it all on your own?”

Softer, Tikki adds, “And wouldn't you rather that someone be Chat Noir?”

Marinette remains silent for a couple more heartbeats, before she breathes, “Yes.”

Tikki smiles.

“It's okay to be afraid, Marinette,” she affirms. “Just don't let it hold you back. In fact, if you're going to be afraid,” she pats her head and presses on even as she darts to her bed.

“At least let him hold your hand. Then you can conquer your fears, together. ”

Marinette thinks that's the end of this emotionally draining conversation when Tikki dispenses a final valuation.

“And if I could just counter one more of your arguments?”

She cocks her head in acquiescence because why not? She has nothing to lose.

“You don't reach my age and not learn a thing or two about humankind, particularly when it comes to love. There is a great deal of things, too great a deal of stupid things even, that one does for love.” At this, she shoots Marinette a playfully insinuating look, having been witness to all her teenage antics over Adrien. She blushes, scarcely stifling an embarrassed squeak.

“But they are great. From sweeping, romantic gestures to a simple birthday card from one child to a parent—each act of love possesses their own power, from the ability to launch a thousand ships to war or the persistence to find one's way home when lost or merely putting a smile on a friend's face. I suppose what I'm trying to convey is, love isn't a weakness. It never has been. Love has always been magic. Dare I say, it's more than that, even.”

Tikki smiles.

“It's strength. ”

She mulls over her Kwami's words for two more days which turns to a week before she gathers any semblance of a backbone. But then an Akuma attacks and there he is.

How has she never noticed how handsome he is? How dashing and strong and courageous?

The Akuma, Bridezilla, as she aptly names herself, was jilted from the aisle (“thanks for the encouragement, Universe,” she mutters upon finding out). Though her real beef is with men in general, and her runner of a fiancé specifically, she aims her weapon—a bouquet that shoots wedding rings that cut off the victim's movements—at Ladybug, as they've reached the portion of the battle where the Akuma gets desperate for their Miraculous.

In her distraction, having not seen Chat Noir for so long and now getting a sensory overload of him, his touch and his voice and his scent, she hadn't seen Bridezilla till she was upon her. Lucky for her (and this she muses in barbed resonance), Chat Noir jumped to the line of fire so that he bore the brunt of the attack, which meant that he fell in a heap on the floor. He was bound in rings that tightened further the more he moved, ensuring he couldn't use his Cataclysm to free himself.

“Chat!” she bawls, dropping to her knees in front of him and trying in vain to free him. She gasps when an inadvertent squeeze from her efforts causes his leg to twitch and consequently, the metal to contract.

“Looks like she really wants to tie the knot with me, eh?”

She laughs, even as tears spring to her eyes.

“Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now.”

Floating above them, Bridezilla cackles.

“With her?" his frown deepens. "I can see why anyone would run.”

“Give up your Miraculous!” she snarls, having heard the tail end of their conversation.

“Mon dieu, shut up!”

Chat Noir spews a shocked chortle while Bridezilla flusters at the unexpected burst of her temper. Ladybug is known for her grace under pressure, after all, this is hardly becoming. But with Chat's oxygen depleting with every minute movement, her patience runs thin and her cool begins to simmer.

“I've just about had it with these putain de Akumas!”

Chat's eyes widen and she should be embarrassed but she is literally beyond caring at this point. She calls on her Lucky Charm in a most uncharming way that her ladybugs don't even bother to show up, the charm just lands in her hands. A stiletto. Personally, she would have poked the Akuma's eye and called it a day, but her Spots Vision urge her to use Chat's baton and a fire hydrant, from which she vaults herself and throws the heel like a boomerang, knocking it from the ex-bride's hands.

Ladybug extends her yo-yo to a lamp post and swings just in time to catch the Akuma victim before she falls hard on the ground. She lands them on her feet before sprinting for the bouquet, which she breaks to purify the butterfly, all in quick succession. Grabbing the shoe, she throws it in the air and cries out, almost hysterically when she sees Chat turning an alarming shade of white that is made even more deathly prominent against the blackness of his suit, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

The moment her ladybugs clear Chat to his feet, she bypasses his outstretched fist and launches herself at him at such top speed, they fall back to the ground.

“I'm sorry!” she wails even as she doesn't let up.

“Err—Ladybug? I kinda just got free from one bind but I'm pretty sure you're cutting off my oxygen this time.”

She squeals, apologies spilling from her lips as she springs from him. She propels herself to her feet, holding a hand up to him. She has to refrain from crumpling her face when she discovers they had been in a similar position not two weeks ago, her helping him to his feet so that he might take her to the music room in their school and play her his composition.

(A composition which she has rewound what little of it she knows in a merciless loop in her head in his absence, just to feel close to him again)

“So, you're good? Nothing hurts?”

He bevels his head quizzically. “Your ladybugs took care of it, like they always do.” He gives her a searching look. “Are you? Okay, that is?”

“Yeah,” she gulps.

This is it, she thinks. This is my chance.

“Actually—” she starts lowly just as he asks, “Are we near the Dupain-Cheng Bakery?”

She blinks her surprise.

“Um… yes. Why?”

He startles, having been focused on the direction of her home, as if he had forgotten she was there despite asking her a question. As if he were all ready somewhere else.

“N-nothing. Listen, I gotta go. Unless there's something else you need me to do?”

Upon her transformation, Bridezilla's bridesmaids had taken care of her, so there truly was no need to linger. Seeing this, he doesn't wait for her instruction. He nods his goodbye and leaps off in the direction of her street.

Her Miraculous trills, and Marinette races to the back door of her building just as Tikki releases her glamour. Her footsteps thunder up the stairs, her clumsiness nowhere to be seen for once, as she zooms past her parents and straight to her room in record time.

“Marinette?” Tikki inquires bewilderingly.

“He's here, Tikki,” she whispers in breathless timbres. “He left me, Ladybug me, just as I was about to confess because he's coming here. To me, Marinette me!”

She can hardly hear Tikki's excited chirps over the roaring of her blood in her ears. He's come back. He's come back to her!

“Chat!” she shrills, as she opens her trapdoor.

But when she pops her head to the roof, he is not there.

She waits, thinking she might have arrived before him. She waits for the sun to set. She waits, even as the cold seeps to her bones with a piercing quiver. Still, he does not come.

No, he has not come back after all.

“Did you and Adrien have a fight?”

Only nibbling on her sandwich lunch and half paying attention to her surroundings, she absentmindedly replies to Alya, “What?”

“You—Adrien—fight?”

The sound of Adrien's name stirs something in her, like wading through really thick mud before reaching the safety of the bank.

“Adrien and I?” she frowns. “I've hardly spoken to him these past few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Alya mirrors her downtrodden mouth. “Maybe that's the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something's been up with the kid, but you know how Adrien is. You ask him if something's wrong, he'll just deny it with his stupid, phony smile. Although, Nino and I have caught him off guard a couple of times. It obviously has something to do with you though, because we ask him how he is and he'll say he's fine, it's just stuff with his dad or fencing or Chinese, blah blah blah. But,” she fixes Marinette with a suspicious glare over the rim of her glasses, “he thinks we don't see, but he gets this look in his eyes after, it's like, really sad—as if he's lost something? Then he stares at you.”

“Me?” she squawks.

“You really haven't noticed?” she returns, distrustful of her plain obliviousness.

“N-no,” she stutters.

“Hey,” Alya's attention becomes a blade, right through to her soul. It makes her sit up taller. “I know something's up with you, too, girl.”

“What?” she says, dragging the vowel out. “No way,” she denies, feebly. Alya does not buy it, it is written on her face, clear as day, just how much she doesn't believe her.

“Okay… then explain how you and Adrien just happen to get into this weird funk right around the same time. That's why I thought you might have had a row or something.”

Marinette shakes her head. Alya sighs.

“Be that as it may, Nino and I aren't making any headway. So,” she nudges her shoulder. “We were hoping you could talk to him. Now that you can speak more than two words to the guy without stammering up a storm,” she pouts at the reminder (will no one ever let her live that down?) “Who knows? He might actually open up to you.”

It is all too clear that her forlornness at, what she deems as, losing her chance with Chat Noir has made her selfish and blind to her other friend's apparent distress. She colors with contrition. So though she is hardly an authority in dealing with emotions healthily, she stows away her lunch and scrambles to her feet in a show of obedience. But a quick perusal of the courtyard shows no sign of Adrien, not even with Nino, who is conversing with Kim and Max.

“Where is he?”

“Nino says Adrien is practically glued to a piano, nowadays. You might wanna try the music room?”

Merde, she wants to shout. Of course, he is in the music room.

Her feet feels leaden but she forges on, walking an all too familiar path, all the while chanting, I am a good friend, I am a good friend, I am a good friend, in her head to bolster herself. She's operating under the adventitiousness that if she thinks it enough, she will become it. Power of attraction and all.

Besides, she does want to be a good friend, so there is that.

(But did it have to be the music room, bon sang! )

When she reaches the door of the place, she can hear All I Ask of You wafting through the wood. It steals her breath and seizes her limbs so that it takes her a better part of a minute to regain control of her faculties.

She will not cry. She will not be one of those girls who associates songs with people, thereby removing the joy from listening to said songs if the memories are not… optimal, when they hear it.

(Oh god, she has become that girl now, too)

He doesn't turn his head to her when she enters, doesn't acknowledge her when she sits beside him on the bench, doesn't even miss a beat when she joins him and plays the melody to his lower register.

When the final note is played to fruition, they sit there in silence—neither willing to break it, lost as they are in events brought on by the song.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too stifling, Marinette opens her mouth to say something reassuring except the connection between her brain and aforementioned body part seems to have fried somewhere along the way.

“He must have come to you, in your dreams.”

He startles, the movement oddly familiar, though she dispels the recognition that it pothers within her.

“Who?”

“You know,” she wiggles her eyebrows then abruptly stops. She wants to slap a hand to her forehead. How dare they! How dare her eyebrows betray her!

(Is she channeling Chat Noir now? Seriously? Is that where she is? Putain)

Adrien shakes his head, a perfect picture of puzzlement.

Shut up, Marinette, she implores herself. Don't say it.

But nope, her wires are still cut, as her lips form, no—it levels up and sings the words without her consent.

“The Phantom of the Opera!”

She cringes the moment she stops then pivots so that her back is to the keys of the piano, and Adrien is away from her line of sight. She is going to barf. She can string complete sentences around the guy now sure, but apparently she has traded the spluttering for... she shudders, singing. She crosses her arms, as if it could stop her from embarrassing herself further. She almost wishes for the stutter back.

What even is my life right now?

She expects him to leave, but Adrien has always been a kind soul. He chuckles, albeit a subdued sound, as if he's forgotten how, his sadness (so obvious, now that she is here and seeing, truly seeing, him) chasing any associations he might have had with happiness. When was the last time she had even seen him smile?

Too long, she concludes.

“Well, he is there,” he taps his temple then croons, in an exaggerated baritone, “inside my mind…”

It is her turn to be shocked and for a beat, they stare at each other, disbelief adorning the air between them at what they had each done.

And then, they are laughing.

They are laughing and it is as loud and as forthcoming and as fun as it had been that day in the rain, when he offered her an umbrella. For a moment, she allows herself to fall back into that girl. She dusts her old feelings off from the shelf she had placed them in and she allows them to come rushing back. She remembers then, why it is Adrien who occupied her thoughts for so long. She can see how easy it would be, too easy, to fall in love with him again.

But his blond hair and his green eyes invoke the wrong memories. She feels her heart whinge with longing for another man and she just can't. It wouldn't be fair to compare Adrien, to keep comparing anyone, to a shadow.

Drowning as she is in her thoughts, she doesn't notice Adrien has all ready turned away, fingers back to the piano as he plays Music of the Night, which then fades to Think of Me, till eventually he settles onto Angel of Music.

Mon ange.

She can hear Chat Noir’s voice forming the words, almost as if he were here in the room and she is taken back to that first night he played for her so that he is sitting beside her—his beautiful digits deftly serenading her, her head on his shoulder, their breathing syncopated.

She isn't aware she is crying till warm fingers touch the skin of her cheek.

Adrien has stopped playing.

“I didn't mean to make you cry.”

She didn't think it possible, but he looked even more upset than when she first entered.

So much for being a good friend.

“Ignore me,” she laughs awkwardly, his hand falling as she reaches into her bag, meeting Tikki's big, round eyes when she surreptitiously gives her a tissue. “Oh, I'm such a mess. I'm so sorry, Adrien. Ugh,” she sighs, wiping at her glistening cheeks. “This is not how this was supposed to go.”

“And how was this supposed to go?”

“Truthfully? I don't know. Alya and Nino were worried about you and honestly, I can see why. I came in here to try to cheer you up, which is stupid, I know now. I can hardly console myself. What can I possibly do for you?”

At that, she meets his eyes and all of a sudden, she understands what Alya means. There is something soft in his green gaze when he looks at her and something fond when he directs his endearingly crooked smile at her. It brightens his face and again, there is something so distinct about the twinkle in his orbs that it arrests her, stops the babble of her mouth and calms the restlessness of her wrung heart. A thought brews in her mind then, something big and something reckless and something dangerous, to be sure.

But the way her soul calls out to him, the thread of recognition in her belly going taut after so long without its other half, the look of him, his knowledge of Phantom of the Opera. It had taken her so long but now that it is here, it is like waking from a really deep sleep or rising from the pull of a frigid ocean tide—it is too difficult to ignore.

If she was right, bon dieu, if she was right...

“What troubles you, Marinette?”

Could it be this easy? she wonders, for the umpteenth time. If something's too good to be true, it usually is.

It's okay to be afraid, Tikki's sage voice floods her head then, overriding her doubts and lending her strength. Love is magic. Love is strength.

“What else?”

“I wonder if it might be the same thing that ails me.”

She gasps mockingly, “A boy?”

Marinette internally rejoices at the laugh she manages to wrangle from him. God, even his laugh!

Then, at the same time they utter, “Love?”

He nods, as if satisfied with their synchronization. She can hardly contain her beam. But the solemnity returns to his countenance and he asks her, “Are you in love, then?”

She nods, emphatically. “To the best guy I know. Next to you, of course.”

He looks so taken aback, she almost laughs. “Me?”

“Don't pretend you didn't know!” she points an accusing finger at him.

“Know? Know what? ”

“Oh my god,” it sinks in and she raises an incredulous brow. “You really didn't know?”

He throws his hands up in the air in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“Adrien,” she starts slowly, as if he were a skittish animal she didn't want to scare into bolting from her. “Up until two years ago, I was madly in love with you.”

He blinks.

“What—what— ”

“I'm not anymore, obviously,” she continues flippantly, biting her lip to hide her amused grin. He is turning a peculiar shade of red, the hues of which had only ever been displayed by her before.

“I'm in love with this guy, but,” she sobers when she returns to the heart of the matter. “I don't know,” she sighs, jerking frustratedly at one end of her right pigtail. “I think I blew it.”

For a while, he doesn't answer. The silence becomes so oppressively awkward, she contemplates leaving when he, at long last, replies.

“What makes you say that?”

It is a quiet thing, the way he phrases the question. But it is made all the more compelling for its lambency, when there is an overabundance of hope lining every letter and syllable. She senses her own hope rocketing straight to the heavens.

“He told me his feelings, and instead of reciprocating I,” she gulps, the shame of her actions threatening to pull her down to her demons as she recalls that dreadful day. “I turned him away.”

He seems lost in his thoughts too, but rises just enough to mumble, “Why?”

She closes her eyes.

This is it, she psyches herself again. This is really it.

“Because I was afraid. I had loved you for so long, you see, that I had grown so comfortable with the thought that whatever love I gave could never be returned. But then he did, god, he did and suddenly I was afraid that I would mess things up so badly and then eventually, I just wouldn't be enough. There were… other factors, I was afraid of,” she glosses over this, just in case she is wrong. But if she is right, then it seemed prudent he be aware of it, too. “But it's not an excuse. The point is, I'm tired of being afraid, you know?”

She turns back so that she is facing the keys and then she is looking him in the eye, dauntless and ready.

“I'm tired of being afraid,” she reiterates, before altogether deflating. “I want to tell him, really, I do. But how?

“How do I tell someone that he is the first person I think about the moment I wake for the day and the one who fills my dreams at night? How do I tell him that his arms around me bring me the sort of warmth no blanket, jacket or heater could ever replicate? That for me the sun rises and sets in his eyes? That if I were a moon then he was the planet with which I choose to gravitate around? That my whole world is centered around him? That his soul seems bound to mine? His name scrawled across my heart because it belongs to him?

“How do you tell someone you love them? ”

The words had been building for so long, she gasps the moment they are out, like she had been holding her breath for just as long as she had been holding them in.

When she sneaks a glance at Adrien, there is an air of serenity about him that she hopes, hopes, hopes, is born from the baring of her mind, heart and soul. She feels naked, but invigorated too, a certain potency in the vulnerability—especially when he looks at her like this, with commensurate admiration, her words playing in his mind's eye to echo to his very actions.

“I imagine it goes something like this.”

His fingers poise gracefully over the keys, and then they are flying, singing, painting— a captivating scenery of a boy cloaked in shadows and a girl with midnight hair, the moonlight as their surface and the open air their dome and how they find sanctuary in each other. It pierces their heady atmosphere, that beautiful and mysterious tune that had kept her going on the days when loneliness comminated to cripple her.

—that same melody Chat Noir would hum to her, in the exposure of her rooftop and the moonshine pooling at their feet.

It starts soft, tinkling... excited, before climaxing to something sorrowful and dejected. But then, the tone shifts, and it is enchanting, bringing with it hope and passion and the happy chimes of church bells and an infant's laughter and above all else… love.

The last note fades from the room though it reverberates all throughout her body, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. She is crying again but she doesn't bother to hide it, doesn't bother to reach for a tissue. Not when he is there, cradling her cheeks like she is a most cherished gem, and catching her tears before they can journey the length of her face.

“Mon Ange,” he whispers, breath lingering like a zephyr on her lips as he answers a question asked long ago. “It's called Mon Ange. ”

Only one person in the entire world would know to call her that.

But she dare not let herself believe, not until she too is cupping his face, her fingers splitting into diamonds around the sides of his eyes in a facsimile of a mask.

Those eyes, oh always his eyes…

(It should have been her first clue)

She gasps.

(She should have known better)

“Chat… you… you— ”

His hands retreat from her face only to deluge her own, hold her to him.

“Yes,” he sighs. “Yes, it's me.”

(She really, really should have known)

He rests his forehead on hers, and then she is laughing as she is crying, gazing at him in uninhibited astonishment.

“It's you,” she breathes, “it's always been you.”

His smile stretches the breadth of his face, it's any wonder it doesn't hurt his cheeks or fly right off his visage. It is then she remembers, with another laugh.

“I suppose…” he pouts when she withdraws but she, too, cannot contain her smiles when she opens her bag and reveals, “now is as good a time as any to tell you.”

Tikki floats placidly up to Adrien's blatantly jarred exterior and touches his nose in greeting.

“Hello, Adrien. I'm Tikki,” she giggles, tipping his jaw up with a paw before resuming her introductions. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

But before he can formulate a reply, something or rather, someone, is shouting, “Sugarcube!” and whizzing between them to collide right into her Kwami.

Plagg.

Tikki squeals, waving apologetically as Plagg whisks her away to the vents without so much as a by your leave.

Adrien has yet to say anything, and she grows worried at his lack of response.

“Adrien?” she waves a hand across his face. He captures it and holds on, tight. And she has a sneaking suspicion he thinks what he says next might be unpleasant to her and his grip is so she won't float away in the aftermath.

(She harrumphs. This is three years in the making, nothing could possibly make her leave now)

“So close,” are his first words.

“Okay…?”

“So close, I could have figured it out and we might have been together sooner!”

His eyes are dilated with regret, bordering on hysteria.

“The Valentine's day card, the one shaped in a heart with a poem written inside.”

She blushes. “Oh yeah,” she coughs to hide her embarrassment. “That.”

“It wasn't signed but I knew, I knew it was from Ladybug because it directly answered my poem for her—word per word. Then you! You left me a note with that assignment and I thought your handwriting looked a lot like the one of the poem's but I brushed it off because I could hardly believe it. I couldn't possibly be that lucky? I'm so used to disappointment, otherwise, it just became easier to accept that I couldn't deserve you… both of you.”

He trails off.

“And are you?”

“What?”

He seems feverish now at all the little hints she might have left that spoke of her admiration for him. She remembers Papa Garou and feels a little bad.

“Disappointed?”

He hugs her then, his arms around her a habitual balm that feels like coming home.

He feels like home.

“I couldn't be farther, Marinette. I've fallen in love with you, twice now. Once is coincidence but twice?” He hums. “Twice is a pattern.” He runs his nose along the arch of her neck, before rubbing it against the bridge of her own. “One I hope to make again,” he kisses her forehead, “and again,” her eyelid, “and again,” one cheek, “and again, ” then the other.

Pull, pull, pull.

There is that force again, the one that links them together, in a nature so insistent, she is a slave to its command. She finds herself clambering to his lap and anchoring her hands in his golden tendrils. He receives her weight with nary a blink of an eye, like they have done this countless times before.

Pull, pull, pull.

Like it is right.

“Well then,” she says, her lips hovering exhilaratingly close to his. “What do you suppose happens now?”

With her towering over him, his answer comes in the form of the crane of his head as he gives chase to the succulent curve of her smiling mouth.

But the day has other plans when the alarm rings and an announcement blares from the school speakers.

“AKUMA ALERT, AKUMA ALERT!”

They simultaneously turn their heads to the windows and it is there Adrien walks, carrying her all the while as he surveys whatever damage the Akuma might have all ready caused. It's an inappropriate thought given the circumstances but the way he doesn't even think about letting her go, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he hauls her to him with ease—it makes her quite dizzy.

(She's in love, okay? Sue her)

“Duty calls?”

He sighs. “Duty calls.”

She gets down on her feet, her body sliding in delicious thrills along his on the way to the ground. They let go of each other at the same time, calling for their Kwamis, suddenly shy.

“I'm gonna—”

“I'll be—”

He waves to one corner of the room while she gestures to the other.

“Right,” they trill jointly before laughing.

They move to their respectfully claimed parts of the room, Tikki giving her a wink before she calls out her magic words and hearing the tail end of Adrien's too.

When the magic settles, she turns. Seeing Chat Noir standing before her and knowing it is Adrien beneath the mask makes all the air leave her body while also breathing so much energy into her core.

It's real, she says to herself. He's real.

It restores her confidence and she is leaping into his arms for a hug, one that takes no time at all for him to reciprocate so deeply, she is lifted onto the tips of her toes.

Pull.

“I've waited for you my whole life," he sighs. "It’s reassuring somehow, to know. You were always with me.” He cups her head. “My lady,” he whispers into the corner of her mouth. “Mon ange.”

“Mon minou,” she murmurs in kind before conceding, “I'm scared.” It's a hard thing to admit but with him, it is as effortless as a heartbeat.

Pull.

He holds out his hand.

“I won't let go if you won't.”

Pull.

She grasps his hand, before twining their fingers, loving the weight of him in her palm like that of a steady promise.

Pull.

“Never.”

Because it is one, she understand now. And like all promises made by lovers, they seal it in the only way they know how.

Pull.

With a kiss.

AN: Hope you had fun! Tell me what you think! :)

Also, come say hi to me!

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #marichat #adrinette #marichat ff #adrinette ff #fluff #angst #with a happy ending #listen to the music of the night series #swishandflickwit ff

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theatredirectors · 6 years

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Katherine M. Carter

Hometown?

Oakland County, Michigan.

Where are you now?

I call Harlem home but travel about half the year. I can live out of a carry-on for five weeks.

What's your current project?

New Year, New Plays. In January, I am collaborating with two of my favorite playwrights, Monet Hurst-Mendoza and Jacqueline Goldfinger. Monet and I will mount a production of her play BLIND CREST at the American Academy of Dramatic Art as part of the New Works Festival. We’ve developed the play in several readings over the past two years and are both looking forward to getting into the room.

Jacqueline and I are spending two days at Westport Country Playhouse working on her play CLICK in their 2018 New Works Circle. My favorite thing about this opportunity is that there is no final staged reading; we can present whatever we’ve worked to a closed audience. That freedom to truly play for two days is a gift to the new play process.

Why and how did you get into theatre?

How: Music and theatre were a huge part of my childhood. My mom, Sue, majored in music at the University of Michigan, and my dad, Steve, took me on daddy-daughter date nights to see musicals in Detroit. I sang in choir and starred in my first grade musical, but I was shy. Performing in shows didn’t come into play until 6th grade when I had a fantastic teacher, Mary Bogrette, at Bloomfield Hills Middle School. That year, I auditioned for the performing arts team, forensics, which set off a domino effect that would alter my plans to become an Olympic figure skater.

Why did I audition for that forensics team? That is a tale as old as time. I had a huge crush on my best friend Adam. In sixth grade, he wanted to try out, and asked me to be his scene partner. Adam gave up theatre when we got to high school, but by that point I had found my calling. Before you ask, yes, Adam does know this story.

What is your directing dream project?

My directing dream project includes a riveting story that screams to be told by a playwright whose voice should be amplified; an inquisitive design team and me, building a world through collaboration; a committed cast with a sense of humor and work ethic; all supported by a producing organization that engages with its community. I’ve been lucky to work on several dream projects and look forward to many more.

What kind of theatre excites you?

I go to the theatre to be inspired to be a better human and artist. There is no better feeling than walking away from a performance questioning, surprised, delighted, pleased, humbled, moved--and ideally, several of these. I love walking away from a performance and saying to myself, “YES! THAT IS WHY I DO THIS! THAT IS WHY ART IS IMPORTANT!”, then calling one of my favorite artists to say “you must see this show.”

Consuming art in all forms is important as artists. Seeing a show or painting that you hated, and identifying why you responded that way, is just as important as the aforementioned response. I’ve recently started noting my response to art in the moment in an effort to clarify my point of view. This practice has been a great tool in understanding the subjectivity of what we do. Give it a try! Go to the Met, look at art, and just note what you responded to and what you didn’t; can you tie it to a theme? Are there artists you like more or less than others? Why?

I’m working on eliminating the word “interesting” from my vocabulary. One of my mentors, Roger Danforth, says “interesting is a nothing word.” It is! When I feel the urge to call something “interesting,” I ask myself why to dig a little deeper into my reaction. This has led to more exciting post-show dialogue.

What do you want to change about theatre today?

More women, more colors, more voices. Standing around and saying, “Oh yeah, we should hire more X” is not acceptable--the time for action is now. As directors, we can make an impact: champion plays of voices you want to hear; when you are casting, widen your view of who can play that role; ensure that the story you are telling onstage is represented in the rehearsal room and design team. The excuse of “well, we just couldn’t find that person” is null and void. The best thing we can do is look at ourselves, see where we are falling short, and be the change.

What is your opinion on getting a directing MFA?

My motto is “You Do You.” Do you thrive in a school environment? Awesome. Go get it. Do you want to assist? Fabulous. Do you want to create a sub-genre of theatre in your basement? Love it. As long as you aren’t hurting anyone--go make!

Who are your theatrical heroes?

The leadership and vision of Kit McKay and Erin Anderson Whiting of Parallel 45, continually inspire me. A theatre company in Traverse City, Michigan, Parallel 45 believes that by engaging in public and collective acts of imagination, the theatre helps us remember where we have been, understand where we are today, and examine where we are going.

I admire Kit and Erin for their vision, work ethic, commitment to audience, continued support of partnerships, and overall badass-ness in creating a theatre for a community they believe in. However, the most impressive leadership they exhibited was in their choice to completely restructure their organization to better fit the needs of the community. In changing from a regular September-May season to a summertime season (complete with a new physical space, apprentice artist program, and productions performed in repertory), they have taken a big artistic risk. On top of that, they are taking two seasons off to focus on fully developing and raising funds for this brand new direction.

Whenever I am tempted to take the easy, well-traveled road, I think of these two women and am reminded the stronger course is never the more comfortable option.

Extra shout-out to Houston Grand Opera for their resilience after Hurricane Harvey. Bravi Tutti!

Any advice for directors just starting out?

Find fuels your artistic tank. As directors, we give a lot of ourselves to the process; it’s draining. Learn what you need to be your best self in the room--DO IT. And never judge it.

Fun fact about me: I live for mystery and crime stories. From podcasts to novels, I can’t get enough. I find the study of horrific crimes and the people behind them completely fascinating. Consuming these stories as I unwind gives my brain the active recovery I need after a day of creating. They are my favorite way to wind down. No judgments.

In the motto category, my favorites are:

● There is no right way, only the path in front of you.

● There is enough work; lift others up. Nobody ever got a job from tearing someone down.

● The theatre world is small, and kindness costs you nothing. So be kind. Regret and jealousy get you nowhere.

● Good work begets good work.

● Surround yourself with a community of people who will ride into battle with you without question, who push you to do better, and who will always show up.

● And remember: a directing career is a marathon, not a sprint.

Plugs!

Combining my love for both new work and my home state of Michigan, I co-founded the MITTEN Lab.

The MITTEN Lab (Michigan Incubator for Theatre Talent Emerging Now) is an artist residency located in Northern Michigan aimed at providing early-career theatre artists with the time, space, and support to develop new theatrical works and engage with the local landscape.

For the first time we are opening submissions to the public for our 2018 weeklong theatre residency. Connect with us on Facebook or Instagram (@themittenlab), or our website when our portal opens, and let others know!

Check out my website for more information about my work.

Photo by Kristin Hoebermann

#Katherine Carter #ask a director #theatre director

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darklingichor · 7 years

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Gilmore Girls Ep. 18-20

Racing the storm here but I wanted to get episodes 18, 19, and 20 out of the way. I am terming these three episodes “The Rage Trilogy”. If ever there was a time that I was going to turn this show off and curse the creators’ names to the muses Calliope and Thalia* it was when I was watching these episodes. However, I am not going to beaten by a show where two of the most emotionally stable people are a couple who needed cooking oil to get their 30-something cat out from under the house.

*The Greek muses of epic poetry and comedy. Those names have been rattling around in my head since I took a Greek history class and I finally get to use them. All right! My student loan debt is justified!

Episode 18 – Again, let get the stuff out of the way that I liked. I liked that Paris went to Rory for her date prep. Paris has a kind of vulnerability and I think that Rory is good for her. Much better than the bubble-head twins. I get why Paris was angry when she found out that Rory talked Tristan into going out with her. Rory was playing a dangerous game there; all be it a well-intentioned one. But, you can’t tell me the that Tristan was innocent. If that douche canoe didn’t realize that that information would upset Paris, I am seriously doubting the education these kids are getting. I liked Emily being twisted up by her mother- in- law. I loved any scene with Michel. Ditto for anything Sookie says. That’s it.

The rest – yeah, so wanted to slap everyone and it was exacerbated by the fact that this episode has NO LUKE.

I couldn’t get mad about Trix. She’s the standard stock rich relative/ mother-in-law character you see in every show. Annoying, but to be expected. But Emily and Lorelai? They need a fucking time-out.

Frist off, can Emily be more manipulative? Planting all of those doubts in Lorelai’s head because she didn��t want to lose her hold on her? This just confirms what I’ve been thinking for a while. Those dinners might as well be hostage situations!

Seriously, she’s acting like a Bond villain. I’m half expecting her to shackle Lorelai and Rory to the dinner table and announce that the Friday Night Dinners were really just a ploy to get the secret stash of plutonium that is located under Stars Hollow and Sookie’s Magic Risotto recipe. The cost of Chilton was a small price to pay for world domination and risotto based immortality!

Emily would rather ruin her granddaughter’s opportunity for a comfortable future just so she can continue to erode her daughter’s self-worth? No wonder Lorelai would only spend time with her if she had to. Why would anyone willingly submit to that kind of abuse? It’s like paying for someone to continuously kick you in the head when that really isn’t your thing.

Emily’s about 85% evil, we knew this; and while it is frustrating to see her emotionally flip-flop like a dying carp, I should expect her to be a raging bitch. However, this is the first time I’ve been pissed at Lorelai.

I knew she could be selfish, but I didn’t know she could be THIS selfish. She knows that Rory wouldn't blow through the trust fund money but she doesn’t want to take it because she doesn’t want Rory to leave?

WHAT?

I mean, I get it, I’m supposed to see a parallel between Lorelai and Emily, but it’s stupid!

One, at this point she and Rory have a good relationship. Rory would have no reason to run away like Lorelai did. Two, so what if Rory goes to Europe without her? Yeah, it would suck and it would hurt but that is not a reason to turn down the opportunity to have your daughter’s schooling paid for!

“Let’s not set up your future, Rory because I might be left out when you go have fun.”

Yeah, that’s not irresponsible and absolutely trucks with the character who is putting her mental health at risk so her kid can have the best education she can get. I’m surprised Sookie didn’t slap her and tell her to get her head out of her ass!

This episode was insane and put me on a low simmer, the next episode turned up the heat.

Episode 19 – This episode should have been called Lorelai is the Victim of Passive-Aggressive Behavior. Granted after the last episode I was almost willing to see it, but it wore pretty thin.

What is with this Rachel chick? Why did she put a picture of Lorelai and Luke in front of them and ask Luke entrapment questions? Does she think she’s being subtle? Just talk to your boyfriend! Though I did like that she seems to appreciate that Lorelai puts the effort in to keep her and Luke together.

As before, prior to getting to the part that made smoke come out of my ears, I’ll look at the happy making stuff.

If Rune is going to be a reoccurring character, I hope we get more back and forth between him and Michel. A sarcastic desk clerk and a humorless handy-man? I smell a sitcom!

As always Sookie was adorable and so was Lane.

I loved that Rachel took Lorelai to The Dragonfly and that Lorelai and Sookie are envisioning the future.

The back and forth between Luke and Lorelai was gold, but he is doing a poor job of hiding how desperately in love with her he is. It is also sweet that we get more glimpses into Luke’s sentimental side. He lives in his dad’s old office, and I am willing to bet that those frilly curtains were picked out by his mom, grandmother, or sister.

And now, another look at Emily’s “How Petty Can I Be?” log.

See that daughter lived in a shed with granddaughter. Rather than examine why my teenaged daughter with a baby found this preferable to living with me, spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars to design granddaughter a room. This room is not a good-will gesture, the purpose is to encourage a rift between daughter and granddaughter.

Petty Level: 2000

Excellent.

Seriously, is Emily twelve years old?! Think about the concentrated passive aggressiveness it took to make that room just to shove the past in Lorelai’s face. It is almost frightening.

You know, I thought she was being sweet at first? I figured that Rory already had a room at her grandparent’s house. Seemed reasonable in a house that big. I thought that seeing where they use to live made Emily think that since she can’t go back in time and make Lorelai comfortable, she could make Rory comfortable. This was why I think it was weird for Lorelai. Everything in her childhood had to be a reflection of Emily. I got that idea early on. At the twin wedding when she relates to the little girl who was told that she couldn’t mess up her dress. She couldn’t be herself. I would put money on the idea that those posters up in Lorelai’s room lead to an argument between her and Emily. So the fact that Emily decorated a room to Rory’s taste was unexpected. She even apologized for not being more delighted.

But no, this wasn’t a nice thing for Rory, this was yet another way to rag on her daughter. I get it, she was hurt by the fact that Lorelai ran away and would have rather lived in a shed. But shouldn’t she have asked herself why?

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all Emily and Richard’s fault but instead of just throwing up her hands and declaring that Lorelai is unfathomable and her actions insane, maybe look at why a little rich girl would rather be a maid and work her ass off to support herself and her kid, than live at home where all of her and her baby’s needs will be met. Could it possibly have anything to do with how you treated her? And the fact that she didn’t want you to treat her daughter that way?

Add to this that Emily seems to have a long-term plan to drive a wedge between Lorelai and Rory so Lorelai can be hurt like she was. This is really sinister considering she’s doing this shit to hurt her daughter and isn’t considering the fact that her granddaughter will be hurt too.

At this point, I hate her so much and am trying to figure out if we later find out that she has been a serial killer all this time because these are the actions of someone who is calculating enough to be criminally insane!

Episode 20 – Although there were parts that I really liked in this episode (Lorelai buying Rachel’s presents and clothes for Luke) I’m not even going to look at them because this episode turned me into angry Hades from Disney’s Hercules.

Okay, Rory’s stressed. I don’t do romantic relationships but I understand that one ending is devastating, especially for a teenager. I was the organizer of too many ice cream sessions and on the other end of the phone for too much sobbing (all the while planning the downfall of the person who made my friend cry like that) not to know that heartbreak feels like it sounds.

She was at her breaking point, I understand. That being said, here’s how that situation would have gone if I were Lorelai.

Rory left without leaving a note, which is something weird for her. Sure we argued but my first thought would not be that she left, my first thought would have been that she didn’t make it home. Cops would have been called.

I would have asked Max if anything happened at school. He would have told me about him butting in. I would put a pin in that and talk to him about it later.

The conversation with Emily would have ended with me talking to Rory because I would not have put up with that smug, self-satisfied tone and her telling me I can’t talk to my kid.

After talking to Rory and telling her she can stay the night if she wants (she needs to cool down), and calling the cops and my search party to let them know that she’s safe, my next call would be to Trix.

I would tell her that Emily crossed a line, that I no longer want to be indebted to her. Talk her around, it won’t be hard considering how much Trix doesn’t like Emily.

The trust fund would be set up under the condition that only money for school related costs can be taken out for the first year, this includes paying Emily and Richard the loan back.

When Rory came home: I would talk to her. Tell her that Max was way out of line talking to her about Dean. (Seriously, does this man not understand “time and place”?) That I was sorry for not telling her about Max. She can talk about Dean if she needs to and that I understand she’s hurting and that she needed space.

However, you do not just run off! You leave a note; you make a call. I don’t care if we had an argument. I don’t care if you lost your voice and your fingers fell off, send a telegram with your nose if you have to just get in touch.

Then, Grounded into Oblivion.

At least when Lane went out she didn’t leave town and was planning on coming home.

As soon as everything with the trust fund was set up I would call Emily and tell her that because she thought it was her right to almost gleefully (she really sounded happy, it was disgusting) deny me the ability to talk to my daughter while I cried from absolute terror, the agreement was canceled, the dinners would stop and a check would be in the mail.

I would also tell her that while I wouldn’t keep her from seeing Rory, she better damn well understand that it is not within her rights to call the shots when it comes to her. For as long as Rory is grounded, Emily and Richard can come to Stars Hollow but they will respect me in my own house or out they go.

This episode made me so angry. I hate the fact that both Rory and Emily got out of this consequence free. I hate the fact that Lorelai was never told that Max talked to Rory. I hate the fact Max butting into Rory’s personal life, in school no less, didn’t lead to an argument between him and Lorelai. That was really inappropriate and certainly not something the mother’s “kinda, sorta boyfriend” should do.

I hate the fact that even in Lorelai’s little love speech it still came off that it the break up was Rory’s fault. Dean gets off the hook ‘cause he says he loves her? Um, no. He was the asshole’s asshole. You don’t pressure someone like that and then dump them because you tried to dictate their emotions and it didn’t work. That’s a really nasty thing to do and you don’t get to be the victim because you “love” them.

Doesn’t anyone get that if Rory would have said it back after all of the pressure he put on her, it wouldn’t have counted? It is like a confession given under duress, meaningless. And the people who forced the confession, way out of line.

Seriously, I was ready to give up on the show after this episode, I was that pissed. However, I do like the other characters and would like to see how it pans out. I also figure it couldn’t have gone seven seasons and gotten a revival if one of the main characters were consistently and delightedly evil all of the time.

Tomorrow is the last episode of the season and then: Once more into the breech for Season Two.

#gilmore girls #rambles

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