I think a lot of what Ethan does can be understood better if we remember the man is a magician, he loves his magic tricks.
And the key to a good magic trick is misdirection. Don’t look at this hand with the card, look at this hand instead.
So while Ethan is out there, very obviously getting into all kinds of wild stunts, what he’s doing is saying ‘hey, look at me, follow me, be scared of me. Don’t look over there’
And often, over there is Benji. Benji has the key, the hostage. Has run off with the team to meet him on the ice. Is back at base watching everything that happens.
It’s all one big magic trick sometimes - Ethan is the shiny distraction, Benji is the actual cards. Look at me, Ethan says. Ignore the man in the corner.
Although of course, the distracting hand is also spinning the cards and making it appear and disappear and pulling off part of the trick.
(Sometimes I wonder if the movies are the same - hey, look at this amazing stunt! Don’t look at the themes of love and devotion and even obsession between Ethan and Benji - they’re there, but only for those that know the trick)
He honestly hadn’t named the terms of the bet with any sort of… unsavory motive in mind. Shinji had just been so against the idea of putting on a yukata that Akihiko could think of no funnier penalty for losing such a stupid wager.
And in his defense, he was right about that. Watching Shinji sulk about it is more than a little bit hilarious. But Akihiko also finds himself faced with an unforeseen problem–
Namely, that it turns out Shinji wears a yukata really, really well. Unfairly well, in a way that makes it difficult to pay attention to anything else.
Listening to the guys in his class hype themselves up over the idea of girls in yukata, even just the simple ones provided by the hotel, Akihiko had written it off as dumb exaggeration and posturing– just more of the same old hot air. They saw these girls six days a week at school, could the prospect of seeing them in a different outfit than usual really be worth all that excitement?
It absolutely could, as it turns out. It’s ridiculous, and criminal, and even a little infuriating how good Shinji looks. How the hell is he supposed to deal with this?
He thinks back to the night Shinji had fallen asleep on his lap, and how he’d mused that Shinji wouldn’t look out of place in the pages of Miki’s old storybooks.
He’d had no idea just how right he was, and now the living, breathing proof of it is driving him to distraction. And there’s no one to blame for it but himself, either. Actions have consequences, and his seem to be downright gleeful about the opportunity to come back around and bite him.
Adjusting the yukata had been as much of a bid to preserve his own sanity as a chance to annoy Shinji. Just the fact that he needed to is maddening. Why should it matter to him how much of Shinji’s collar bone is on display? What reason could he possibly have to suddenly find the geography of his sternum so fascinating?
It’s not even as though he hasn’t seen Shinji without a shirt on before. He’s seen that incredibly recently even, and it hadn’t affected him this way. He’d remained perfectly capable of stringing together thoughts other than–
Well.
Other than the kind he’s been dwelling on this evening. Apparently, literally being unable to avoid thinking about that sort of thing wasn’t just locker-room nonsense, either.
(Who is he trying to fool within the sanctity of his own head, he wonders? He’d already known that– he’s known it since July. But at least back then there had been… mitigating circumstances. Mitigating circumstances that he will not allow himself to think about or remember, because maintaining his composure is enough of a struggle as it is.)
It’s not like he can go back on the terms of the bet, either– not at this point. If he tried, there’s not a doubt in his mind that Shinji would continue to wear the yukata just to spite him. Not only that, but it would raise far too many questions that Akihiko absolutely cannot and will not answer.
So his only option is to suck it up and deal with it. It will be fine. He’s dealt with far worse things than embarrassment. He just has to make it through two more days (not even two full days!) and then he won’t have to think about it anymore.
He’s spiraled so far into his internal labyrinth that the nudge to his side feels like walking face-first into a brick wall. He’s too surprised to even jump, instead just blinking owlishly over at Shinji.
When he seems sure he’s caught Akihiko’s eye (little does he know), Shinji inclines his head towards the window that looks out on the courtyard. Akihiko follows the line of his gaze, wondering exactly what he’s getting at.
Mitsuru and Takeba (not a pair he would have expected to see) are chatting together on the lawn. There’s a brief moment where Akihiko’s thoughts turn into radio static and he feels on the verge of short-circuiting, because Mitsuru also looks wonderful in a yukata, and he just can’t catch a break tonight, can he–?
And then he registers that Mitsuru is smiling, is laughing at something Takeba just said– and god, that’s wonderful to see, too.
“What do you think happened there?” Shinji asks.
“I…” Akihiko can’t even begin to speculate. “No idea, but… she looks happy.”
Both of them do– far happier than he’s seen either of them look in quite some time.
“Yeah.” There’s a subtle smile on Shinji’s face too. He can’t hide his relief, or he’s not even trying to. He looks the way Akihiko feels– his expression warm and open, softening his features. “I dunno what Takeba did, but I feel like I oughta thank her.”
“Same here.”
It’s odd, finding himself so grateful toward Takeba. The hostility she’d harbored against Mitsuru has ebbed quite a bit since July, especially since the night Mitsuru had lost her father; but truth be told Akihiko has still been holding onto his own bitterness about the stunt Takeba had pulled just before their trip to Yakushima. Calling Mitsuru out in front of everyone, putting her guilt on display like that–
But if Takeba’s really managed to help lift Mitsuru out of her sorrow, Akihiko thinks he could forgive her for just about anything.
Shinji’s awakened Persona finally makes his debut! Hector of Troy!
Hector was the crown prince of Troy during the events of The Iliad, and the elder brother of Paris and the cursed prophetess Cassandra, as well as a number of other siblings (between sixty and as many as eighty-three other siblings, depending on what source you’re looking at).
He was the leader of the Trojan army and respected as a great warrior by both his own people and the enemy Greeks. Under his command, the Trojan army holds off the Greek siege of the city for nine years. Ultimately he dies in battle against Achilles, and The Iliad closes on his funeral.
Even more than his battle prowess, however, he was known for simply being a good man. He was frequently described as noble and dutiful, and as someone who valued peace despite his skill as a fighter. He was noted as being kindhearted as well– during his funeral, Helen (you might have heard of her) says that he was the only person in Troy who still showed her kindness despite her role in catalyzing the war.
He’s also especially well known for being a family man– one of his most well-known scenes in The Iliad involves him comforting his wife Andromache and their son Astyanax as he prepares to leave for the battle that they both know he won’t survive. His son– who is only about a year old– gets frightened by the war helm Hector is wearing and only calms down when Hector removes it and comforts him, saying a prayer for him to grow up brave and strong and to make his mother proud.
When coming up with Hector’s design as a Persona, we wanted him to still be mounted, since the horse is such a unique element of Castor’s design and we wanted that bit of continuity, and also as a nod to the most famous of Hector’s epithets: “tamer of horses.”
This particular detail goes undescribed by Minato’s narration, but Hector’s mount tapers off into a shape reminiscent of an amphora, reflecting how Castor’s tapered off into a single hoof.
The helmet he carries is a reference to the scene between Hector and his son described above, and it being shaped like a horse skull is another reference to the “tamer of horses” epithet. He’s armed with a shield and spear as he is most frequently depicted in The Iliad and in contemporary art. Similar to how Caesar in canon/Cincinnatus in this fic have different animations when using physical or magic skills, Hector does as well: when using a physical skill, he points the spear at the target; when using an SP skill (so… Debilitate, and only Debilitate lol) he raises the helmet aloft.
Lastly, his color scheme, aside from the bronze elements, is based off of red figure pottery like this:
(incidentally, this particular piece depicts the scene of Hector and his son with the helmet)
In gameplay, there would be a plot-mandated level up for Hector after the battle against that Shadow, and he would learn Enduring Soul at this point (survive a hit that would have been a KO and restore to full health).
His affinities would change slightly– he doesn’t become outright immune to anything, but he gains resistances to Strike and Slash damage, and also gains a weakness to Pierce.
He also gets a new Theurgy of course!
Return from Elysium: Any party member that is KO’ed after the Theurgy is activated is granted one auto-revive with full HP restoration, 25% SP restoration, and Heat Riser. It doesn’t revive party members who are already KO’ed when it’s activated, and it takes a lot out of Shinji to use it– he has a one turn cooldown after casting it before he can take another action in battle, and it can only be used once in any given battle. (But really, you shouldn’t need it more than once lol)
The name and general idea of the Theurgy was actually inspired by one of Shinjiro’s passive abilities in Persona Q: Return from Yomi, which has a chance of healing when his HP falls below a certain threshold.
YES, it IS INDEED hella broken even with the limitations we put on it! Shinji can have a ridiculously overpowered Theurgy. As a little treat. He’s earned it, and we think it’s appropriate that his final limit break is his only healing move :)
(and listen if Ken can have his busted as hell Theurgy, then so can our boy Shinji)
Aragaki keeps pace with him pretty well, all things considered. It isn’t long at all before they’re back at the school gate. Minato’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach at the sight of what waits beyond it.
The Shadow glitters wetly in the moonlight; little flashes of poison green as its surface roils and crawls with worms. Minato can’t tell if the Shadow is just covered in them, or if its entire enormous mass is nothing but thousands of tiny squirming bodies all the way down.
At least a dozen limbs sprout from the main body, apparently at random; each so thin and spindly that even with so many of them it doesn’t look like they should be capable of dragging all that bulk around.
The Shadow doesn’t seem to have noticed them yet. It meanders around the courtyard, burbling and muttering to itself as the undersized hands at the end of each limb patter and feel along the bricks. It’s docile for now, but he knows it won’t stay that way once they allow it to spot them.
“What the hell?” Aragaki sounds repulsed to the point of fascination. “That– what is that? I've never seen a Shadow like that before.”
“I have,” Minato murmurs. Memory floods back, Takaya’s smooth voice explaining the twisted way this kind of Shadow comes into being.
Can you imagine it? A Persona-user murdered by their other half…
Such is the fate of a Persona that has gone berserk.
“It’s not a Full Moon Shadow, right? There’s no way.”
“No.” Minato shakes his head. “Worse.”
“The hell do you mean, ‘worse’? You know what that thing is?”
Minato has the urge to cover his mouth with his hand, as though he can stuff the careless words back inside. He isn’t sure this is something that Aragaki will take very well.
“Arisato.”
“It’s…” He swallows hard, bracing himself. “It’s what happens to a Persona that kills its user. That’s what it turns into.”
Aragaki’s expression remains set and stoic, but even in the sickly Dark Hour light it’s easy to see the color drain from his face. Aragaki fixes his gaze on the Shadow, and Minato knows he must be picturing Castor bloated and misshapen like this. Would there be anything recognizable left about him? Minato isn’t sure whether or not that would be worse.
Fuuka makes a small, despairing noise in the back of his head. Aragaki must have heard it too, and he seems to take it as his cue to snap himself out of whatever spiral he’d started going down. He shakes his head and narrows his eyes intently at the monstrous thing.
“How dangerous is it?”
Minato isn’t sure how to answer that question. He hadn’t really had much of a chance to gauge the strength of the one he’d faced alongside Takaya.
“It’s fairly powerful,” Fuuka reports. “On par with the Shadows found in Monad. I haven’t completed my analysis yet, but I know so far that it resists ice, wind, and fire. I think– it probably resists all kinds of elemental damage. I recommend physical attacks.”
Aragaki grimaces. Neither of them say it, but neither of them really have to: they could really use his Persona’s abilities right about now.
“I’ll run distraction,” Aragaki says. His tone makes it clear that there’s no way Minato will be able to dissuade him. “Hope you’ve got something good in there.” He taps the side of his head lightly.
“Uh– yeah.” It may not be the strongest Minato’s ever wielded, but Koumokuten is the best physical Persona in his arsenal at the moment. “Just…please be careful.”
“Take your own advice.” Aragaki brushes him off easily. Minato bristles.
“I mean it, Aragaki-senpai. That’s an order.”
Aragaki levels a cold stare at him. Minato matches it. He won’t budge, not about something like this.
Eventually Aragaki softens and nods. “Yeah, alright. Whatever you say, Leader.”
Aragaki slips past the gate first, taking soft creeping steps and keeping as much as he can to the cover of the trees lining the courtyard. He draws his evoker, and even from this distance Minato doesn’t miss the way it trembles in his hand. Is he going to try again, or is it just as a contingency?
He catches Minato’s eye and nods, and as Minato draws his own evoker Aragaki steps out into the open, bringing his boot down with a loud, deliberate snap.
The Shadow perks at the sound. Some of its wiggling surface shifts, parting to form two deep wells like hollow eye sockets. Faint white lights bloom inside, blurring and sharpening like a camera lens being focused. Below its makeshift eyes it splits open again into a dark, cavernous mouth.
With the Shadow’s attention fixed on Aragaki, Minato starts to slink around behind it.
He’s not sure what goes wrong. He’s being every bit as stealthy as Aragaki had been, or at least he thinks he is. It doesn’t seem to matter. Now that the Shadow is on the alert, apparently its senses are a lot more honed.
Almost the moment he crosses through the gate, the Shadow– well, it doesn’t turn toward Minato so much as its face simply opens up on the side of its body that’s facing him. It moves so fast that Minato barely has time to register being spotted before it’s already hit him– a blunt coil of writhing shapes punching out at unthinkable speed to catch him so hard in the solar plexus that he’s knocked clean off his feet.
Between the blow itself and the crash landing there isn’t a single gasp of air left in his lungs. The back of his head bounces off the unforgiving pavement and fireworks of ugly, mottled colors burst across his vision.
Faintly, past the theremin squeal between his ears, Minato hears Fuuka cry out and Aragaki curse. The Shadow presses its advantage, hammering down on him with that long, fleshy tendril. Minato just manages to bring his arms up in time to dampen some of the impact. Something cracks in his left forearm, overflowing red-hot pain that floods up to his collarbone and down to the very tips of his fingers. He feels like his brain is spinning inside his skull.
Fuuka’s voice in his mind’s eye– mind’s ear? – is frantic.
“I’m alright,” Minato croaks. He has no idea if that logically follows as a response to what Fuuka was saying– he couldn’t catch a single actual word of it. He’s also very much not alright, but he’s still drawing breath, so he’s better off than he could be. He rolls onto his good side and tries to sit up– the ground slews sideways in one direction and his center of gravity slingshots in the other. Thick, sludgy nausea sloshes around in his gut.
A sharp whistle rings out– the sound like a metal dart lancing through Minato’s eardrum.
“Hey! This way!” The Shadow’s looming aura retreats in the direction of Aragaki’s voice. “I’m the one you came sniffing around lookin’ for!”
“Just hold on! I’m going to call the others!” Fuuka says, tinny with panic. Or that’s possibly still just Minato’s head ringing.
“Wait–” he manages to choke out. “Not yet–”
Finally he gets his vision to re-focus on Aragaki, breathing hard through clenched teeth as the Shadow hauls itself towards him. His eyes are squeezed shut, his evoker drawn– poised and ready to fire.
“I know– I haven’t been the most reliable.” Aragaki’s free hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “I need to do better, and I need you to have my back…!”
This is the third time he’s gone on one of these one-man field trips into the Dark Hour, but Shinjiro’s hands are still shaking just as much as they had on his first attempt. The barrel of the evoker trembles against his temple. He screws his eyes shut, drags a breath in through his teeth and holds it.
It explodes back out of his lungs in something between a sigh and a snarl. He lets his hand fall to his side and his head flop backwards, glaring at the sky. The neon moon seems to smirk back.
What the hell is wrong with him?
He’s done this a million times before. Even after two years of rejecting his Persona– two years that should have wiped out any desensitization to the idea of pointing a gun at his head– he’d been able to pull the trigger with barely a second thought the moment he was back in the fray. It had been so easy, like slipping into a well-worn jacket.
So why… Why can’t he do it now?
That space in the back of his head is just as occupied as it’s ever been, even though the relative quiet of the new tennant is so different from Castor’s constant demands for attention that sometimes it’s easy to forget it’s there. The presence radiates a sense of calm reassurance, but other than that, it seems to prefer a hands-off approach to being supportive.
It doesn’t communicate with words, but Shinjiro picks up on the distinct impression of ‘this is something you’ve got to do for yourself.’
Which would be a lot easier to swallow if he could actually do it.
“Come on, goddammit, come on–” he growls, raising the evoker again, jamming it against his temple even harder like that’s going to help somehow. The barrel digs into his skin, threatening to bruise. Aki’ll give him hell if he spots it.
Then it’s a good thing there’s a really simple way to avoid that entire headache, isn’t it? Just pull the fucking trigger.
His index finger twitches.
It should be easy. It is easy. All he has to do is–
A flashbulb image sears against his eyelids: Takaya, with his oily voice and even greasier smile and his smug serenity. That goddamned hand-cannon of his, aimed at him and Amada. The barrel, round and dark like a glaring pupil. Thunderclap pain tearing him apart.
His scars ache just thinking about it.
This isn’t the same thing at all. An evoker isn’t a gun, he knows this. There’s not even a place to load bullets into.
Aigis, training her guns at him and staring with empty eyes. Being frozen in place and helpless and alone as his life flashed before his eyes–
He clenches his teeth against the growing burn in his side and shoulder.
It’s not the same thing. Kirijo had explained– or tried to explain– how it worked, once. Something about electric impulses and sound and neurons. No bullets. No lead, no black powder.
Ikutsuki and his gun, and Kirijo-san with his. Shinjiro, chained up. A literal captive audience. Nothing aimed at him but still feeling like he was going to die just hearing the explosive duet–
It doesn’t matter that he knows it’s not a gun. It’s not about that.
The evoker clatters to the ground and Shinjiro crashes down with it. He can barely hold himself up on his knees, clutching desperately at the mostly-healed scars that suddenly feel fresh and raw. Agony screams along his nerves and wraps around his throat, choking him out.
So this is how it is, huh? Shinjiro laughs, and he sounds broken and unhinged. God he’s pathetic.
“Senpai!”
Shinjiro’s attention snaps toward the voice– Arisato’s voice? What the hell is Arisato doing here? Two Arisato’s according to his swimming vision, dangling upside-down and sprinting to his side from opposite corners of the skyline. He tries to force his eyes to uncross and gets nothing for the trouble but a lurch of dizziness.
“Your wounds–” Arisato drops to his knees beside him, his hands hovering nervously over Shinjiro’s. There’s a sharp and panicky edge to his voice that Shinjiro’s never heard from him before. “Is– did they–?”
“It’s fine,” Shinjiro grits out, but he doesn’t resist when Arisato drags his hands out of the way to check for himself whether there’s any blood seeping through his sweater. “Nothin’ reopened. It’s just…phantom pains.”
He’s had them before, but it’s never been this bad. His doctors had explained it to him before he was discharged, though hell if Shinjiro can remember all of the psychology mumbo-jumbo. He’d been starting to think they’d blown their warnings completely out of proportion. Serves him right, he guesses.
Arisato seems to understand without needing any more explanation, which is great because Shinjiro really isn’t in either the state or the mood to play schoolteacher right now.
“We should get you up off the ground,” Arisato says, already hauling Shinjiro’s good arm over his shoulder and bracing himself to take on as much of Shinjiro’s weight as he needs to.
This whole thing where he needs to have somebody scrape his ass off of the pavement is getting really old, really fast.
“Let’s go.” Arisato only sounds a little out of breath. “Somewhere we don’t have to worry as much about Shadows, you know–”
Fuuka muses on how strange it is that the evening can feel so cozy, with everything that happened not even a week ago. It’s a good kind of strange, though.
Arisato-kun and Aragaki-senpai sit on either side of her on the couch as the three of them watch the Family Cooking Show together. Koro-chan snoozes on the floor in front of them, lying across both Fuuka and Aragaki-senpai’s feet. One little paw stretches behind him to touch Arisato-kun’s foot, too.
At first it had just been Fuuka and Koro-chan. It had been a surprise when Aragaki-senpai sat to her right, greeting her with a nod and Koro-chan with a light scratch between his ears. Arisato-kun had approached not long after to discuss going to Tartarus tonight, and as she had messaged the group to let them know to prepare he’d settled himself to her left.
Fuuka wishes that she had thought to bring a pen and paper from her school bag down with her, or perhaps her laptop. She’ll never be able to remember everything without any way to take notes. The recipe seems quite complicated to Fuuka, but the hostess breezes through each step effortlessly.
Of course some of that surely has to do with the series of clever little appliances she’s using, moving smoothly from one to the next as though the counter was an assembly line. It all looks so wonderfully efficient.
Aragaki-senpai makes a vague sound in his throat. He doesn’t seem nearly as impressed as Fuuka.
Fuuka wilts a little. It might just be because devices like that fascinate her as a general rule, but it is a little disappointing that Aragaki-senpai doesn’t think they’re worth it.
Her initial reaction to the prospect is delight. Aragaki-senpai’s cooking is some of the best she’s ever had– she couldn’t ask for a better teacher!
She has to temper that excitement by reminding herself of the practical realities of the situation. She can’t imagine how frustrating Aragaki-senpai would probably find it to teach someone who’s as much of a novice as she is… He isn’t the most patient person in the whole world, but it hasn’t escaped Fuuka’s notice that he often goes out of his way to be a little more so when it comes to her.
All of that extra patience, on top of the lesson itself– and when he already has so much to think about, like returning to his school routine and recovering his health– that would be asking so much. She couldn’t possibly…
Aragaki-senpai looks at her sidelong, brows low and mouth slightly pursed. Back when she had first met him, she would have thought he looked annoyed with her, but now she recognizes the expression as thoughtful.
After a second Aragaki-senpai shrugs and returns his attention to the show.
That’s right, Arisato-kun did tell her before that Aragaki-senpai showed him how to make katsudon and tempura shrimp back in September. He had looked a little haunted when he talked about the shrimp in particular.
Arisato-kun looks genuinely alarmed by the prospect. Fuuka has never seen his usual cliff-faced demeanor crumble so thoroughly before. She knows it’s impolite, but she just can’t help herself–
She tries to smother her mirth behind her hand, but she isn’t really successful. By the time she manages to get a hold of herself and has stopped bubbling over into random bouts of giggling, the hostess has already moved on to an entirely new dish. Fuuka doesn’t mind all that much, though.
Arisato-kun doesn’t seem upset about being laughed at, thank goodness.
And– of course she might just be mistaken, but–
She really would swear that she heard a quiet, dry chuckle from Aragaki-senpai’s direction.
Today passes pretty much the same way that yesterday had: Shinjiro walks Koromaru, Koromaru doesn’t have to try very hard to convince Shinjiro to buy him another sausage, Shinjiro cooks when he gets home.
He does a little of the last few dregs of school work he’s got left so that he’s not stuck doing all of it tomorrow. The least he can do for Kirijo is finish everything himself without her help. His academic career is the last thing she needs to be worrying about right now. He tries not to think too hard about whether it’d be worse if she still tried to make his schooling her business even with everything else she’s got on her plate– or if she didn’t.
The others come back from school and the juniors make way too much noise as they dig in to the stirfry he’s made. Takeba and Yamagishi gently bully him out of the kitchen, insistent on handling the clean up to ‘repay’ him for cooking. Aki bullies him a lot less gently about the PT that Shinjiro hasn’t started yet.
He lugs himself up the stairs to struggle through a few exercises in the privacy of his own room, mostly just so he can say he did it and Aki won’t smell the lie on him. He’s really taking this physical therapy thing seriously. It’d almost be endearing if it wasn’t so annoying. Almost.
Shinjiro finds Aigis sitting alone in the common area once he finally conquers the stairs. A book sits open in her lap, but she’s not paying any attention to it. She stares straight ahead at nothing in particular.
Less than a week ago he would’ve called her expression blank, but now he’s seen what blank really looks like on her face, and this isn’t it. He’s also seen this particular kind of not-blank look plenty of times before, on plenty of other faces. Without really meaning to, he finds himself taking a seat across from her.
Well that absolutely isn’t true, but Shinjiro knows it’s better not to push at a time like this. He’s been there. Hell, he’s still there.
She doesn’t answer for a while, long enough that Shinjiro starts to wonder if she’s just choosing to ignore him or if there might still be something wrong with her. He’s about to say something when she finally does respond.
Aigis looks down at the book in her lap and clasps her hands tightly together over its pages. The gesture is such an incredibly human one that it catches Shinjiro off guard. He wonders if he should really still be all that surprised, though.
That’s not a topic he’s going to touch with a ten-foot pole. No way.
Shinjiro has to fight back hard against a wince. No matter how good her grip on emotion gets, tact is probably never going to be Aigis’ strong suit. He’s suddenly glad that Kirijo isn’t around at the moment. But it’s not even the blunt-force-trauma directness of what Aigis said that gets to him the most.
It’s how familiar it feels.
She might as well have plucked that thought straight out of Shinjiro’s head. It’s downright painful, the sense of camaraderie that lances through his ribs.
Geez, what is it with people thanking him lately? He’s going to start getting used to it at this rate. At least this wasn’t nearly as rough as hearing it from Amada.
baby girl I don't know what that acronym means. it would be so sexy of you to write out that piece of media's name in its entirety. Just the one time for momma please.
I think we need to let villains be camp again. “Ohhhhh it’s homophobic to always have the villain be camp!” Okay but it’s been like. So boring without them.
