#Old man Nook thinks he's so stoic and old and worn out

[kakusu-shipping]

Like an open book

It is 4:30am, my Air Conditioning unit sounds like a washing machine on full power, and it is simply impossible to sleep, so let’s write a Nook X Reader, hm?

Tom Nook X Island Rep/GN!Reader

In which you eat dirt

“I see you...innocently running in a great field...” 

“They respond right away this time...”

Another quiet day was slowly winding to a close outside Resident Services windows as Tom Nook relaxed back into his chair, stretching his paws over the desk.

Across from him, his peppy assistant Isabelle was taking the down time to catch up on some novel one of the residents had recommended to her. Just watching her expressions, Nook had picked up the plot considerably. It was a romance, never too steamy and hardly sweet, somewhere near the middle the main hunk had betrayed the story’s maiden in some major way, and now, three chapters to the end, he way dying.

Tom was never sure if he was just remarkable at reading faces, or if young Isabelle was just too easy to read. He’d wondered if he was once that expressive, wearing a story on his face and he walked naively through life.

Looking back, it was probably fine that he had, and would have been better if he’d continued to do so.

Movement outside the front window pulled Nook from memory lane; The Island Rep was whizzing through the main plaza, a to-go coffee from Brooster’s in one hand, a gift from one resident to another in the other.

Now that was youth, Tom thought to himself, acting to stretch as he stood and made way to get closer to the window. The rep had practically built this island with their own two hands, and now spent their time running from one corner to the next, filling the museum with every bug, fish, fossil, and painting they could get their hands on.

They were quiet the feat, weren’t they? So vibrant, goal oriented, and caring to the other residents. They didn’t complain about the ludicrous amount of work assigned to them. If Nook were a younger man, he might have helped share that burden more evenly, spent less time in the tent and more time in the grass pulling weeds, planting flowers, and picking fruit.

Tom was once again snapped from past regrets by swift movement out the window. Still hot coffee spilled across the brick of the square, seeping into a gift wrapped apology gift that would probably have to be returned to the sender.

The Island Rep lay face down in the center of the square, still and flat. No one else was around to see them trip and catch the ground with their face, only Nook, who stood frozen at the window.

“Mr. Nook? What happened?” Isabelle half closed her book and looked up, sensing the sudden stillness.

Tom didn’t answer, instead rushing as fast as his old but not quiet middle aged old joints were willing to let him go. Isabelle, who’d at most seen Nook pretend race walk after his boys, was reasonably startled by his hurry, and quickly followed him.

Outside, the Rep had finally recovered enough to start pushing themselves up on their hands. Tom stood by to offer assistance, a quiet “Are you okay?” on his lips, though overly concerned thoughts of bruised ribs and knocked out teeth ran through his head at mach speed. They didn’t have a doctor on the island, why didn’t they have a doctor on the island?

The Island Rep pushed themselves to their feet, smiling and waving off Nook, “I’m fine, I’m fine” They said, which was simply not true, as it normally isn’t when one catches themselves on rough stone chin first.

Tom was rather surprised Isabelle hadn’t shrieked loud enough to alarm the entire island.

The Rep’s chin was gashed, bleeding down on their shirt. The cut matched their smile, wide and red and prominently centered in the face. It was the kind of wound that’d probably need stitches, not something one should just walk away with.

Which they almost did, mind you.

The Rep laughed off their fall and thanked Nook for checking on them all while picking up the trashed to-go coffee cup and delivery. If the adrenaline from the fall had worn off, they sure didn’t show it, as they continued on about having to bring the gift back to it’s sender, the clothing inside completely ruined with coffee.

“m-Mayor...” Isabelle looked as though she might faint, which was a fair reaction to have to such a mess on their peaceful town, “Y-You-r.. Your ch-chin...”

The Rep, or as Isabelle may address them as a left over from their previous town together, The Mayor, began to reach up to their chin, a question on their face. Tom stepped in quicker than expected, pressing his personal pocket hankie to the wound instead. The Island Rep flinched at the pressure.

So they can feel pain. That’s a good sign, probably.

“Hold this here.” Tom Nook spoke in a tone that held no room for argument, as his rep did as they were told, pressing the cloth into their chin with enough force to stop the bleeding.

“Isabelle,” Nook addressed, the younger jumping to attention, finally taking her eyes off their mayor, “Can you handle resident services alone for a bit? I’m going to take the rep to the HHP island, they have a hospital there.”

The words of protest started on the rep’s lips, and were stopped dead in their tracks by a look from Tom. They swallowed, and looked anywhere by at Nook, shifting the cloth on their chin.

“O-Oh. Y-Yes I will be fine!” Isabelle stood to attention and saluted, eyes shut firmly in a fit of determination.

Tom nodded and placed a paw on his rep’s shoulder, turning them to the airport, “I’m counting on you. And please return this if you have a moment.” He spoke, handing Isabelle the ruined present the Rep had been delivering.

Isabelle nodded, taking the coffee soaked gift, “I’ve got it! Have a safe flight!” She waved, beaming with confidence at being left alone in Resident Service.

Nook never took his paw off The Island Representative’s, his representive, your shoulder as he spoke to Orville about booking a flight. The flightless bird having much the same reaction as Isabelle to the gash in your chin, which you’d shown him unprompted by uncovering Nook’s kerchief just enough when Orville caught your eye.

On the plane his paw was on your knee, then thigh, into your hand. The whole time his leg bounced as he stared out the window. You wondered what kind of crazy nerves were rattling in that fuzzy head of his. What loops was he taking himself through scared for you, the island, poor Isabelle and Orville. What would Lottie say, he must be asking himself.

Perhaps he was planning to have the pavement in the plaza evened out, shaved down, or even pay to have it full repaved more flat. No more loose, uneven bricks, smooth clean concrete. But that wouldn’t look very pretty would it? And it would take time, and bells, and inconvenience those who needed Resident Services at all hours.

You leaned ever so slightly onto Nook, holding his paw between your fingers, watching him mentally go over every possible option to make sure a disaster like this never happens again, that everyone involved was properly compensated, and that you, oh so important you, recovered comfortably so you could be back on your feet, sprinting from here to there however you pleased as soon as possible.

“I see you...innocently running in a great field...” Katrina’s fortune from this morning played in your head as you closed your eyes, “I see a lost seagull sailor in need of help...” She’d said. You didn’t quiet understand at the time. Luck in Friendship, Misfortune in Health.

With Tom Nook’s paw finally relaxing in your hand, the flight calming the Tanuki’s anxieties, you supposed now it made a bit more sense.

[boundless-limbo-deviation]

Part 1 - Chapter 2: The Grass is Greener

A pair of sturdy, brown, leather walking boots plodded along an elegantly maintained brick road. Horse-driven carriages creaked on their wheels through the streets of a sprawling city. Whilst the scale and splendour of this city neared what one would expect from a modern metropolis, it was contrastingly dated in appearance. For miles upon miles, stretched a city of the middle ages; Thanton. Whilst it followed the foundations comparable to medieval architecture, its buildings had clearly stood the test of time for centuries. Certain archaic towers even scratched the sky with their scale, with the very tallest being the central tower of a giant palace overlooking its community. The only thing standing higher than this castle's tower was the very mountain that cradled it amidst its southern cliffs. The mountain stood like a watchful deity over Thanton's vastness, which spanned every side of the craggy mass of rock, all the way up to the coastal harbour in the north.

The boots' steady pace came to a halt before the city’s immense front-gates. A traditional drawbridge that was vast enough in size to boast the sheer amount of commerce going in and out of the city. Naturally, this drawbridge was one of many along the walls stretching miles around the city’s circumference.

A young girl stood at the gate, her vibrant amber eyes staring puzzled at the unusual sight of the drawbridge being closed, carriages filled with befuddled traders and travellers queued up for an exit to the city, growing impatient with the wall of wood inconveniencing their day. The youth neatened up her elegantly curled hair, a vibrant ginger flowing halfway down her back like an intricately controlled fire, only further heated by the scarlet-red (and almost comparatively modern) princess coat that hung down to her calves, astonishingly groomed and clean compared to those well-worked leather boots.

“Sir Nasos!” A surprisingly powerful, authoritative voice bellowed from the petite teen’s chords, her stern expression holding impatience. In response to her voice, a flustered, heavily armoured guard’s head peeked over from the castellations of the wall, the girl bending her head right back to make attempted eye-contact with the man, with difficulty due to his helmet-masked face.

“Lady Thanos! Please, you needn’t refer to me with such formality!” He responded nervously.

The girl’s stoic expression cracked a grin, struggling to withhold a chuckle. “You ought to follow your own advice, Steve. Why is the drawbridge closed? Open it! All of these busy people are waiting, myself included!” She crossed her arms and tilted her head expectantly.

The man’s helmet almost fell from his head as he dangled nearly half of his body over the edge of the wall, clearing his throat in his fluster. “A-Apologies, Miss Haraki! There have been sightings of strange monsters emerging from the woods! I’ve been given orders to shut the gate until further notice!” Every word from his mouth was yelled dutifully, though nervous in the face of this child before him.

Haraki looked bewildered by such an order, placing her hands back down on her hips. “I’ll be your ‘further notice’, Steve! So open the gate, and if you get in trouble with the Captain, I’ll have a word with him myself, okay?--Honestly, the main gate?--Look just how much congestion this is causing! If we see monsters, we can close them promptly. It could very well just be an old farmer mistaking a black cat for a demon. We cannot be closing our gates based on sightings alone. We’re supposed to have a shipment of new medicine from Dardonia today too! We need as little traffic as possible!” She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

"Wouldn't a Dardonian delivery just fly into the city?"

"Steve!"

“O-Okay! Yes, right away!” Apparently intimidated by this small girl's level of authority, the guard's head vanished from the top of the wall, and after thirty seconds or so, the heavy wooden gate began to descend with a loud, impressive creak. Dense chains brought the drawbridge down with a deep 'clink clink clink clink’, until a reverberating 'clonk’ announced the bridge securely locking into place, revealing the vast countryside beyond the walls. Without delay, carriages started to roll off, several passengers waving to the young girl from their windows, shouting words of appreciation. The girl could only smile and wave back, before continuing her walk through the city gates.

“Miss Haraki! Wait! Please do be careful! If there truly are monsters, your life could be in danger!” Suddenly, the chrome helmet of Steve emerged from the wall’s castellations again, waving an arm frantically. The young girl’s eyes rolled with amused irritation, swivelling around on her heel to stare up at the concerned guardsman.

“Oh, heavens forbid; An adorable black cat meows at me. I can imagine the bloodshed now.” Spoken with an indulgent topping of sarcasm, waving a hand dismissively. Despite her elegant demeanour, the girl’s hands, much like her boots, were coarse and roughened. “Concern yourself not, my good sir. This will be just like yesterday, and the day before that. A mere sighting cannot scratch me.” She shrugged her shoulders, grinning smugly before turning around again.

“But Princess-Haaargh!” The man gave a struggled groan as his oversized helmet, too big for his own head, slid out from its amateurishly fastened straps, plummeting down onto the bridge with a hefty ‘bonk’. This left the bizarrely beautiful, flowing brown locks of the young man flow freely as he muttered curses of blunder under his breath.

The so-called royal youth turned herself around for a second time with an exasperated sigh, picking the helmet up begrudgingly. “Formalities, Sir Nasos!” She bluntly jeered back. Grasping the helmet’s loose strap, and with a powerful swing of her arm, launched it back up towards the man upon the wall, before sauntering away without another word. Unbeknown to her; the helmet came crashing down onto the brick road, all the way on the other side of the wall. She'd missed the flailing hands of Steve by a long shot.

  Brick soon turned to dirt as Haraki distanced herself further from the city, the road becoming more beaten in parallel to the rolling fields of green surrounding her. The countryside was dotted with farmhouses, smaller settlements of homes, and an absolute abundance of cows, horses and sheep. The green was only interrupted by wheat stalks spreading between alternating fields like patchwork. Whilst the weather was clear and skies were blue, off the coast to the west was shroud of grey clouds, obscurring the horizon in a light mizzle of rain.

The frequency of horse-drawn carriages and merchant carts along the roads had slowed to near-nothing once Haraki was off the main brick roads. The girl’s brisk jogging was steadily paced as if it were second nature to her, showing no signs of tiring any moment soon. She closed in on the densely wooded forest, a bright smile of excitement spread across her face, as a thrilling image conjured up in her head.

Just a couple of days prior, the young royal had found something deeply unusual in one of her otherwise regular excursions into Foloway Forest. The Kingdom’s largest forest hid many secrets, and somehow this one had eluded Haraki throughout her adventurous childhood. She blamed not finding it earlier on the fact that she’d only been permitted to leave the city without a caretaker within the last few years due to her age, but she never once felt like her freedom was suppressed.

Those worn leather boots were proving their worth, with the girl fearlessly marching off any beaten path to make a faster journey of finding her goal. If a shrub or bush of nettles so much as stood in her path, she barged on through like a battering ram. No petty piece of underbrush stood a chance.

After about twenty straight minutes of violated vegetation, where the trees were reaching their tallest and the leaves were at their densest; Haraki reached her destination. Lightly reflecting the dappled sunlight through the treetops, were the age-eroded stones of a remarkable ruin. What could have originally been a collection of small buildings, was now a pile of rubble surrounding a bunker-like structure rearing its head up from the earth. Little rounded sculptures dotted the various steps and nooks around the unidentifiable architecture. Arguably adorable, yet far too worn to resemble anything in particular.

Dried leaves and twigs cracked audibly with each cautious step the young girl took towards the structure. Her research in the library didn’t yield a thing as to what it could be, though that could be partially because she got bored trying to find out anything about this ruin via reading. Much better to face her curiosity directly by visiting again. That was her mindset in most ventures and it had served her well enough so far, with the occasional scuffed elbow or scraped knee.

‘Let’s see what you are.’ The girl pondered to herself. Just before she was able to step upon the cold surface of the ruined stone steps however, an unsettling chill ran up her spine. Looking down at her feet, she noticed the leaves and moss beneath her had turned an eerie, lifeless grey. Something about it made the young girl wince distastefully, urgently lifting her foot away and onto the stone step in front of her as if she’d just stepped in a pile of dung.

Swivelling around, Haraki examined the literally greyed-out space of plant life. Kneeling down to take a closer look, it seemed to spread directly outwards from the ruined bunker she was standing on. The same pattern continued consistently around the entire structure. She was admittedly starting to have second thoughts, but tried to shrug the effect off as a kind of chemical reaction from the materials of this ruin. She didn’t really need to care about the science of it, that was for the scholars to think about.

Making a mental note to raise this unusual phenomenon with a bookish individual when she got back home, she turned on her heels once again and regained her fearless resolve to explore this enigmatic structure. Circling around the outer path of the bunker, she gave a gasp of intrigue to find a clear, intact entrance; stairs descending into the buried building. Her heart was thumping with anticipation, eager to be sated. The lass set off downwards, the heavy pacing of her boots echoed in the abandoned corridor of stone, spiralling downwards into the ground.

The stairs continued on for a lot longer than Haraki deemed normal, and the light from outside was dwindling. The princess gave an impatient sigh, narrowing her eyes as she lifted a hand, staring at what little was left to see in this limited lighting. She made repeated gestures with her hand; clenching it shut and opening it again, growing increasingly annoyed at whatever she was trying to do. She firmly clicked her fingers, waved them in the air repeatedly, made a circle with her hand... Nothing worked. Her eyes shut, jaw clenched and teeth bared, before one more, particularly satisfying click of her fingers enticed a sudden ball of light to erupt from the palm of her hand.

Caught by the surprise of her struggled, but successful spell to light her way, the young girl gave a sigh of relief and continued her downwards spiral into the unknown.

This obscured structure was probably around six storeys into the ground when Haraki finally saw an end to the stairwell. She stopped and looked blankly along the corridor at the steps’ base. A short path leading directly towards an archway into a larger chamber; her goal was right there!

Only wishing that the arch didn’t lead to yet more stairs, she was ready to take her last few steps downwards, before a bone-chilling sound and a slithering movement slipped past the corner of her eye. She gave a sharp gasp, almost losing her footing when trying to turn, getting better look at the source of her shock.

Her amber eyes, reflecting the light of her spell, widened for a moment before narrowing in disgust; On the wall was a nondescript, unsettling creature. An insect or mollusc? It was around the length of her forearm and appeared to have legs with plates of glossy exoskeleton, but the way it squirmed was contrastingly amorphic. Firmly clenching her teeth, Haraki took a shaken breath, carefully leaning down to grab a loose brick from the ancient steps.

She firmly held her back against the inner-most wall of the staircase, trying to slip past the nightmarish entity without disturbing it further. The second she passed, an unpleasant, alarming ‘Thwop’ threw her into action as the creature immediately fell from the wall and onto the step beside her. With a panicked yelp, followed by a fast roar of action, the young lady bent her knees and brought both hands down, slamming the brick upon the creature’s uncertain shape. A most revolting ‘Shplock!’ echoed through the underground chambers, as her encounter with the alien-like creature ended as quickly as it began.

The young noblewoman had chosen not to wait and find out if the creature was harmful or not. She stood up straight, kicking the brick down the remaining stairs to get a glimpse of the crushed ‘bug's’ corpse. The slab of stone peeled away from what was now just a mess of off-pink flesh and cracked shell. She hadn’t a clue what she’d just killed, it just oozed viscous fluids down the stone steps. She could only stand a few more seconds even trying to figure it out before scurrying towards her original goal at the bottom of the stairs. Yet another question for the scientists.

Down the remaining stairs and through the archway, the girl in red gave a sigh of relief; she’d evidently reached the bottom. All that greeted her for now was darkness, and from how her footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, this chamber was large and empty. She tried to brighten her spell, to no avail. With another agitated roll of her eyes, she cautiously paced further into the room, watching her footing due to only seeing a few meters ahead.

The girl only had the echo of her steps for company--so she thought--before the light of her spell reflected off of something in the darkness; two reddish lights glared back at her, beckoning the girl to gasp with a shrill yelp! “Aah! What the—” Her initial scare was cooled quickly, realising that staring back at her was the familiar glow of a cat’s eyes in the darkness.

“O-Oh gosh! Kitty? You frightened me.” She sighed in relief and slowly knelt down, holding out her glowing hand. “How did you get down here sweetie? Right out in the woods too, awh...” She muttered in a high, silly pitch, the likes of which people often resort to when in the close proximity of a cute animal.

As the girl’s voice resounded against the chamber walls, a deep humming began to speak back. Haraki’s fiery head of hair flung back and forth, standing up straight again as she tried to identify the source. It was as if the whole room started buzzing, and as the sound intensified, light began to seep from between the bricks, white crystals lining the walls illuminated, quickly bringing the whole chamber into clarity.

“Oh wow... There are magic installations in here?” She found herself speaking aloud, as if the company of a cat somehow justified it. The crystals distracted the girl only momentarily as the room reacted to the sounds of her presence and came to life. It must not have been activated in a long time judging from how long it took to start up. Turning her attention back to the pair of feline eyes she spotted earlier, she suddenly clutched a hand to her chest in shock, dispelling the light she'd conjured. Her startle wasn't because of the black, red-eyed cat staring quietly back at her, but because of the unconscious figure sprawled on the ground beside it.

“What—Oh my god!” Without a second’s pause, she ran closer to the body, almost skidding to a halt and kneeling by the person’s side. “Hello! Are you okay? Oh, goodness...” She was left in a fleeting panic. Everything about them was shrouded in a flowing mess of silver hair, but Haraki gently rolling them over revealed the stranger’s face.

“A boy?” Haraki muttered under her breath. It didn’t take her long to realise he was breathing steadily, alleviating her concerns. She gazed over at the red-eyed cat, who had paced a few feet away from her. “Are you with him?” She made a mental note of the cat’s eyes, and the boy’s hair, silently remarking on the unusual qualities. A shudder of mystery gave her goosebumps; finding an unusual cat and unconscious boy at the bottom of a mysterious ruin? Her day went from exciting to surreal! Not even taking into account the grotesque eldritch... thing she killed a few minutes ago.

She carefully lay the young man on his side, doing her best to remember the staple recovery position. The cat watched on studiously, with a deep, wide-eyed curiosity, until Haraki shifted her attention back towards him. “You’re adorable! Look at your amazing eyes...” She stood up and edged herself towards the feline, who sat observantly as the girl knelt down and held her hand outwards. Common cat courtesy; let the cat smell your hand first and foremost. But this cat showed no signs of flinching, nor a desire to take a whiff. The two of them merely exchanged a silent stare.

“Your ears are all curved, like horns...” Her hands fearlessly went for the petting, the response she received was the cat lowering his head back into his neck awkwardly, but not enough to truly escape the girl’s hand. She mostly just wanted to run a finger along the backs of those arched ears.

  Ten or so minutes passed with Haraki and the enigmatic cat sitting by the unconscious body of the boy. The cat seemed intrigued by the girl’s eagerness to stay and keep watch, but did not even inch from where he sat. The girl eventually had to relent from petting the cat, understanding that whilst he didn’t move, he didn’t seem too fond of it either. Eventually, the two lively figures sprang up in startle as the boy began to move.

“Hello? Hi! Are you alright?” Her concern was met by an abrupt gasp from the young man, sharply sitting up and throwing his weight backwards. Haraki stayed low, holding out a hand, (much like she did for the cat, really) and spoke calmly. “Hey hey, it’s okay; it’s fine! I’m Haraki, okay? I just found you here, do you—uhm, understand me?”

The boy took several deep, anxious breaths before nodding his head frantically. “Y-Yes... Am I—?” He glanced about his surroundings. Towering over him was a tall, familiar monolith, just like the last thing he saw before losing consciousness. This time, however, his location was completely different. Upon spotting the cat, who finally stood up from his position and moved closer, the boy exclaimed; “Yang! Did we make it?”

The boy was clearly experiencing a complete overload of emotion, unsure of where to direct his attention. The room around him, the otherworldly stranger who greeted him, or his familiar mentor, who remained quiet, glancing between his student and the stranger.

The three of them cast awkward gazes amongst one another, before the silver-haired boy spoke again. “Yang? Say something!” He uttered, stammering on his words amidst his heightened breathing.

A very human-like sigh emanated from the small animal beside Haraki, before the cat finally broke his cover with that refined, charming tone of his. “I was trying to remain discreet in the presence of a stranger, Kiyoshi.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her lips silently parting as her head turned away from the boy, to stare in disbelief at the cute critter to her side, who returned her gaze, except calmly.

“To naturally avoid frightening the lass. She’s shown nothing but courtesy upon finding us.” Kiyoshi had his turn to feel the fright; now it was Haraki’s. She fell off her heels where she knelt, staggering to the side as her legs frantically kicked along the ground, putting just a meter of extra distance between herself and the others.

The roles had quickly reversed, Kiyoshi holding his hand out and waving it with flustered dismissal. “N-No no no! it’s okay! We don’t mean you any harm!” The poor fellow dropping the most staple line of reassurance he could find in his emotionally shaken, awkward self.

Yang tilted his head back softly, with a slow blink of those blood-red eyes. “As mentioned, young lady, sorry for frightening you.”

Rather than continuing her brief tizzy, the girl was taking deep, concise breaths to try and calm herself down. “I-I believe you! I think—Oh my god...” Her shaken tone betrayed her words. She gulped down her next sentence, taking another moment to compose. “I’m um... This is just very different, I—” Her amber eyes flickered between two enigmatic entities, where initially the boy had been the most mysterious, the cat now outranked him vastly.

Kiyoshi nodded slowly, the boy and cat sitting in silence to allow the girl space and time to digest the situation. Yang wordlessly admired her bravery. He was well aware that human beings weren’t widely accustomed to silver hair and talking cats, and they very well could have sent the girl fleeing entirely.

Haraki took a long, deep breath. Her hands covered her face in an attempt to arrange her thoughts, before holding them both out as if to say; 'wait a minute'. “Are you both from... a black rock atop a hill?” Her silence-breaker struck both of the otherworldly visitors to their cores. Yang’s ears twitched and turned, Kiyoshi inhaled sharply through his nose.

“How could... Why would you say that?” Kiyoshi stuttered back, being reminded of home again so quickly felt like a dagger in his gut. He bit the inside of his lip, a hand desperately kneading into the glimmering blue garment he had been clinging to.

Yang could tell Kiyoshi was hurting, and interjected to take ownership of the question. “I’m astounded by the sudden, sheer precision of your inquiry, young lady. I didn’t expect the first human we met to be familiar with our home. May I ask how you know this?”

Haraki watched the cat speaking like an intricately orchestrated symphony. Almost mesmerised by the bizarreness, She blinked once realising he had asked a question. “Oh wow, sorry.” She paused. “It's just a bit odd, that I was petting you a moment ago and talking to you like a... Cat.”

The thought alone was enough to dispel some of Kiyoshi’s anxiety for the moment, a soft laugh uttered from the boy as Haraki continued.

“I heard it from stories my father told me. Well, rather, they were stories he heard from my mother before she passed away. I never knew her, myself.” She said, at which Kiyoshi had dropped back into reserved silence again, as Yang listened with full intent.

“He told me she travelled to the world of demons, and that it wasn’t a scary place at all! She described it as a beautiful landscape of twilight--Is that all real?--You believe these stories as a little kid, obviously, but...”

“Then we are your proof." Yang interjected. "Though you could imagine the scenery becomes rather mundane to the Underworld’s inhabitants. I suppose after some time we’ll no doubt look back on our memories of it and grow nostalgic.”

“Wait, wait--You’re not going back?” The girl was concerned by Yang's dismissive tone.

The black cat sternly cast a glance over at his pupil's visible grief. “I shouldn’t go into detail at this point, as much as I appreciate your hospitality. To keep it short; Our homeland has been ravaged by illness, and is no longer a safe, or pleasant place to be.”

“What?” Haraki’s reaction was loud and abrupt, her hands gripping anxiously into her coat as a shiver ran through her body. “Illness? Like a plague?” Yang gave a slow nod in response, staring expectantly at her. “See, there’s a massive epidemic here too, and I mean--not just here--the whole world’s been hit by it.” Haraki clarified, even Yang’s steadfast composure seemed to be shaken by the notion that this plague was spread across two dimensions.

Kiyoshi had question after question piling up in his mind, weighing down on all the stress attempting to erupt. He sat there with an ache in the pit of his stomach that refused to go away, and he didn’t expect it to anytime soon either.

“How could... How could that even be possible? What are the symptoms here? Is it terminal?” The fur on Yang’s back twitched, starting to lift and stand on end with cautious intrigue.

“Uhm, it's killed a lot of people, but it isn't definitely terminal... I'm not very good with medical things like symptoms. My father has it, uh... he feels cold and exhausted all the time. His muscles hurt a lot. He, uh..." She began making circular gestures with her hands away from her mouth.

"Vomits?" Yang bluntly said it for her, garnering a reluctant nod from the youth. Yang simply narrowed his eyes and continued. “I am truly sorry to hear about your father. Is there any discolouration of the skin and hair, or loss of sight?”

Haraki made an uncertain shrug with her shoulders and hands. “My father's become pale, but... No change to his eyes or hair. I'm sorry, I don't actually know anything specific about the sickness outside of Thanton--That is--my city. Was it... Uh, different for you?" The young woman seemed afraid to ask.

“Almost every case is severe, and fatal. I won't elaborate further on that right now.” Likely to save more grief for himself, but especially Kiyoshi. It wasn't worth giving their life story to a stranger, no matter how friendly she might be.

Haraki felt her muscles tense. She couldn't swallow this tinge of guilt no matter how many times she tried, because the dread in the air was clear as day. “O-Oh my god... I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to pry.” She stood back up frantically, her mind hitting a block on what else to say.

Yang performed another one of his very cat-like slow blinks. "You did nothing of the sort. I understand you already feel shaken by the reality of this encounter." Kiyoshi's attention was elsewhere, completely silent and empty.

"No no! I mean, yes but, it's nothing compared to what you--" She stopped herself for another deep breath, looking away to gather her thoughts. "I should... Leave you to yourselves? I'll, uhm, just..." She turned on her heels towards the way she entered and took a whole three brisk steps before Yang stopped her.

"Hold on, young lady. Please let me properly introduce ourselves. My name is Yang, and this boy is my apprentice, Kiyoshi. I understand such formalities were lost amidst our mutual... Culture shock, let's say."

Whatever Yang did with his polite cut-in, it worked miracles in dispelling Haraki's guilt. The girl turned to face them again, and with a sharp inhale through flared nostrils, she performed a clumsy curtsy. "Haraki." She smiled in appreciation at Yang's courtesy, emboldening her to speak further. "Would you two... Please join me outside? It would be my honour to escort you."

The cat's eyes widened, body language relaxing considerably. "Your hospitality knows no bounds, Haraki." As the cat lifted his back legs off the ground, he stared intently at Kiyoshi, who on the other hand, showed little sign of moving. Slouched over where has was sat, both arms folded tensely across his abdomen. He could barely return his mentor's gaze. Despite the boy's mourning, Yang had to give him the push. "Come, Kiyoshi. Just a bit further; Remember why you are here."

Kiyoshi finally lifted his head. During Yang and Haraki's dialogue, he'd been left to sink into the company of his dark thoughts. "Mm." He murmured. But Yang's words stirred a budding motivation inside him at the very least, urging the young man to finally stand before nodding his head in silent thanks at the welcoming lass.

"Thank you, um." Haraki found it difficult addressing the boy. What could she even say to him that didn't come across as empty or shallow? So instead she nodded awkwardly back at him, clapping her hands together assertively. "Great! Uh, let's go then!" Her somewhat forced pep added to her tone echoed through the chamber, as she yet again turned to walk just a few steps ahead. The chamber remained illuminated for now, but the stairwell remained dark and decrepit, meaning Haraki had to struggle and re-kindle her poor display of magic to guide the way, of which Yang stared, taking silent note. "Oh, um, I don't suppose either of you know what this thing might be? It's rather... repulsive, I think I sort of squashed it on my way down. Mind your step." Haraki was of course, referring to the revolting carcass of the 'blob' she splattered earlier.

The young man only gave a passing "Eugh..." as his line of sight passed over it. Seeing any instance of viscera again would be too soon.

Yang on the other hand, stayed true to the ways of his kind by cautiously leaning in and sniffing it, only to pull back and wince in disgust. "How vile. I'm content to have never seen any creature of the sort."

The princess felt no more at ease that her guests had no information to give on the abomination. She'd just have to describe it to a researcher at the palace library. The girl maintained a brisk pace up the stairs, with Yang remaining furthest behind to keep his student moving. As the light from above began to fill the tunnel, Haraki snuffed out her spell.

The moment they stepped outside, the human girl's breath of fresh air paled in comparison to the sheer awe in the eyes of her company. Yang was stunned, and Kiyoshi wordlessly took steps of his own ahead of the group, almost losing his footing and instead leaning his weight against the closest tree he could reach. Haraki was taken aback by how anyone could react like this to what she considered to be the mundane. The cat and girl stepped away from the cold stone entrance, each of them feeling their feet settle on the forest soil. Yang sat himself on the earth with his tail wrapping around his front paws, pushing those pads down into the fallen leaves, feline nose twitching as it sniffed the clean forest air.

Green grass, blue skies, trees in vast abundance. To Kiyoshi, this was his fairy tale. After having mustered the courage to stand before, his hand dragged down the tree's bark. He was once again brought to his knees by a surge of emotion he couldn't suppress, but this was far more bittersweet than dread. "Mom, Dad... I'm here, I made it. I can't... I can't believe I'm here." Kiyoshi's mourning no longer echoed in isolation, but instead carried on the wind through the branches of the wood. The others remained in silence, allowing Kiyoshi one more moment of release, one he truly needed.

  Given their necessary moment of reflection, the two Underworld refugees were able to stand and move on. Kiyoshi's spirits had lifted significantly, feeling more comfortable around the girl who had offered to guide them through Foloway Forest after having broken down before her like that. He couldn't stop remarking on the colour of the vegetation and sky. Each and every plant was like seeing an alien, Kiyoshi was taking excessive care with everything he laid hands on, in fear of breaking or damaging literally anything, from fragile plants right down to one particularly shiny pebble in the midst of a stream. Everybody's mood was lifted by his vibrant curiosity.

Once they had left the woods, as the rolling hills of farmland spread out before them, it dawned on Kiyoshi all over again just how much he could see. His jaw dropped, gasping and turning his head frantically, as if desperately searching for the spot where the land drops off into a sea of cloud, but instead he only saw the cliffs by the coast.

"Oh my goodness..." An open-mouthed smile of giddy awe spread across his face, green eyes basically twinkling from the lingering tears and bright light of the sun beaming down on them. "Is that seriously all water?" Far more cat-like than his mentor right now, Kiyoshi's attention was rapidly tugged from one place to the next, throwing his head back to look at the sky. "W-We're so far beneath the clouds!"

Haraki could only exchange an expression of amusement with Yang. Not that the cat's face was prone to much outside of the usual cat-like spectrum of expression. "His reaction is sort of lining up with what my Father told me about your world." She said down to him, to which he silently blinked in acknowledgement before the princess marched ahead towards the silver-haired boy who had now begun to gasp at the presence of a field full of cows in the distance. Haraki had her eye caught on the horizon out at sea, her eyes widening in intrigue as the mist from earlier had lifted significantly.

"Hey!" She called out to him. "Look back out at sea again, really carefully now. Look, look!"

Kiyoshi responded with an idle "Huh?" before doing as she asked, the girl pointing her finger sharply at a particular point where the sky had been clearing, and everything soon became apparent.

A positively colossal silhouette stretched up from the distant sea, a tower of such remarkable size and haphazard shape that its very existence should have been impossible, stretching far beyond the clouds. Even Yang approached in disbelief, his narrow pupils widening visibly.

"I had heard of a structure of fantastic proportions, but seeing it in person far outmatches any expectations..." The wise cat admitted.

"What... is it?" Asked Kiyoshi to the steadily brightening expression of the princess.

"That's Dardonia Citadel; The world's largest manmade structure, and home to the people who are going to cure my Father!"

[fandom-queen-aka-trash]

Deep In the Forest

~Word Count: 1,517

~Written: April 19, 2018

~Theme: Bangtan as Guardian Spirits

~ • ○ ☆ ◇ ☆ ○ • ~

They say if one goes deep enough into the Bangtan Forest, he would either come out stronger, insane, or never return at all. Bangtan Forest had many a haunting story surrounding it, but no one knew anything for sure. Over the years, people lost interest in the ghost stories and stopped visiting the forest. The stories were passed off as folk lore or exaggerations. However, no one knew just how much truth the 'folk lores' held.

Deep in the heart of the forest, there reside the seven forest guardian spirits. They're sole job, to keep the forest alive and the strangers out.

"Ugggghhhhhhh." A low growl escaped from the mouth of what appeared to be a young man lounging in one of the many trees of the forest. His already tussled blue tresses lost all semblance of uniformity as he mussed his hair in frustration. From a distance, he looked moderately normal in his black hoodie and ripped jeans. But upon closer inspection, one would be unable to deny the eerie air that hovered around the boy. His eyes were too unnaturally emerald and his skin had an inhumane almost green glow to it under the pale skin tone.

"I'm so boooored." He groaned again, slumping farther down in his tree. This boy's name was Yoongi, or better known by the humans, Suga, and he was anything but human. He was the guardian of the trees of Bangtan Forest.

He glared at nothing for a while, looking every bit the seething diety he liked to portray before once again letting out a huff. He rolled off from his high branch, ignoring the branches that instinctively reached out to catch their master. He passed them all and landed on the forest floor with cat like elegance.

His brothers, fellow forest and animal spirits, weren't coming back for a while. Which meant being completelt alone with naught but the wild life and treesfor company. Yoongi lover the trees, but they hardly qualified as good conversation partners. They were satisfied to just let the breeze pass around them and watch the sky. Though Yoongi often acted stoic and fine being alone, he did need intelligent interaction eventually. So, unable to handle the stagnant boredom anymore, he went off on a walk.

Yoongi knew this forest well. After all, he had spent nigh on a century here. Never leaving. He was tethered here. This specific forest, this specific body, and this specific age. He'd tried many times in his endless days of routine to change things up. For the first years, he just explored evey inch of the forest. That had been the most exciting time of his life. New nooks and crannys and trees and animals and anything else he happened upon were enthralling. But as the years passed, they became novelties. He knew this forest like the back of his hand now and no new species had graced the forest in far too long. Some of the guardians could leave, but unlike his brothers, he was unable to change form or even leave the border of the forest. Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon could leave as they pleased for the day as long as they were back by night. However, Hoeseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin were stuck in the blasted forest, never able to leave. To say Yoongi was sick and tired of it would be an understatement.

"Hoseok-aaaahhhh! Where are you?!" He whined loudly to nothing in particular. Hoseok was a fellow plant spirit, specializing in more the flower realm. Whereas Yoongi was more in the trees, so he would get the message that the bored tree spirit was looking for him sooner or later. Preferably sooner before Yoongi went crazy and started terrorizing the wildlife. Jimin always got upset when he did that, being an animal spirit meant sympathizing with his fellow creatures. Especially when Yoongi messed with the deer.

Yoongi wandered a little farther down the trail, worn down by years of animal feet trompimg through and bored guardian spirits. Nature chirped all around him and the occasional animal passed by or curiously sniffed at him before they too continued on their way. However, he wasn't listening to the creatures. Rather, Yoongi was focusing on the whispers coming from the trees. Trees were his only connection to the outside world. The flowers were gossipers, so usually he had to get interesting stories from Hoseok. Where as the trees were practical. They relayed what they heard, never bothering with drama or over exaggeration. Most the time they only talked about the weather coming or anything threatening.

Something had stirred them up today. They all seemed agitated, their whispers too numerous and frustrated to make total sense to Yoongi. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he tried to concentrate on a specific birch tree as he gently laid a hand on the white bark.

'Stranger! Stranger in our woods. We dont like it. We dont like it' the old birch seethed beside Yoongi. His eyes widened in surprise. Stranger? There hadn't been one of those in years!

He let go of the tree and started down the path again. With his pace picking up, Yoongi did his best to follow the direction of the most agitated trees. The ones who were actully near the stranger would probably be the most upset.

Soon the whispers became a roar when Yoongi broke through the tree line and emerged into a small meadow.

He froze.

There. There was something he had not seen in over a decade. A human.

The human's eyes snapped up to Yoongi. Terror and confusion were evident on the stranger's face, but so was something else. Yoongi tilted his head as he zeroed in on the features of this new creature. Shaggy brown hair was tangled and peppered with folliage. Clothes that looked a little too large hung on it's the thin frame. Big, brown, innocent eyes took in Yoongi with just as much scrutiny as it's brows furrowed. The skin around one of its eyes was purplish in color and a scratch on its cheek marred the otherwise smooth skin. What strange markings. Why would a human find those attractive? It took a moment for Yoongi to remember that humans had specific genders. Trees didnt. Sure the other animals did, but he hardly cared about them. They were nuisances that hurt his trees.

The stranger was female and young. Yoongi guessed she was on the tail end of adolescence, but the way she looked now one might not be able to tell. She looked like a lost child.

"Wh-who're you?" She stuttered out, bringing her arms up around herself.

Yoongi debated taking the powerful diety route or the kind protector. Obviously powerful god was always more fun. "Suga, the guardian of these woods. And who are you to come into my woods without permission?"

The female cowered back, practically tripping as she retreated. "I-Im sorry. I was just trying to get away and then i got lost. I-if you give me directions out I'll leave right away." She negotiated.

Yoongi snorted. He had been too long by himself with only his brothers for company. He wasnt letting a visitor go that easily.

"Its too late for that, dont you think? You're in my territory now. Why would I let you go?" He scoffed, raising a brow. Hed forgotten what it felt like to lord over humans. It was a powerful feeling. He had missed it.

The female visibly took a deep breathe before lifting her chin in a vain attempt at confidence. "Because youre a benevolent spirit."

The statement came out more of a question, her voice quivering the whole time despite her efforts. Yoongi couldn't help the grin pulling at his lips. She was interesting. He liked her.

"Hmmm. You ma-"

Suddenly someone, or more like someones came tumbling through the foliage, cutting off the tree spirit.

"I got your message! I brought Jimin and Taehyung too." A familiar, jovial voice exclaimed as Hoseok stood up. His bright orange hair was tousled with flowers and plants stuck between the tresses. He wore much brighter clothing than his tree spirited friend. At their feet an oddly colored, gangly buck and fox were scrambling to their feet. The silver deer morphed into Jimin who was rubbing the skin around the small set of antlers protuding from his mop of silver hair.

"Ow! You landed on my antler again. Tae tae." He whined. The blonde fox morphed to reveal Taehyung smiling widely, his tail flickering back and forth as he sat crossed legged in front of his friend.

"Sorry." He apologized, looking anything but.

Yoongi wanted to hit them all. They had ruined his moment to intimidate a new stranger. These three were anything but scary. Namjoon, jungkook, or even Jin would have been better. But no. Instead the cute ones came, wearing over sized sweaters and blue jeans that enhanced the cute facad.

"Youre all insufferable." He growled to them, turning back to the female. He needed to try and save some face.

But she was gone.

[bloodroyalsrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, PRINCE!

You have been accepted for the role of BARTEMIUS CROUCH JR. This app did a great job of fleshing Barty out beyond the stoic exterior that he presents to the world. We loved his faux- ascetic, his need for validation, his ambition, and his quiet undermining of the Ministry to further his own agenda. On the whole, we look forward to seeing him in action! Please look at the CHECKLIST for next steps. Welcome to Blood Royals!

♕ I: OUT OF CHARACTER ♕NAME / ALIAS: Prince ♕ II: CHARACTER INFORMATION ♕

FULL NAME: Bartemius “Barty” Crouch Junior

FACECLAIM: Dane DeHaan

DATE OF BIRTH: January 10th, 1955 Barty is a Capricorn, known for being determined, although somewhat single-minded. He sets goals and he pursues them, almost with obsession, until something is achieved. He keeps distant from the outside world, and his true voice is one heard very rarely.

HOGWARTS HOUSE & YEAR: Slytherin 1966 to 1972

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-male, he/him/his

SEXUALITY / SHIPS / ANTI-SHIPS: Barty/chemistry, nothing in particular. Barty himself is asexual and sex neutral, honestly not too interested in physical relationships with others.

OCCUPATION: Barty has a desk job at the Wizengamot Administration Services. He’s not much more than a paper pusher, but when you sort paperwork to one of the highest wizarding courts in the country, it’s quite easy to pass on information about certain inside operations.

ALLIANCE: Death Eater. It was only a few days after his Hogwarts graduation that Barty was brought before the Dark Lord himself. It was a mere weeks before he proved himself worthy enough to be Marked; his heart swelled with righteous pride, the dirty looks of those waiting years to be chosen only fueling his fervor. A viciously driven young boy with a desperate need to be recognized for his talents, he made an exemplary soldier.

POLITICAL VIEWS: Barty believes in blood purity whole-heartedly, but comes across as very distant to the issue. Of course, those in service to the Dark Lord see his true colors. Muggles, Muggleborns, and the like are a stain on this Earth and must be gotten rid of. Half-bloods, more like half-breeds; they might as well be, seeing their parentage. All those thoughts stay just that though. Thoughts. Bartemius Crouch Sr. must be an unbiased man who upholds the laws equally for all, and if his son is to become the next Head of the DMLE, well he must be much the same. A good word for the presses, a gala in support of the less fortunate in the Wizarding community. It make’s Barty’s skin crawl, but doesn’t he look like such a caring young man?

KNOWN FACTS:

Truth: Barty Crouch Jr. hasn’t lost a game of Wizarding Chess in 10 years. He picked up the sport and ran with it. He does actually enjoy playing, and while some do put up a good challenge, it’s not as much fun anymore when he’s the only winner.

Exaggeration: Barty has a truly photographic memory.  Barty is quite book smart,and retains most all of the information he takes in, but in truth he remembers a lot because he writes everything down. He has an extensive collection of old school papers and personal journals that he keeps and occasionally looks back on, which speak to his apparent ‘impeccable’ memory.

Rumor: Barty Crouch Jr is not only going after Head of the DMLE but the prestigious position of Minister itself! Could he even come toe to toe in a race against his own father?

BOGGART: His parent’s rejection This is all a bit too real to him. His father doesn’t pay him any mind, not that he ever has. Over the years he’s found he can tell the difference between his father’s signature and when his secretary forges it on a holiday letter. But in his mother’s eyes, Barty Crouch Jr can do no wrong. Barty is a little angel to his mother, and nothing he does could be bad.

He’s already lost his father. He still holds onto to the few shreds of hope he has left one day his father will recognize him for his worth. But what looms over darker is rejection. He’s careful, so painstakingly careful about hiding his true nature. Bit if his father found out, the Head of the DMLE no less? There would be nothing left between them. No doubt, his mother would save face and follow suit. Nothing is more horrifying than losing his parents. He’s already desperate for what little attention they give him. Being cut off completely is a death sentence.

AMORTENTIA: His mother’s perfume: there’s absolutely no denying, Barty’s always been a mama’s boy. She’s the best he’s got, and will ever get. Old book smell: hours spent in the comfort of an old leather chair, or in a quiet nook of the library, reading a book so worn it’s spine is unreadable. Petrichor: the smell after in rains, wet grass and earth. It’s calming, for what it’s worth, though maybe not the most pleasant of all smells.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: At least four detailed personality traits

intelligent: Barty’s success is a mixture of natural talent and hard work. Curious in nature, Barty took to school like a fish to water. His life has been a mix of private tutors and long nights spent in library nooks, pouring over the pages of scholarly texts. He’s practically a savant at everything he does, and Barty very well knows it.

driven: Always reaching for the next milestone and pushing himself to the top. Perhaps what drives Barty is his own insecurity. His desperate desire for attention, for the recognition his father never gave him. Regardless, Barty pushes to go above and beyond at just about everything he does. He’ll be damned if he isn’t remembered for something extraordinary.

self-centered: At one point, maybe Barty cared more about others. But his world has slowly began to center in on himself. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, and there’s no use in living simply to please others. He has to do something for himself or he’ll run himself into the ground trying to please those who will never be satisfied. The word selfish sounds harsh. He’s only looking out for himself, after all.

unsympathetic: Barty isn’t completely uncaring. He has emotions, of course. But he doesn’t like pity. It feels weak. If you find your way into a mess, you better damn well know how to find your way back out. There’s little time for babying or coddling when the world is at war, when your very being is at stake. Sometimes the weak get left behind, and that is just for the best.

SPECIAL SKILLS: Barty loves a good logic puzzle, or a puzzle box that has yet to be cracked open. He has books upon books of different puzzles he’s scribbled in and poured over throughout the years. There’s also a number of 3D puzzle boxes in his possession, mostly opened. He’s even gone as far to try to make his own, boxes and bags with secret compartments and hidden locks. It’s an enjoyable hobby to him, if nothing else.

BIOGRAPHY:

Ever since his birth, Bartemius Crouch Junior’s mother claimed he would be special. She took one look at her darling son and felt in her heart he would be great. Barty has yet to prove his mother wrong, of course. A private tutor by the age of five, learning spell names and magical theory before he was even given his Hogwarts letter; Barty was everything his mother hoped for and more. Through the years though, those praises began to fall on deaf ears. He loved his mother, he really did, but Barty knew he could cast a simple Lumos and be praised for his talent. As time passed Barty sought the praise he really wanted. That of his father’s.

Bartemius Crouch Senior was by no means cruel. He never hit Barty, never scolded him, or dealt out harsh words for simple misgivings. He wasn’t ever around to do so in the first place. Of course, Barty knew what an important job Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement entailed. The world was in turmoil and nearly as much of the blame was dumped onto his father’s shoulders as it was the Minister’s. Still, there was an ache in his heart when his father would come home late at night and not so much as glance at him. Even holidays his attendance was sparse, there to watch Barty open a few hastily picked presents, then rush back to the office for more meetings and briefings. Barty grew to resent his father for this. So caught up in work, unable to give his son the slightest recognition.

The world felt empty for a while. What good was he, a talent gone to waste? Such brilliance unrecognized. Until that fateful day. Recruited by Rodolphus Lestrange; this man could see what amazing things Barty could do, and could introduce him to someone who would make Barty the envy of everyone–including his father. So easily tempted, Barty followed along and was brought before the Dark Lord himself. Here he found the recognition he so desperately sought.

Someone who could see what lay just beneath the surface, what stunning things Barty could achieve. He threw himself into the cause whole-heartedly, and became a Marked Death Eater in a matter of weeks. Now he leads a double life; the quiet well-learned son of a high ranking Ministry official, and the brutal calculating servant of the Dark Lord. Suddenly life became worth living again. All like a game, with challenges and rewards unlike any other. Barty was sure, he would succeed; he’s never failed before after all.

CONNECTIONS:

Royalle Shacklebolt: She’s a kindness in his life unlike many. She defended Barty was he felt practically left for dead, unable to take his N.E.W.T. exams. Royalle came to his aid, and Barty has never been more grateful for someone in his life. Caring and rather intelligent, Barty hopes no harm ever comes to Royalle. Which is why he has to be careful with her. He wishes he didn’t have to walk on eggshells around her, but what would she say if she ever knew? He fears to think what sort of mayhem she may bring into his life should she find out about his secret life; he doesn’t like to the think about the tragedy that may befall her family should she become too outspoken against the Dark Lord or his followers.

Lazarus Burke: There’s an odd air about Lazarus, something that Barty has never quiet placed. Perhaps it’s the man’s odd interest in cursed and archaic objects, of which seems to be his most defining personality trait. They’re more than acquaintances, but less than best friends; Lazarus can at least hold a conversation Barty finds stimulating. At the very least, Barty thinks well enough of Burke to send forewarning to shop raids or inquiries that could put his family’s business in trouble. There’s no harm in helping a friend, is there?

♕ III: FREESTYLE ♕

Headcanons: ONE; Barty has been teaching himself Occlumency for the past year, and has gotten quite good at it. It’s skill he recognizes as invaluable, because if trained well enough, can stop someone from answering to Veritaserum. TWO; Though he’s a very outwardly stoic person, Barty’s emotions run on a constant high. As a young boy he’d often break down into tears at the slightest wrong doings, or not being correct in something. Over the years he’s learned to tame his emotions, but just barely. Occasionally they come bubbling up to the surface, and coupled with his extremely gifted magic, make him a dangerous firestorm. THREE; Over the years Barty has developed a terrible soft spot for his family’s house elf, Winky. She’s entirely loyal to the family and goes above and beyond what’s asked of her. She’s a bit pushy and overbearing, but he can recognize how much she does care. FOUR; Barty Crouch Junior has autism. It’s not something his family’s ever thought about, nor has he. He’s been quite successful his whole life, due to his stellar memory and natural intelligence. What some would call faults are minor and often go unnoticed. Barty wears sweaters just a bit too large that cover his hands, avoids certain fabrics or noises that pose too much of a distraction to him. He was about twelve before he started to maintain normal eye contact, though he was simply thought to be shy growing up. On occasion Barty’s answers are terse and quick, as the energy spent on conversation feels too draining. FIVE; Barty really loves big dogs, though he’s never had one. His mother is allergic to fur, so there have never been animals in the house aside from owls. He hopes to get one soon, mostly because he’d just enjoy a dog, perhaps partially to spite his parents for not letting him have one despite the logical reasoning behind it.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: The Trials of a Hot-Pink Sunbather

Ohad Meromi, “Sunbather” (2016), cast bronze, industrial paint; commissioned by the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs’ Percent for Art program, the Department of Transportation, and the New York City Economic Development Corporation (courtesy the artist, photo by Kristof Wickman)

After inching through the public art gamut for nearly three years, undergoing numerous trials by committee and verbal hazing by dissident locals, last fall Ohad Meromi finally unveiled his public sculpture “Sunbather” (2016) to the world.

This ambiguous sunbathing humanoid is endowed with neither gender nor age. Its dimensions approximate the chassis of a Fresh Direct delivery truck. It’s made of about 400 pounds of bronze. It looks like something a pre-schooler might construct out of hot-pink pipe cleaners, magnified a millionfold.

The work has not been installed in a contemplative, tranquil nook like so many pieces in the nearby, walled-in sculpture garden of the Noguchi Museum, which has managed to remain invisible for decades now. Nor, does it occupy a weathered pier just past Socrates Sculpture Park, heroically turning to rust like one of the gargantuan Mark DiSuvero abstractions there. . “Sunbather” is not so sublime. It has been plopped down in the middle of Jackson Avenue in a rapidly gentrifying part of Long Island City, Queens, between four lanes of traffic (not including turning lanes). At rush hour, it seems to revel in a cloud of Volkswagen fumes, as irreverent as someone still smoking Marlboro Reds.

The sculpture was commissioned by New York’s Department of Cultural Affairs through its Percent for Art Program, which has been one of the most prominent public art organizations in New York City. Since 1982, the program has pursued its mission to allocate one percent of the yearly budget of city-funded construction projects to the realization of large-scale public artworks. With this one percent, a few artful human beings are brought to the table with many an artless human being to take part in the urbanism conversation.

But the artless — the developers focused on the bottom line rather than the top of the line — have also benefited from this one percent, receiving a boost by the big-hearted Dostoyevskian idiots of the world who transform uninspiring city plots into destinations for investment.

As Meromi’s “Sunbather” does its thing in the middle of Jackson Avenue, it also broadcasts the message, “Long Island City has arrived!” — which is code for: the idiots (the artists) have thrown in the towel and vacated; the industrial property is now ripe for the bidding war.

Ohad Meromi, “Sunbather” (2016), cast bronze, industrial paint; commissioned by the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs’ Percent for Art program, the Department of Transportation, and the New York City Economic Development Corporation (courtesy the artist, photo by Kristof Wickman)

Contemplating a work of art in this extraordinarily unsexy part of Queens, as opposed to, say, the ritzy Seagrams Plaza in midtown Manhattan, reminds me that the “everyman” does still exist. “Sunbather” is not there as eye-candy for the out-to-lunch investment banker or the pack of Swiss tourists caught in all-day gridlock between MoMA, the Whitney, and the New Museum. It is there for the un-arty, un-culturally-sophisticated working-class resident, 9-to-5 laborer, and just plain old commuter, who populates our city’s outer boroughs and its 24-hour circulatory system.

This perspective on the city reminds me of Hokusai’s “Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji” from the 1830’s, the famed woodblock series celebrating quotidian life. In one of the most famous views, we witness the exact moment a gust of wind blows a stack of paper out of a person’s hand. One forgets about the stoic mountain looming far from the action. In other images, the mountain’s tip just barely peeks over the horizon line, as if to say: whoever you are, however far way from the mountain you are in this sprawling landscape, you are still part of the picture. Mount Fuji is just as centralizing as the tallest steeple in any hilltop town, or the highest skyscraper in any financial center. The toothpick of Freedom Tower (whatever its called), asserting its authority all the way out to Coney Island, is our Mount Fuji.

“Sunbather” seems to indulge this premise. Like Hokusai’s prints, Meromi’s sculpture bathes us in life on the outskirts. But however it may undermine the ivory tower of the art cabal, it also, paradoxically, fulfills the dream of another variety of plutocratic mindset. Here, I refer to the multitude of real-estate agents who have achieved an expertise at exploiting artists in order to transform the perception of such peripheries as far more central, and thus far more expensive, than they were before the installment of the artwork.

* * *

Art’s beauty (or repulsion) lies, as they say, in the eye of the beholder, and Meromi’s “Sunbather” is no exception. Its lumpy, anatomically incorrect distribution of body mass is not exactly walking off with the best-on-the-beach trophy. Yet, it’s hard to say precisely which of its displeasing aspects has rubbed so many people the wrong way.

When the work was announced back in 2014, the artist and the Department of Cultural Affairs were slowly backed into a corner by local residents who objected to being left out of the machinations of exactly how $515,000 taxpayer dollars were poised to leave them with a man-who-fell-to-earth. The locals demanded inclusion on the vetting process, and as a result the commentary floodgates sprang open.

In the meantime, Meromi’s work had already been selected by a panel of arts professionals and representatives from the Council Member’s Office and Community Board. It was somewhat late in the game (March 2015) for the sculpture (and its creator) to face the nearly 300 local residents who gathered for a town hall meeting at MoMA PS1 to air their grievances.

The first question from the locals was certainly legitimate: who is this artist the cat dragged in? Meromi, now in his mid-40s, is an Israeli born resident of Brooklyn who has taught at Columbia University and Bard — is a seasoned pro on the international art circuit, having exhibited his work all over the place, and emphatically not the pre-schooler dabbling in pipe cleaners that he may appear at first to be.

But his work, perhaps unintentionally, turns out to be a button pusher. And the pushback it has already received is a healthy sign. One would hope that the outer-borough everyman and -woman would get in on the action, given that it’s the context of their neighborhood that supplies the work with its leverage.

Ohad Meromi, “Sunbather” (2016), cast bronze, industrial paint; commissioned by the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs’ Percent for Art program, the Department of Transportation, and the New York City Economic Development Corporation (courtesy the artist, photo by Kristof Wickman)

But leveraging anything in this city is no easy trick, and just because something occupies a public place doesn’t make it visible. If anything, there is a level of reverse psychology to the art of sticking out. Even the people most obviously in need attention, consideration, and help — the broken-down woman with her overstuffed garbage bags in the middle of the subway car, or the man at the intersection with two stumps for legs and a cardboard sign asking for change — tend to blend in as if camouflaged by the city itself.

Or is Meromi’s sculpture less about the ignorable victim and more about a kind of subliminal aberration? That is to say, a magical, almost divine presence? Consider the Babushka Lady — the nickname given to the unknown woman caught in the Zapruder film of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy — so called from the headscarf she was wearing as she stood in the middle of the grassy knoll, which is similar to those worn by elderly Russian women (babushka literally means “grandmother”). Is she the smoking gun? Ask Oliver Stone.

In its long life as a permanent fixture on Jackson Avenue, Meromi’s “Sunbather” will go through phases of being seen and unseen. It may stick out lie a sore thumb for one generation, and then wear a cloak of invisibility for the next. It will pulsate over time. People will stop seeing it one day and then wake up the next and say: What is that thing, and who made it?

Despite its current conspicuity, the “Sunbather” is quite conventional and conforming. What, after all, could be more traditional than a reclining nude? Every sculpture park and college green in the Western world displays at least one ambiguously reclining form by the likes of Henry Moore or Anthony Caro. Meromi’s sculpture is perfectly in sync with the subject matter of modernity, as well as a nod to so much art history that it’s hard to know where to begin. (The Parthenon’s river gods? Cezanne’s bathers?)

Ironically, I would think that virtually anything other than a reclining pink figure would have been even more controversial. Imagine if Meromi’s sunbather had been a 20-foot-tall standing naked woman with the body type of an R. Crumb model. Or a man flat on his back? And what about the color? If you look at the classic Crayola crayon set, you will find that we still live in a world where the brown crayon is labeled “brown” and the peach crayon is labeled “flesh.”

Meromi has sculpted perhaps the only politically correct human figure that can be made in the sexually and racially-charged climate we are living in. His pink androgyne seems bred for balance in the current topsy-turvy limbo of race and gender polemics.

The work, which is as anatomically out-of-whack as any bather Cezanne ever painted, is not even the point. Given its title, “Sunbather,” Meromi’s imaginary form — displaced from Cezanne’s pastoral arcadian world of Aix-en-Provence — is more evocative of a person who has survived the radiation storm of a Bikini Island A-bomb test than someone out to catch a few rays in the South of France.

While the comments Meromi has received may at first seem shallow, they are in fact quite thought-provoking. Some outspoken critics plainly call it “bad.” Others have labeled it an “ugly piece of poop” and a body sculpted with “used bubble gum.” One art lover wrote: “This looks like you dug up Gumby’s grandmother and threw it on the median.” Gumby’s babushka? That is like totally Grandma-phobic!

Ohad Meromi, preparatory sketch for Sunbather (2014) (courtesy the artist)

At a recent public discussion at The Sculpture Center, Meromi himself used the word “ugly” at least three times to describe his own piece. Clearly he was getting in on the fun of trashing his art, while cleverly deploying his skill at the art of self-deprecation.

This is of course not the first time that a reclining pink nude shocked the public. Consider Manet’s “Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe” (“The Luncheon on the Grass,” 1862/3), as bold and scandalous today as it ever was. Manet’s infamous naked lady sits between two rude dandies who haven’t even bothered to remove their hats. A scantly clad second woman off in the distance is said to be douching in the river, if you can believe that.

Some of the quotes I found from the time that Manet painted his masterpiece are not unlike the current discourse around Meromi’s “Sunbather.” A critic once wrote of the “Luncheon”: “Some seek ideal beauty, Manet seeks ideal ugliness.”

Or consider the other French Realist of painterly shock and awe, Gustave Courbet. Courbet wrote the book on making art to piss off the peanut gallery, or whatever jury happened to be out there. In an 1850 letter to a friend, he wrote: “I will be so outrageous that I’ll give everyone the power to tell me the cruelest truths.” And in reference to the critical reception of his “La Femme au perroquet” (“Woman with a Parrot,” 1866) he once wrote: “I told you a long time ago that I would find a way to give them a fist right in the face. That bunch of scoundrels, they caught it.”

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