#aid just escaped from the underground domes

[semrielle]

despite everything, it's still you!

[poutyhannie]

warnings: tsundere!minho, boxer!minho, fem!reader, mentions of d*ath, bl**d, kn*ves, violence, smut, fluff, angst :), dark cold minho finds a soft spot in y/n :))))

word count: +8k

The blisters on your hands burn as you placed the cash register on the shiny white counter. Finally, your life’s goal to begin a small cafe in town was complete, but this was only the beginning. Even the ache in your feet and back from the boxes and produce you carried in last night couldn’t shake the beaming smile you greet the empty store with. Golden light streams in from the freshly washed windows, bouncing off the racks of freshly baked breads and pastries. These beams of light must be the physical representation of the heavenly aroma of baking goods and you fill your lungs with it, content and elated at the prospect of a new chapter.

Among the normal baked goods, everyday items were placed around the counter, such as umbrellas and first aid kits. It was a small tactic to make a bit more profit or a thoughtful gesture, just in case customers needed something other than coffee and a croissant.

If you didn’t close the door soon, the cold morning gusts of wind would stale and harden the goods, but this display of openness was necessary to garner new customers so you quickly hopped from behind the counter to cover the goods with glass domes which served as lids.

The people of your city had been relatively friendly, spreading the word of your grand opening. Thanks to this, streams of customers filled your lavender-themed shop before the morning and evening rush. When the sun’s golden shine began to dissipate to cold blue, the goods were dwindling on the shelves, prepared to be restocked for tomorrow.

The front of your lavender purple apron was streaked with flour, chocolate, and jam as you wiped the counters of the same substances. The giddy excitement in your bones contradicted the cheerfully ticking clock on the wall that told you it was late into the night. When did the day spin away from you so quickly? Would all the days at your shop be this enjoyable? Sighing contently, you settle on one of the comfortable white chairs, finally feeling the pinching ache in your feet. You’d have to get employees once you made enough revenue, you were bound to only get more customers from here on out. Maybe you’d hire cleaners once a month to do a deep clean? 

Thoughts prospective of your future and the future of your shop were interrupted when the door swung open—you were concerned the force would shatter the glass door itself. In stalked a darkly clad man, his back was turned to you as he quickly scanned the shelves and displays of your shop. He’d ignored the ‘closed’ sign. Still, one more customer couldn’t hurt. “Welcome,” you greeted warmly, feet aching as you walked back behind the counter. The customer gruffly rolled your word off. 

The gloves on his hands didn’t have fingers and when he placed a small first aid kit and sandwich on the counter, you could see the beds of his nails were bleeding. However, when you saw his face, you realized his wounded fingers were not priority. A blistering red patch scored his cheek under his dark eyes. There was a fresh cut on his left cheekbone that matched his bust eyebrow and lip. At the state of his lip you quickly reached over to add a tube of chapstick to his order. “Don’t need it,” he grunted but made no move to put it back. “Its on me,” you explained, ringing him up, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Though his hoodie was pulled down, the sweaty strands of black hair were still visible, slightly blocking his vision. “Take care,” you offered him, placing the bag into his hand. The empty night was louder than him as he exited your store.

A month in and you’ve managed to perfect the flower-shaped croissants, exploiting the layers of dough and butter croissants naturally proved to achieve petal-like flares. Proudly, you arrange them on a baby blue decorative plate, fixing the eyebrow raising price tag in front of it. People would have to accept that baking was another type of art and that your croissants tasted as good as they look. Many customers have become regulars, your yellow post it note stuck on the cash register denotes what they usually get, just a courtesy. New people enter your store everyday, sometimes stopping to pose for pictures in front of the arguably aesthetic display case filled with your best work. A swell of pride always elates you and you remind them to tag the cafe in their social media posts.

Its because your shop has a softer, pretty theme that you’re surprised when you find yourself writing down what the bruised man from before would always order. Though you formally close at seven, you leave the light on as you close down for him because he usually enters at nine. At the end of every week, he replenishes his first aid kit, sporting nasty red, brown, and purple wounds on his face every day. His placement of the bandaids and salves are sloppy at best and as the daughter of a doctor, you can’t help but stop him before he disappears into the inky night once again. The accusative glare he shoots at you leaves you stuttering. “What do you want?” His words and tone almost have you denying that you even called him in the first place but you wonder why he’s always beat up and why he’s so cranky. “You’re not putting on the bandages correctly.” “What would you know about it?” “My dad was a doctor—here, just let me fix it for you.” You’re released from his heavy glare as he thinks over your proposal, eyes flitting around your shop before landing back on you. “Just make it quick.”

He’s never sat in one of your shop’s white chairs and he shifts on plush cushion, you across from him, preparing the first aid kit. No sound escapes him as he rips off his existing bandaids, though just watching him makes you want to wince. The used bandages are shoved into his pockets and he slouches in front of you. The wounds this time congregate around his jaw, a nasty blue-green bruise spreading from his chin to the end of his jaw. Cuts and rug burn-like patches are scattered around his face and you can’t picture what he’d look like without a black eye.

In the name of being prepared, you keep an extensive first aid kit under your counter. You gingerly smear the bruise with the respective salve before dousing the cuts with alcohol. All the while, the damaged man in front of you says nothing, but glares at you through his shaggy bangs. Though scared to anger him him, you softly push back his hair to reveal another bruise above his left eyebrow.

The tense silence tears at you and you blurt out, “Have you not met any left handed people? They’re always on your left side.”

“More like they haven’t met me.” 

“You’re left handed?” 

“Ambidextrous but they still never see it coming,” is his gruff reply. 

Slowly, as you spread salve on his cuts you put two and two together. “You’re a fighter.” 

“Boxer.” Though his uncomfortable silence had previously left you at a loss for words, you quickly get back into your old habits, “You’re a boxer? That’s why you’re always beat up. You must not be very good if you’re always getting hurt. Are you paid to fight other people or is it based on bets? You’re really young to be boxi—” 

The coldness in his eyes as they snap up to you has your words choking in your throat. “I let my opponents have a semblance of victory before I beat them. Its based on bets so I get more profit if viewers place more bets against me.”

He rises and you follow him to the door. “I-if you…when you get injured, just come here. It’ll heal faster if I tend to it.” 

A nod is all you get but its more than the silence you’ve been struck with by him before so you’re not complaining.

He holds you on your offer, coming in every night from nine to midnight. You don’t mind lingering at your shop longer because his scuffed boots find their way into your store every night. You learn that his name is Minho and that his boxing nickname is Lee Know. The air between you has melted from cold tension to quiet casualty. Though your heart clenches in wariness every time his battered face shows up, it also pangs in empathy for him. Empathy that he refuses to accept.

The glint in his eyes that he regards you with every night informs you that he scowls upon your empathy, the pout on your lips as you concentrate to clean his wounds and the worried laced in your voice as you ask him about his upcoming matches. “I’ve been preparing for the season to start. If it goes well, I can progress past my current bracket,” he explains and though his voice has been exclusively monotone, if you strain your ears hard enough, there’s a trace of hope and anticipation there. 

“You haven’t been doing matches this entire time?” You exclaim, dumbfounded that this amount of damage has been from practices and preparation for the real thing. 

For a passing second, everything in his demeanor except his voice calls you an idiot before he softens, realizing you know nothing about his underground life. “If we had matches all year, we’d kill each other in no time. No,” he laughs humorlessly, shaking his hair out. Its grown a bit longer than his eyes but you’ve secured it back, clearing his face up with a pink fluffy headband he scoffed at. “The lower division guys have up to 40 matches but the really good ones only have two or three.” 

In the beginning of your late night first aid sessions, you’d timidly ask Minho small talk questions and he’d gruffly respond with a word or two, but never a full sentence. Now, you ask him because you’re genuinely curious about his profession. “How many do you have? Do you know who you’ll go against?” 

“Twelve. Edging on the more professional bracket but still not there yet. Opponents are rolling; I don’t know until a few days before and even then, it’s not necessarily helpful. Just need to touch up on their weaknesses.” 

“What’s your weakness?” You ask him, dabbing some burn salve on the glove burn stretching over his cheekbone. At the silence stretching across the two of you, you hope your tone came across as light and playful, not offensive. Though you were acquaintances with the boxer, you couldn’t yet bring yourself relax around his dark gaze. 

“You’ll have to figure it out.” A giggle rises in your throat, maybe a nervous habit or maybe because you found him interesting.

An exhale eases out of your lungs as your legs give out, throwing yourself on your bed. The soft blue glow of your bedside lamp washes the room in a calming light but exhaustion refuses to let you bask in it. Soon, your eyelids are drooping and back is pressing into the sheets.

Danishes. 

A harsh, ringing voice rips through your head; you bolt up, pulling your neck at the speed and abruptness. Gasping, you fling your shoes on, realizing that you left the dough proofing. If it were any other dough, you’d roll over and shrug off the loss of a batch, but this dough was made with premium French artisan flour that a kind customer had gifted you. Somehow, the panic in your throat wards off drowsiness and you speed down the empty streets. Bursting into your store, you rush to remove the dough from the bowl and knead them into small loaves.

Based on how the dough smells, you don’t believe it over proofed so the worry loosens your throat allowing you to inhale a yawn, sliding dough into the warm oven.

The chairs in your cafe are plush but nothing compared to your bed. It’s making you slowly regret coming back tonight.

A loud bang rings through the silent air and immediately fear grips your heart which is thrumming in your throat. Maybe its your drowsy state that has you flinging into panic at the noise. The rubber soles of your shoes slowly squeak over the tile as you move over to grab a knife you use to score the bread. Its size won’t scare anyone off, but its sharpness is one to be reckoned with. From your fuzzy, sleepy memory, the sound came from the small storage room so with white knuckles gripping the knife, you creep over. In your rush, had the door been carelessly left open? The storage room door is ajar but you can’t see anything inside. Relaxing the slightest bit, you nudge the door open slowly, entering on tip toe. Though dimly lit, you can see that the small room is empty and relief floods you, though not completely ridding you of the former panic—your heartbeat is still in your throat.

When you return to the main room with the counter, tables, and register, cold, blinding panic returns tenfold. There’s three dark figures in your shop, crouching next to the counter, quickly stuffing their bags with the money stashed away. In a flurry, you press your back to the storage room door, cursing yourself for leaving it in there and at the front door which you left wide open.

Your mind whirls, trembling with fear and apprehension. Where was your phone? You couldn’t possibly stop these men but would the cops come in time?

“What the fuck are you bastards?” A voice rings out. Harsh. Cold. You don’t dare turn the corner to look.

A muffled cry pierces the tense air, strained grunts, and sounds of impact following in succession. There’s a loud cracking sound and a wail that raises your goosebumps and you slink back further into the shadow, hoping that whatever is happening behind the wall will leave you alone. Breathy curses and threats are thrown before visceral, bodily squelches and groans silence them. Digging your fingernails into your palms to get your hands from shaking, you tremble in the corner, even after the sounds have been reduced to low, pained moans and a pair of footsteps. They wander around, heavy and assured before edging closer to where you’re hiding. You don’t dare breath, but you don’t think breath would come even if you asked it to.

“Y/n?” At the sound of your name, your eyes grow wide, though you’re still frozen in place. The footsteps round the corner and you’re met with scuffed black boots and ripped black jeans. Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind whirls as you remember staring at those boots, tending to wounds. His wounds.

When your eyes fly open again, he’s crouching in front of you, face significantly less wounded than you’ve seen it. The sound of your knife clattering on the tile startles you into flying into his arms. He makes uncomfortable, awkward noises above you, hands floating above your back as his butt smarts from the force you knocked him over with. “Did you beat them up?” You voice is shaking and you’re either on the verge of tears or already crying into his black hoodie, filling your mind with his deep sweaty musk, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Yeah, its not that big of a deal though. Just call the police,” he pushes you off of him with surprising gentleness, seeing that his hands are stained with the blood of those three men. On his feet in a flash, he drops a bag onto your lap. “Here is your money.” 

There’s no proper reason why your hand shoots out to pull him from leaving. Maybe it’s because the would be thieves are still laying in your store, maybe its because you want to keep inhaling the warm scent he exudes, maybe it’s because the thought of being without him tonight scares you. “The police won’t believe that I did this,” you whisper, hoping that that will ward off his need to leave. It’s impossible to interpret what the dark look in his eyes are—you can never seem to read his thoughts. 

Only his verbal confirmation has relief flooding your chest, “Fine.” 

After tying up the perpetrators, Minho settles half an arms distance away from you, a waft of his musk filling your nose as you think you hear the piercing screech of sirens. “Were you just gonna let them take your cash?”

You were wrong. His eyes can deliver something other than blank darkness: incredulous accusation. The disbelief and an audible scoff in his question has you curling up tighter, burning with the implications he poses. You’d let these men reap the fruits of your labor; you wouldn’t try to stop them. 

“Y-yeah,” you attempt, trying to concoct a reasonable excuse that would get his disapproving stare from burning off the side of your face. “There were three of them, so of course I’d let them go.” 

A scoff rips from his throat, clawing at the back of your neck. “This won’t do. You know,” he turns to you, one eyebrow raised, “this’ll just be the beginning. Are you gonna be prepared to defend this shop, bub?” 

You bristle at his know-it-all attitude and the patronizing nickname, “Why do you care? And why were you even here this late at night?” The pale yellow suggestions of sun peak from the inky black sky as you’re reminded that you’ve gotten no sleep. Ignoring your questions, he rises, adjusting his jeans and walking over to the policemen now at the glass door of your cafe.

Even after the robbers were detained and police left, he remains, his dark scent permeating the air around you. “Listen,” he starts, hands shoved into his pockets and the regular scowl on his face, “I was just walking back from practice and saw them in here. And you need to get protection around here.” 

“And how would you suggest that?” You throw back, fueled with remaining sass. A shrug. He turns away, walking to the door. Habit says he’ll ignore you, disappearing into the lightening city horizon, but he stops, hand resting on the glass door. You slap his hand off of it, but his hand’s grimy residue clouds a part of the door already. 

His shoulders drop in annoyance before he grunts, “I could teach you how to defend yourself.” Mouth agape and eyes wide, you repeat his words, “You’d teach me how to defend myself? Isn’t your season starting up soon?” 

His gaze drops, you think he’s taken aback at your remembering the dates of his season. “Coach doesn’t want me sparring. Get healed or some shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m offering because it’ll be good for me to refresh on the basics and the next shop is twenty minutes away. I’ll be inconvenienced if this shop closes anytime soon.” The thought of Minho scowling down at you as a personal defense teacher scares you, but the vivid memory as you clutched the knife terrifies you. 

 “When are you free?”

**

“No, widen your feet; squat more, bub,” Minho lets out an exasperated sigh and slips behind you, hands on your hips to adjust your stance in front of the punching bag. The yellow lights overhead and the pale wash of moonlight are the only things illuminating your ‘self defense’ classes. With as much punching as you’re doing, you think it’s more of a boxing lesson than self defense.

“One.” 

Your left glove strikes the bag. 

“Two.” 

Right hand. 

Minho repeats these instructions, the two words seemingly molding together into a mash of sounds. As his cold voice continues to command you, the burning in your lungs intensifies and your thighs, arms, and stomach ache, screaming at you to stop. _Give up. _ A voice lures you, reminding you of how your knees shake and eyes sting from sweat. “I can’t,” you whimper, hands retracting as you meet Minho’s disapproving stare. It makes you avert your gaze, the burning in your cheeks from something other than physical exertion. 

“I’m heading home then.” Scoffing, Minho slings his bag over his shoulder, nodding back to you, “see you tomorrow.” 

Dejected, you fumble with the straps of the boxing gloves Minho gave you, unable to grasp them when both your hands are cocooned. The usual mocking sarcastic glint in Minho’s eyes were replaced with disappointment and his abrupt departure burns your chest. Maybe you should have pushed yourself more? Maybe he shouldn’t have.

“One, two. Don’t lean into it. One, two. Rotate your wrists. One, two. Guard your jaw, he’s gonna knock you out.

“Keep going, Y/n,” interrupts the usual ‘one, two’ and your teeth grit, pulling your elbows in and snapping your punches. Minho’s lips lift from the corner of your eye and this spurs you on, extracting energy from a place you didn’t know existed. Fueled with anger—anger at yourself for having given up last session, anger at Minho for pushing you—you pummel the punching bag, breathing harshly as the sound of slapping synthetic leather fills the musky room. 

“Okay, break.” The ground collides with your body as your legs give out under you. Your breathing must have been uneven, because there’s white patches in front of your vision. After blinking them away, you’re met with Minho’s outstretched hand offering a water bottle. His face is turned away from you, but his cheeks rise, insinuating a smile. With a breathing ‘thanks’, you practically inhale the water.

“Slow down, bub. You’re gonna puke.” 

Laying a hand over your spazzing heart, you give him the best glare you can muster, “No thanks to you, Lee Know.” He smirks at your use of his boxer nickname, sprawling on the ground next to you. 

“Y’know,” you gasp in between breaths, “I don’t think this is self defense, this is just offense.” 

Minho’s head tilts in acceptance, tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip. “No, what you’re doing is not boxing if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, pulling a face at Minho, “I’m in boxing gloves, attacking a poor boxing bag.” 

The veins in his forearms strain as he leans back onto his hands, “I could show you real boxing, bub. I have a match next week. I can get you in.” Your heart clenches at the thought of seeing the blood and gore you’ve seen on Minho’s face being made. He senses your uneasiness and leans forward, hand brushing over your knee almost…timidly? “You don’t have to come, but you can. I’ll text you the details,” he shrugs, “show up or don’t.”

**

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn a pastel purple skirt to a boxing match but it’s too late to turn around and change. At least you had the sense to wear safety shorts and sturdy combat boots. Yelling can be heard in the distance and while you’d usually flee from sounds like that, you find the GPS on your phone leading you right to it. 

The barbaric shouts are deafening as you stand in front of a grey building. A man, who’s arms are the size of your shoulders guards the door. “You lost, little girl?” He asks gruffly, but he doesn’t seem sarcastic. 

“I-I um,” you clear your throat, “Lee Know has a match here?” Your statement comes off more as a question and you wince at how weak your voice sounds. 

The bearded guard nods, his black shirt straining as he crosses his tree trunk forearms in front of him. “So you’re the lady he’s been babbling on ‘bout.” A blue tattoo stretches on his forearm as he opens the door, a wave of stench, heat, and yells ramming into you. Thanking the man quietly, you slip through the door. It’s an arena, like a football stadium but scaled down significantly. Burly and wiry men alike fill the seats, howling like dogs. You pull your sweater closer to you and your skirt down. The lights and sounds whirl in front of you as you try to spot Minho in the crowd. Further up, closer to the boxing ring, there’s a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders. You hope it’s him as you squeeze past the admittedly scary crowd of men.

Tapping his shoulder, you breathe in his musky scent. It almost cancels out the stale rotting stench around you. When he turns, his eyes are dangerous and dark—you almost stumble back—but when he sees you his eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t think you’d come,” he shouts over the chaos, “here,” he pulls your shoulders into his chest, shielding you in his arms as he begins to weave through the crowd, “my match is in a little bit so I was gonna head to the back.” 

The screams are muffled now as Minho closes the door to a small, empty room. He slouches on a chair, gesturing you to do the same. “It’s always so fucking chaotic out there. I can never focus before a match. I can never think,” he mutters, mostly to himself, so you freeze, not wishing to distract him, “My mind is always somewhere else and I can’t remember anything. It’s like nothing else but my nerves exist.” 

Only after a beat of silence, after Minho turns his wide eyes up to look at you, do you realize he was talking to you. “But you’re so good. You’ve been training all year,” you blurt out, not pausing to think about your words, taken aback at how innocent and lost his eyes look, “isn’t it like muscle memory?” 

He groans, you worry you’ve said the wrong thing, “Yeah, I know but it’s just so fucking frustrating, bub.” 

Smiling widely, you tease him with a nudge on his shoulder, “You’re gonna be great. Plus, you’ll have me cheering you on.” Awkwardly, you make punching movements, “I’ll take your opponent down if you can’t.” 

That’s the first time you hear Minho laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh. Not a scoff or a mocking tease. It’s warm and sweet and surprisingly high. His eyes crinkle, still smiling at you when he stands, “Okay sounds like a plan.”

Seeing the dark glare Minho holds his opponent with as they circle the ring, you understand why Minho sports the look so often. It takes you off guard; you feel like you haven’t seen these dark eyes in a while. A strong swallow of spit tightens your throat. You blink, his opponent strikes, mitt slapping against Minho’s blocking forearm. Gasping a breath, you freeze in apprehension as the crowd around you roars to life. The sharply muscled, bald man circling Minho does not lack in speed; the blurring blue of his mitt once again slams against Minho’s forearm. The bald man tenses, charging at Minho with a flurry of attacks. Desperation clenches your throat as you will Minho to do something. He ducks his head behind his forearms, abdomen clenching at every blow inflicted to him. Soon mutters calling Minho a ‘punching bag’ and a ‘free win’ crawl into your ears. Anger flares in your chest—you know how good Minho is at fighting. Why isn’t he doing anything? However, Minho’s wiry muscled, grey haired coach standing beside you is stoic, a stark contrast to the screaming audience, hurling saliva with every abusive word they target at Minho.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” You whisper to yourself, too engrossed in the match to care about the raw vulnerability in your voice. The bald opponent retreats, panting as Minho continues to circle him. 

Minho’s coach growls, a smirk breaking his expressionless wall, “It’s over now.” Wide eyed, you turn back to the match, taking in the sweaty, hunched—you’d daresay weary—shoulders of the bald man, heaving with pants. A relief spreads a smile across your face. Minho had been doing something. The red boulder of Minho’s mitt slams into the side of the man’s head, jerking his neck awkwardly, hurling him into stumbling, expression blank shock. An electric wave of excitement shoots through you. Minho is merciless, unwilling to let his staggering opponent recover, pummeling him with firmly resounding attacks. You recognize some basic moves he’s taught you, only now do you realize capabilities of those punches put into action.

The red of Minho’s mitt is soon darkened with the seeping blood of his opponent and the fickle crowd now screams Minho’s name, invigorating him, causing his blows to land harder, until the bald man is thrown onto the blood spattered floor. The referee slams the ground thrice and the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers and groans.

A satisfied smirk cuts across Minho’s barely harmed face as he unfurls his sweaty arms in victory, bathing in the cheers of those who bet on him and the cries of those who bet against him alike. His coach turns to you, a satisfied twist to his lips, a wad of cash already in his clutched, calloused hand, “This is why he wasn’t doing anything, sweetheart,” he says, shaking the money, “Minho’s a tough kid but he’s also a smart kid.” After a pause, his coach shifts, frowning in, “You’re the first person Minho’s brought to a match. Nobody else. Take care of him,” he warns.

Minho’s panting presence behind you raises goosebumps on your neck. You turn to see his glistening bare abdomen as he towels himself off with a sweat rag. Bruises bloom on his forearm and but he ignores them, receiving the majority of the cash from his coach.

“Let’s get out of here before some ass crack takes his faulty betting out on me,” he says, resting a hot hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the back exit, ignoring jeering crowd members. The empty night greets you and he nods to a black car, gruffly explaining, “You walked here, right bub?” 

“Yes, also,” you gush, “that was pretty cool." 

He looks away, deflecting with, “Yeah, get in.” 

“Why do you do it?” You ask, strapping your seatbelt on and retrieving the makeshift first aid kit from your purse.

The car murmurs to life and Minho’s voice is surprisingly quiet and soft, “I got into a lot of fights up to high school so coach came up to me and asked me if I wanted to make it a profession,” a pause and Minho murmurs, “he took me in, taught me how to channel the joy I got from fighting. Turn it into something better. Focused.” 

“He seems really proud of you,” you observe, leaning over to rub a salve onto his shallowly cut lip. “You should put on more chapstick, Minho. Where’s the one I gave you?” 

Under flash of passing yellow streetlights, you can almost make out a dusting of pink on Minho’s cheeks. “I lost it,” he admits, tilting his head slightly to give you better access to his lip.

Sighing, you settle back onto the carseat. “I can take better care of you when we get there.” Minho’s eyes are wide, looking back from the road to you, “Where?” 

A clench of nervousness holds your gut, but you shrug, “Yours, mine, I don’t care.” 

It’s Minho’s turn to be flustered; he nods quickly.

**

Minho’s apartment is bare, only cluttered with various trophies and medals, a ground table, a tv, and a small couch. You set down his bag, you insisted you carried it and Minho opens a cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit. He settles on the couch, legs crossed tightly underneath him. For some reason, its stupidly endearing. The alcohol on his cut stings and Minho’s eyebrow furrows in pain. “Y’know, you don’t have to be tough around me, Minho.” 

His eyes are blank, “What do you mean?” 

“You barely let yourself feel pain, you’re always glaring at something, and you never open up about anything. You don’t have to be like that around me, Minho.” 

An eyebrow lifts and he tilts his head to the side slightly, “I told you about coach,” he offers. 

You nod slowly, “Yeah, that’s true. I guess, I just like seeing you smile,” you shrug, “that’s all.” 

Suddenly bashful, Minho looks down, biting his lip to repress a smile.

“That’s what I mean!” You exclaim, placing your hands on his cheeks to cradle his face, forcing him to look up at you, your heart in your throat. He groans, an endeared smile finally breaking out, “Quit being so fucking cute and maybe I could think enough to talk properly to you, bub.” 

Burning excitement fills your chest and you pose with a peace sign, “You think I’m cute?” 

An exasperated roll of his eyes is all the answer you need. “Well,” you say, patting his head, “you’re very cute too.” 

This time, his scoff is soft, “I’m a boxer.” 

You press a bandaid over his cut, “Yes, a very adorable boxer who needs to smile more.” He breaks out into laughs, filling you with bubbly warmth, gazing down at you with eyes that are anything but dark and dangerous. It’s warm and tender.  He is.  Sobering up, Minho tilts his head slightly, his eyes traveling down to your lips. 

Anticipation fills your chest and your mind whirls, not knowing what to do so you blurt out, “Oh yeah! Chapstick,” leaning over, you retrieve a tube, “Here.” Minho, however is unfazed by your awkwardness and cocks an eyebrow, suddenly confident, nodding to the chapstick, “Put it on for me.” 

Its your turn to blush, but you do still, not realizing that this isn’t clear chapstick. Its only when you pull away do you realize his lips are painted a pretty shade of pink. Clapping in joy you shove your phone camera in his face. “You’re so pretty!”  

Stuttering in surprise, his eyes bug out but he doesn’t make any move to wipe it off, “The fuck?” 

“So pretty!” You exclaim, holding his face to put more on, laughing at his shocked expression.  Minho pulls back, tumbling you with him until you’re staring down and all your laughter has been swallowed. Silently, his hand travels up to the back of your head, gently pulling you towards his freshly moisturized lips. Smiling because of nerves, you don’t need his hand to guide you.

His lips are surprisingly soft but perfectly sticky with your pink chapstick. Almost timidly, his tongue caresses your bottom lip and you whimper as he eases your lips apart. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth and your arm cramps from holding yourself up over him but he’s so gentle and careful with the kiss you don’t want to stop. Your arm gives out and you press against Minho, snaking your fingers into his slightly sweaty hair. Panting, Minho pulls back as he gazes up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I don’t want to go too fast, Y/n,” he whispers, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone.

Brazen with unfound confidence, you pout at him, “No. Be mine now.” Minho smirks, laughing softly as his eyes crinkle up, “Okay, okay,” he reassures you, pulling you down to lay on his chest, “I’ll be yours.”

**

“Don’t you dare do that, Y/n. I’ll sue you,” Minho threatens, eyes wide but voice joking.

Giggling, you ignore him, continuing to create a new dessert of your own design called the ‘Minho Mochi’. It’s a soft peach mochi covered with waffle cone. “No, I take inspiration from you and plus,” you mention, “you said yourself that the juxtaposition of the soft sweet mochi and the shell of the waffle cone was good.” 

“Yeah,” he groans, plucking a mochi ball from the counter and popping into his mouth, “but that was before you decided to use my name for it, bub.” 

Reaching up to clean the potato starch residue on his lip you correct, “I made the mochi with you in mind first, not the other way around.” Minho mumbles half heartedly, turning away to smile but you tug his arm. He’s blushing and grinning softly; your heart clenches in adoration. 

“I can make you one for every match you have, would that make you feel better?” 

Minho laughs, bringing your potato starch and rice flour covered hand to nuzzle his cheek, “Fine, I guess this is what I get for having girlfriend that owns a purple bakery.” 

“Hey!” You deny, pulling back, “This is lavender, not just purple.” 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees quickly, tugging you into him. “I’m covered in flour,” you protest into his chest, his deep musk a relieving break from the sweet scent of mochi. You feel him press kisses to the top of your head as his arms tighten around you so you relax into him, circling his waist with your arms.

**

“You should really decorate this place, Min,” you comment, gesturing at his bare apartment. You’re comfortably draped across his shoulders from the couch as he sits on the floor. He looks back from the TV, eyes wide and a puppy-like pout graces his now well moisturized lips, “What do you mean? I have my trophies as decoration.” 

Groaning you protest, “No, those are trophies. You need proper deco here, it’s just sad.” 

A familiar, flirty smile spreads across his face and he winks at you, “You’re prettier than any other decorations I can get.” 

Though you feel your face burning, you roll your eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile bubbling in your chest. He gets up to sit next to you on the couch. Still smiling, he pats his lap, making your stomach jump in excitement. Settling down on his thighs, you play with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his stare. He ducks his head, forcing you to look at him. “Why you shy, bub?” 

“I really love you, Min.” 

His eyes are soft and you don’t expect him to say it back. You’re just content that he knows. 

“I love you too, bub.”

**

You’re at Minho’s apartment basically every day for the past year and today’s no different. The soft beating of his heart resounds in your ear while the other listens to the calming voice of the audio book you guys are working through. The plot follows a personified kitten who tries to find her place in the world that is too cruel for her. Despite the objectively morbid theme, this part of the story is hopeful—the kitten has found friends and feels at home. 

When the narrator concludes the end of the chapter, Minho reaches over to turn the recording off. You take the opportunity to crane your neck up and plant a kiss on his lips. He smiles softly, grabbing your waist so that you’re straddling his hips. One hand travels up to gently tug on your chin, deepening the kiss. His tongue is hot and lavishes against yours, a juxtaposition between his hand, methodically stroking your hair. Your fingers dance across his face, stroking his cheekbones, tracing his jawline and neck. 

Soon, your fingers are replaced by your mouth and Minho’s Adam’s apple bobs with the groan he lets out. The fire in your chest and the beginning aching in your core has you tugging at the hem of his soft black tee shirt. His breath is shaky on your cheek as you pull the shirt over his head, softly dropping it next to the bed. Sitting back on his hips, you gaze down at his bare chest, wonder and admiration filling your heart as your hands travel across his toned torso. The lightest breeze of pink blush blows across his cheeks so you lean down to reattach your open mouth to his. The whirling in your mind rids your thoughts of everything except how he feels under you. His wet lips against yours, rising of his chest against yours, his hips pressing against yours. 

So his tense voice catches you off guard, “Y/n, are you sure?” He’s pulled back and his eyebrows are furrowed softly, his pretty lips red and swollen but glossy with your spit. 

Your gaze drops, hands fumbling to play with his hair. “I want to but if you wanna still take it slow, I’m fine wit—” 

“I want you too, Y/n,” he whispers. Hungrily, he pulls off your shirt, sitting up to cradle you in his arms as he nuzzles your breasts, pressing hot kisses against your skin. Sighing contently, you unclip your bra and try not to blush at the dumb, awestruck look on Minho’s face. His rough hands come up to gently fondle them and you press kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Y/n,” he breathes, his hands firm against your bare waist as he gingerly turns you over so your back is pressed against the cool sheets. “We can take it slow.” Nervousness tightens your stomach and you’re sure he can feel the thrumming of your pulse as he slowly drags down your pants, maintaining eye contact. An endearing toothy smile spreads across his face and he hides it by kissing your tummy, trailing down to your pantie covered core. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or wanna stop, okay?”

You smile softly, “Okay, you too.” Minho nods, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/n,” he murmurs, reaching to tug off your underwear. Being completely bare underneath someone would make anyone ashamed or uncomfortable and your face burns as his glossy eyes take your most vulnerable state in. His lips are parted slightly and the soft glow of the lamp casts shadows of his eyelashes onto his red cheeks. A harsh swallow has his Adam’s apple bobbing. “God, you’re dripping, Y/n” He whispers, eyes shining, “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Minho,” you confirm. He slides his finger into your hot, aching core, his lip caught in his teeth as he watches his digit being sucked in. Slowly, Minho pushes his finger deeper into you, gaze dancing from your face to your core.

“M-more please,” you whimper, consumed by the unfamiliar feeling of your velvety walls around something. When he adds another finger deep inside you, you gasp, a hand traveling down to clutch his free one. His thumb strokes the back of your hand as his other continues, scissoring into you as wet sounds fill his bedroom. When his fingers curl up, hot white pleasure shoots through you and Minho smiles proudly, working at that spot.

“H-holy fuck,” you moan, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder at the unfamiliar pleasure. 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse, bub,” Minho muses, releasing your hand to push himself up the bed so that your faces are close together.

“I-its because of you, Minho.” 

That triggers something in him and his eyes turn dark, but rather than scaring you, it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. When Minho removes his fingers from you, it unwinds slowly but clenches at the sight of his now solid length being pulled out of his sweats. His eyelashes flutter closed on his cheeks as he strokes himself with his fingers, still slick from your juices as he retrieves a condom from the bedstand and rolls it on, hissing at the friction. “Are you ready, Y/n?” He pants softly, eyes hooded as he stares down at you, hand still moving up and down his red glistening cock in a way that has your pussy throbbing and mouth salivating. You respond by hooking your legs around his hips, smiling as he leans down to kiss your lips softly. His tip pokes at your hot core and you sling your arms around his shoulders.

Minho’s eyes are piercing as he gazes darkly at you, searching for the slightest trace of hesitance on your part. Painstakingly slowly, he slides into you. Maybe the foreplay did help to prepare you, but the stretch has tears pooling at the corners of your eyes and he’s not even all the way in you. Shakily, Minho exhales, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to hold back from pistoning into you. His lips press into the tears forming and spilling over at your eyes and he nuzzles your cheek with his nose softly, staying still until you reassure him, “Okay, you can keep going.” 

His teeth and tongue travel over your neck as he fully enters you, but his soft hiss has you unintentionally tightening around him. “Ah, Y/n don’t,” he groans, lifting his head from looking at the place you two are connected at to to smile at you. “Can I start?” 

You nod, hooking your ankles around his hips, “Yeah, just go slow for now.” Minho starts thrusting deep into you, angling his hips and going slow enough to feel the drag of your soaking walls rub against his throbbing cock. “You feel so good,” he moans, reaching to hold your hand as his hips continue to rock against you.

“I-I feel so full,” you whisper, squeezing his hand and he smiles softly at you, eyes crinkling up. “C-can you go faster?” 

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he snaps his hips into yours, groaning. The lustful and loving sounds of skin slapping resounds in the room, mixing with both of your moans to create a beautiful sound you tuck away in your mind. Minho pulls out till the tip before slamming into you, sweat forming at his forehead. With his free hand, Minho reaches down to rub your clit in tempo with his powerful thrusts. Moaning loudly, you whimper, “P-please, Min I-I think I’m gonna,” your words get swallowed by another moan when Minho’s hips increase their pace, his stamina through the roof.

“Me too, Y/n,” he pants, “Cum for me.” 

The hot coil tightens and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed at the sensation until white, electric pleasure crashes through you and you release around Minho’s length. He moans loudly, quickly chasing his high. His face twists in pleasure as he reaches his high and your fuzzy brain is left awestruck at his beauty. Minho collapses next to you, removing the condom, chest heaving in deep pants as he stares into your eyes, smiling like an idiot.

“How was that, Y/n?” He asks, arms circling your shoulder, pulling you close. 

You giggle into his chest, fingers tracing imaginary doodles, “That was fucking crazy, Min.” 

Minho’s chest bubbles with laughter and he boops your nose, scrunching his own nose up, “That’s great cause I was kinda worried about giving you a bad experience and all.” 

Looking up and tapping your chin with a finger in mock thinking you smile, “I loved it, but I want you to call me cute names, Min.” 

“I call you bub. But you mean like princess? Babygirl?” he says, an eyebrow raised. 

You roll your eyes, “Bub is not a cute name but yes, the others are okay.” “Okay,” Minho laughs, gently rubbing his nose against yours, “You’re my princess, you’re my babygirl, and you’re always my bub.”

Minho shuffles in the sheets, turning to face you, an excited smile on his face, “Just move in with me. You’re already here more than your own place and it’s unsafe there.” Still after loving him for so long, your stomach churns with nervousness, but you laugh softly, scooting closer so that you can bury your nose into his bare chest to breathe his scent in deeply. “This apartment building is safer than mine?” His arms find their way around you and he hold you close, his chest rumbling against your face with every word, “It’s safer because I’m here.” Laughing you pull back, supporting your weight with one arm as you gaze down at him. He lifts an eyebrow, stretching his arms towards you and you can’t help but collapse into them. “Okay, I’ll move in with you.”

A shining smile breaks out across Minho’s face and he nuzzles his nose into your hair softly, gently stroking your bare back.

[officialotakudome]

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Mortal Kombat (2021) Review

Mortal Kombat is back in live-action with the beginning of a planned franchise of films. Following a slightly altered storyline to the lore new character Cole Young is a descendant of legendary warrior Hanzo Hasashi. Upon coming into contact with an old clan enemy he is forced into the Mortal Kombat tournament with the Earth and his family at stake.

 Mortal Kombat is a 2021 video game film, it is produced by New Line Cinema and distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures. It is in theaters now and HBO Max until May 23.

Editor’s Note: Near complete to complete spoilers for Mortal Kombat and potential spoilers for the source material may be present in this review.

Mortal Kombat pays respect to it’s deep lore.

Video game movies are making a wild comeback and the latest among them is Mortal Kombat. While the film follows most of the plot of the video game it also inserts additional lore and characters. On the surface this isn’t too much of a problem in of itself. However it more often than not feels like the film chickens out of said originality midway through. 

Historic characters take a backseat to new ones.

THE GOOD: Mortal Kombat opens with the historic war between Scorpion & Sub-Zero’s families in 1400s Japan. Sub-Zero kills Hanzo Hasashi’s wife and son leading to a battle in which the former wins. As Hanzo dies Raiden retrieves his surviving child in an effort to preserve the Hasashi bloodline for the future of Earth realm. The film then cuts to Cole Young, a family man and former MMA World Champion. Now he’s fighting in smaller independent circuits where he routinely loses. After his latest fight Jax introduces himself to Cole questioning his decision to fight in underground MMA scenes. While out with his family Cole is attacked by a very much alive Sub-Zero. Who has become much stronger since we last saw him. 

Jax saves Cole and his wife & daughter and informs him of the truth of the Dragon imagery on his chest. He allows Cole and his family to escape while telling them to find Sonya Blade who has more details. As Cole & his family leave Jax fights Sub-Zero, but is easily beaten to near death with his arms severed. Cole sends his family off to a cabin as he meets Sonya. Sonya who has captured Kano (a black market criminal for hire) reveals to Cole that the symbol is an invitation to Mortal Kombat a deadly tournament with worlds at stake. She also states that Kano earned his invitation by luck killing the previous invitee. The three are attacked by Syzoth, but Kano kills him with Cole and Sonya’s help.

The trio travel to Raiden’s temple where Liu Kang awaits. He explains that the Mortal Kombat is an ancient tournament where control over worlds were put on the line. With each world having a team of Champions defending them. He introduces them to Kung Lao who like Liu is also an Earth realm Champion. Liu Kang tells the others that they need to train to unlock their unique power which will aide Earth realm. Sonya and Cole are reunited with Jax who’s healing from his injuries. During dinner a hostile Kano unlocks his power after being egged on by Kung Lao. 

Raiden expresses doubt for the Champions being successful and Cole who’s worried for his family gets sent home. Returning to the cabin his family was held up in he’s suddenly attacked by Goro one of Outrealm’s Champions. Meanwhile, Shang Tsung the leader of Outrealm arrives at Raiden’s temple with several of his Champions. Including Sub-Zero, Milenna, Nitara, Reiko, and Kabal. Kano betrays Earth realm joining Outrealm and fights Sonya. She & Jax unlock their powers during battle with the former defeating Kano. Kung Lao kills Nitara with his hidden blade hat and Cole after unlocking his power kills Goro returning to the temple. Raiden reveals that Cole is a descendant of the Hasashi family angering Tsung & Sub-Zero. 

Kung Lao sacrifices himself to save Cole as Raiden teleports Earth’s Champions to a safe zone. Cole suggests a plan in which Outrealm and Earth have a pre-tournament. Outrealm’s Champions are killed and Cole & Sub-Zero face each other at the MMA gym which Sub-Zero has incased in frost including his kidnapped family. Cole’s blood resurrects Hasashi who now goes by the moniker of Scorpion & they work together to defeat and kill Sub-Zero. Scorpion leaves telling Cole to keep their bloodline safe. Shang Tsung vows revenge taking the corpses of his warriors back to Outrealm. Raiden states that he is gathering more Champions for Earth and tasks Cole with finding Hollywood actor Johnny Cage. 

Josh Lawson’s Kano is a scene stealer & it’s one of the film’s biggest issues.

The action of Mortal Kombat is some of the coolest you’ll see this. I may be reaching a bit, but there were times when the normal hand-to-hand combat reminded me of some of the fights in films like The Raid. I didn’t mind Cole’s character it made sense for the movie’s direction. Cole being an MMA expert was a nice modern touch up for the martial arts aspect of the franchise. The special effects were excellently done too. You know how these lower budgeted type of films tend to have CGI that looks noticeably like CGI (aka bad)? Even at a budget of $50 Million, of which I can only imagine went to the CG I never really saw any of it that just looked awful or wonky. Except for maybe a single instance with Syzoth. It’d have been easier to just use a humanoid ninja version of Syzoth honestly. 

The story is fine, I like the idea of the unique powers having a backstory instead of just existing. That’s a neat layer that adds some sense into the world. Granted, it’s not necessary to do so, but the fact that they did it is kind of appreciated. And yes Kano ruled in this movie. His quips and jokes were almost always on. I do feel bad for most of the cast who felt like they were playing catch up with Lawson’s energy. I also have to commend the writers for going out of their way to feature Scorpion & Sub-Zero’s backstories. They were spread across several games and it was done fairly well here for a two hour film. 

All the Mortal Kombat gore you can handle and then some.

THE BAD: Mortal Kombat some some good ideas, but it seems the movie loses confidence in itself quit a bit. For example, I mentioned earlier that I like Cole in the sense that him existing doesn’t bother me. However, Cole’s character direction kind of falls flat. Like him being there is cool, but there’s literally no reason why his role couldn’t have been given to Scorpion or Johnny Cage like in the original film. The former probably would have made for a much better movie honestly. Lawson as mentioned is awesome here, but it gets to the point where he completely outclasses the rest of the cast. And it really makes them look bad and dry. I also feel I have to say this respectfully as a fan of the source. I don’t like the idea of turning Liu Kang and Kung Lao who are arguably the main characters of the first handful of the games background characters. They could have given Jax’s role of informing Cole about the legend of Mortal Kombat to Liu, and they oddly do in the second act. It was also weird for the film to be called Mortal Kombat, but not feature the actual tournament. They do some makeshift pseudo-tournament. 

Mortal Kombat is a decent video game movie that still has time to be a great one.

OBERALL THOUGHTS: While on the surface Mortal Kombat is probably what you’d expect from most video game films there is a lot to like about it. It follows the story closely enough even with the original direction effecting it. The action, fighting, and special effects are strong and well done. Unfortunately, the film suffers from unbalanced character direction and the impact said original story has on the future of this reboot’s franchise intentions. If the issues can be looked on in earnest I think Mortal Kombat has a genuine shot of being a good video game movie franchise. And I say that, because we’re undoubtedly getting at least one sequel. Otaku Dome gives Mortal Kombat a 70 out of 100.

[panic-and-chaos]

Eternal Peace

Jais sighed as he stepped into the cavern. He understood Pax loved this cave and claimed it as a holy place, but that didn’t stop Jais from loathing it. Ever since he first stepped foot into it, he had been filled with a sense of dread even by simply looking at it. 

However, this was the place Pax called him to. Pax had summoned him, saying that he had seen signs of Etidorfa, the monster Jais and Dia had aided Ainos in creating. Wherever she went, blood and terror followed. If she had escaped the forest Ainos banished her to, then she was a serious threat.

“Brother dearest, where are you?” Jais called out, letting his voice echo down and throughout the webbing of underground tunnels. With that, he got a vague idea of how far they stretched. 

Pax did not respond, which was troubling. Had Etidorfa gotten to him? It was unknown whether gods could get killed, but none of Jais’s siblings, nor himself, wanted to test that theory. 

Jais sped up his pace, hoping Pax had not been injured by that raging beast. After what felt like far too long, he emerged into a massive cavern, with stalagmites and stalactites dripping and jutting out of the cold, gray floor and ceiling. The echo of dripping water echoed from somewhere deeper in, along with the faint sound of rippling, running water. All in all, this was a beautiful cave, perhaps once he learned if Etidorfa was truly freed, he could return and admire this cavern more. 

“Jais.” Pax’s flat voice filled the cave. 

Jais looked back and grinned at his brother. He understood why many mortals assumed Pax was female. His narrow face angled into a thin muzzle. His eyes were framed by dark, thick lashes, the yellow tears that eternally dripped from his matching, angled eyes flowing freely. The softly glowing gold of the wings which perched on his back was the only light in the massive cave. 

He often wondered what mortals thought of his other siblings, and himself. 

“Etidorfa, where is she, Pax?” Jais asked. Wondering could wait, for now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. 

“This way,” Pax gestured down a deeper passage. Its walls were smoothed by time. Jais nodded, then bounded down the tunnel. He heard Pax slithering behind him, the soft fluff of his wings brushing up against the smooth walls. 

After even more walking, the air around Jais began to stink of rot and death, and heat up around him. The fur along his spin prickled with unease.

“Up ahead, Jais.” Pax’s voice was still flat and smooth, just like the walls around them. Jais nodded and stepped into the stinking room. However, the moment his paw crossed the threshold, the stench abruptly went away, replaced by a stale, lifeless scent.

It was a smaller cave than the last one, only just big enough for the brothers and one more person to fit comfortably in it. The walls were rippling and red-tinted, and the floor the same, the only opening being the one Jais had walked out of. The ceiling arched into a low dome. But most noticeable of all, no Etidorfa.

“Pax, what is this?” Jais demanded and spun on his brother. Pax cooly looked down his long nose at him. 

“I am the God of Peace, am I not?” Pax asked. His voice was now melodic and calm. “My purpose is to soothe hearts and bring peace, yes?”

Jais got a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach as Pax went on.

“I create peace and calm, only for you to come into my worlds and stir up horror once more, then leave, your job done. You leave me to struggle to return peace.” Pax began slithering around the edge of the cavern. 

“Brother dearest, we can talk this out-“ Jais began, but Pax raised a hand. 

“Jais, we cannot bargain. Your chaos is not necessary to this universe. My peace is. Without me, the universe will dissolve into fire and hell.”

“And without me, it will not grow and change,” Jais argued.

“Change is temporary. Unnecessary.” Pax shook his narrow head, the glow from his ethereal antlers somehow only making the room redder. 

“I’m sorry Jais,” Pax said, not sounding entirely sorry. “For the good of the cosmos.”

With that, and with no other warning, the red stone jolted to life underneath Jais, twisting into a cruel spire. With a horrid snap, it shot upwards, shattering through Jais’s spine as it plunged into the ceiling.

Jais was so stunned he didn’t even feel it at first. Unfortunately, that moment of painlessness ended too soon. The pain of the stone continued as it kept raising and growing. It displaced organs inside him, tore tissue and muscle, shattered the bones in his spine even further.

It was agony, in the purest sense of the word. His world dissolved into the dimensions of his broken body. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. All he could do was sit in torture as the spire grew and grew, like a sort of corrupt tree.

As welcome darkness began to fade in and dull his new, terrible existence, Pax leaned in and murmured, “Now, there can be true Peace.”

Jais wanted to make one more comment, say one more thing, he would even settle for just being able to let out a chuckle, but alas, he could not. Letting out his final, pained breath, he let his eye drift close.

[roman-writing]

no end in sight (2/?)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmoore/Thalyssra

Rating: T

Wordcount: 5,432

Summary: Jaina goes to Suramar seeking aid after leaving the Kirin Tor. An AU exploring the events post-Theramore and Jaina’s recovery during Legion.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

“Summer after summer has ended,

balm after violence:

it does me no good

to be good to me now;

violence has changed me.”

-Louise Gluck, ‘Averno’

--

When Jaina awoke the next morning, bleary from so few hours of sleep, it was to find her clothes had been cleaned and folded neatly over the ornate screen. She squinted at them and rubbed at her eyes. She was slow to rise from the mat that served as her bed. Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, but nothing like it had last night, when it had rejected any measure of food or water she had dared to eat the day before, and then some. The bucket had also been emptied sometime during the early morning hours, when she had finally managed to sleep.

Sitting up, she reached for the last of the water in the goblet. She sipped, paused, and swallowed down the urge to dry heave. Then she took another sip. Jaina waited for her stomach to settle before placing the goblet aside and pushing herself to her feet. She dressed slowly, pausing every now and then to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stifle the headache still lingering at the front and centre of her skull. She grabbed her staff before leaving the confines of her partition.

Jaina emerged into the large circular room, peering around for any sign of the others. Her gaze lingered on the seed of the arcan’dor, which had been carefully balanced beneath the central dome. Oculeth’s side of the room was conspicuously empty. She heard the murmur of voices echoing from the floor below, but his distinctive timbre was not among them. Jaina did not bother muffling her footsteps or the click of her staff against the stone floors as she descended the stairs.

Valtrois and the First Arcanist stopped talking the moment Jaina came within earshot. The First Arcanist, whose back was to the stairs, turned, one of her long ears twitching at the clack of Jaina’s staff. “You’re awake. How did you sleep?”

“Poorly,” Jaina replied. She came to a halt a comfortable distance away from them. She had not bothered to put her shoes on, wearing only a pair of socks that gathered dust wherever she walked. The others did not wear footwear at all.

The First Arcanist hummed. “I suspected as much.”

Jaina’s stomach gave a particularly noisy grumble, which she was sure the others must have heard even a few paces away, though their faces gave away nothing. “When am I allowed to eat again?”

“You will need to wait a few hours after the procedure,” the First Arcanist answered. “Oculeth has just gone to replenish our stocks of normal food.”

“Unless you would prefer arcwine,” Valtrois added in a sarcastic tone.

“I’ve never had it,” Jaina countered.

Valtrois shot her an exasperated look. “That was a joke.”

In response, Jaina rolled her eyes. “I know.” She turned to Thalyssra. “Can we start, already?”

The First Arcanist clasped her hands together. “You are very eager to be very uncomfortable, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Trust me, I’ve been more than uncomfortable for months. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Lowering her voice, Valtrois murmured something to the First Arcanist. Thalyssra replied in a similar tone. It sounded like Darnassian -- a language that had never been one of Jaina’s strong suits to begin with -- but more fluid, somehow sombre. And Darnassian was not a language she generally associated with light and airy.

“Is there something you would like to say to me?” Jaina asked coldly.

Valtrois straightened, looking not the least bit chagrined. Meanwhile the First Arcanist inclined her head. “My apologies. Valtrois was just expressing her incredulity that I had failed to adequately inform you that this will not be a single procedure. For that, I do accept responsibility. I had meant to tell you this morning, after I checked in on you.”

Jaina's mouth went dry. “How many?”

The two Nightborne exchanged a wordless glance, before the First Arcanist answered, “Six.”

Jaina tightened her grip upon her staff. The crystal flared to life. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath to calm the skitter of mana down her spine. Her headache pulsed and she resisted the urge to rub at her temples.

“I am sorry that this is not what you expected,” the First Arcanist continued, and her voice was so sincere Jaina's jaw clenched. “I wish I could offer you a simple solution, but this is not a simple problem.”

Clearing her throat, Jaina asked, “When you said that this would take a few weeks -?”

“One inscription every two weeks,” Valtrois said, holding up her fingers for emphasis.

Seeing the outrage clearly written across Jaina’s face, the First Arcanist said, “Anything more would be too dangerous.

Jaina jerked her head towards Valtrois. “And her? What is her role in all of this?”

Thalyssra gestured towards her colleague. “I have asked Arcanist Valtrois to aid me in today’s initial procedure. Is this alright?”

“Are you incapable of performing the procedures yourself?”

Valtrois seemed to find that funny, for she gave Jaina a thin smile. The First Arcanist meanwhile only replied, “I am perfectly capable, but I do not wish to entertain the possibility of any oversights. Valtrois specialises in leylines. She will ensure we proceed with all due diligence.”

“Don’t worry,” Valtrois drawled. “You’ll not have to exhaust yourself with my presence for long. I have other projects to occupy my time.”

The First Arcanist shot her colleague an exasperated glance. “By that, she means she was all but skipping with excitement at the thought of experimenting with leyline inscriptions on a living being when I informed her of the idea this morning.”

Valtrois sniffed. “I do not ‘skip.’”

“I’m so thrilled I could be your guinea pig,” Jaina said in a flat tone. When Valtrois did not even have the decency to seem abashed, Jaina sighed. She rubbed at the dark circles beneath her eyes and said, “Fine. She can stay to help. Just for the first one?”

“Just for the first one,” Thalyssra confirmed.

When Valtrois opened her mouth to protest, the First Arcanist shot her an inscrutable look. Stymied, Valtrois simply shrugged in acceptance.

Jaina eyed them, her own expression guarded. “Shall we, then?”

With a nod, the First Arcanist walked towards a doorway that led deeper into the underground complex of Shal’Aran. The scent of damp and cool stone grew stronger as the three of them descended another level. Here, the very walls were aglow with a muted violet light that wove complex patterns across stone. Ancient tapestries hung threadbare from the ceiling; they drifted silkily when Jaina brushed by one.

They led her into a large chamber directly beneath the one above, its twin in every regard but for the fact that the center had no stairwell that descended further into the complex. The floor here was a spiderweb network of leylines that all connected in a spiral formation that seemed to converge directly beneath the arcan’dor seed two floors above them. Despite the fact that this level was completely empty save themselves, an area had been sectioned off by screens.

As they walked over to the partition, Jaina stepped on one of the leylines. It flared beneath her. She was illuminated from below, and energy shot up from the sole of her foot to the crown of her head. Mana scoured her, and with a hiss Jaina jerked back. Her hands were trailing with pale smoke, as was the tip of her staff. She had to pat her hands along her robes to get them to stop, and bluish sparks leapt from her as though a hammer had struck an anvil.

The two elves had stopped at the screens. They watched as Jaina carefully picked her way across the floor so as not to tread on any other leylines. When Jaina reached them, Valtrois inhaled sharply.

Jaina paused. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” the First Arcanist said, though she was watching her colleague with an odd expression.

On the other hand, Valtrois’ face had become an implacable mask. Her eyes were fixed upon the small jolts of mana still escaping from Jaina’s hands, her gaze unblinking. For a moment she said nothing, then she seemed to shake herself from some deep reverie.

“It’s nothing,” Valtrois insisted, though her voice sounded taut.

Jaina didn’t believe her in the slightest. Still, all Valtrois did was motion for Jaina to enter the partition; she kept a not so discreet distance as Jaina passed by her, and seemed to be holding her breath all the while. Jaina swept by as quickly as possible.

Atop a rug, a low wooden table had been erected, furnished with a sleeping mat and cushion. Larger cushions were strewn directly on the ground. The First Arcanist had already moved around the table and seated herself on a cushion on the ground, crossing her legs elegantly beneath her and pulling out a bulky bundle of cloth from under the table.

Jaina remained standing even as Valtrois crossed over to the table and sat opposite Thalyssra, who unrolled the cloth to reveal what she would be using to score Jaina’s skin. There was no great array of wicked looking tools -- just a heavy stone disk made of riverslate, and a single, long, copper-tipped needle crafted from bone. Beside these, she placed a vial of ink that gleamed like liquid moonlight. Jaina eyed the tools sidelong as she set down her staff, unfastened her mage robes, and began to slide them down her shoulders.

“You don’t need to disrobe fully,” Thalyssra said without looking at her. “We only need to get at your back today.”

“Your lower back,” Valtrois clarified. Unlike her colleague, she did not avert her gaze. Instead she studied Jaina openly, leaning her elbow casually on the table. When Jaina glared back at her, Valtrois simply patted the cushion atop the table. “Hop on, won’t you?”

Jaina did not ‘hop on’ but she did clamber. Rather gracelessly, her knee slipping against the lower half of her robes as she tried to position herself atop the mat. Neither of the others said anything, though Thalyssra did surreptitiously pull back her tools and inkwell so that they would not get knocked off the table. Once Jaina was lying on her stomach, her arms circled around the cushion and her chin propped on her hands, Thalyssra tugged Jaina’s robes further down her back until they were settled along the swell of her hips.

One of Thalyssra’s fingers traced the base of Jaina’s spine, making her shiver. “We’ll need to start here.”

“No, no. Here.” Valtrois poked two vertebrae higher. “The nexus needs to be focused as near the exact centre of her body as possible. Once we have created an anchor point, everything else should become easy.” There was a pause, after which she added. “Well... easier, in any case.”

Jaina swallowed and shifted against the table. The muscles of her shoulders and jaw were tense, as if waiting for an incoming blow that she could see but not prevent.

The First Arcanist’s hands were cool and soothing against Jaina’s back. She moved one hand up to gently clasp Jaina’s shoulder. “You need to relax.”

“You are about to slice me up with runic inscriptions, and you want me to relax?” Jaina’s grumble was muffled by the pillow.

“Yes,” said Valtrois.

“Great. I’ll get right on that.”

At that, Valtrois muttered something under her breath. The First Arcanist withdrew her hands and hissed a reply in Shalassian; there was a steely edge to her words. Whatever she said made Valtrois step away from the table. Jaina lifted her head with a frown of confusion to see Valtrois retreating to the other side of the screens, where her silhouette faded from sight.

Thalyssra glanced down at Jaina’s puzzled expression, then picked up the copper-tipped needle. It was long as her forearm and thick as a river reed with a slight curve. She turned it over in her hands. “She has gone to eat something. She won’t be long.”

Jaina said nothing in reply. She simply lowered her head back down to the pillow and waited. She remained tense.

“We do have anaesthetics prepared, of a sort,” the First Arcanist assured her. Then, touching the end of the needle, she added. “The discomfort comes after.”

“Why do you keep calling it that?” Jaina mumbled into the cushion. “‘Discomfort.’ Do you think I don’t know what you really mean?”

“Of course not,” the First Arcanist said softly.

“Then speak plainly, and stop treating me like I’m a child.”

Thalyssra set aside the needle, placing it back on its cloth wrappings. Jaina angled her head so she could just see the First Arcanist move from the corner of her eye.

“All Nightborne have similar markings,” Thalyssra gestured to her own markings, dark on her skin, as if a light beneath had been extinguished, “but we do not inscribe them like this. They appear gradually, naturally. Different for every one of us, but usually similar across families, like the shape of one’s nose. They’re considered part of growing pains. They take years to fully form, as the Nightwell’s essence slowly imbues us with arcane energies, and -- eventually -- grounds us in it until it has become a very part of us. I only remember a vague discomfort throughout my youth, but this -” The First Arcanist mused. “What we are planning to do here will be a matter of weeks. And you are human. Your body will not react the same way. I would be remiss not to tell you that there is a high chance these procedures will fail utterly.”

“And by that you mean: these leylines may channel the mana into stronger currents, causing me to implode or something equally drastic?” Jaina finished for her. When Thalyssra stared at her in shock, Jaina shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just translating what you said.”

At that, Thalyssra let out a surprised huff of laughter. For a moment when she smiled, Jaina could almost see the woman Thalyssra must have been once. Gracious and urbane, with crinkles at the corners of her warm gaze. Now her skin was pulled taut over her high cheekbones, and her smile was all teeth. Very long, very sharp teeth.  

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Thalyssra said. “It would knock out a few walls, after all.”

“The place could use a bit of renovation, to be honest,” Jaina quipped.

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Just then, the screen pulled back and Valtrois entered the partition. As far as Jaina was aware, there was nobody else in Shal’Aran except for Oculeth, yet still Valtrois pulled the screen shut behind her to give them the illusion of privacy.

Thalyssra said something to Valtrois in rapid Shalassian, her tone quizzical and her brow furrowed.

Valtrois ran a hand through her hair and lifted her chin to a haughty tilt. “Well enough,” she answered in Common. Her face looked fuller, less gaunt, and this time when she looked at Jaina her gaze did not linger with hunger like it had before. Indeed, she seemed far more indifferent and aloof to Jaina’s presence entirely.

“Are you ready?” Thalyssra asked Jaina.

Jaina nodded and lowered her head once more.

The First Arcanist gave Jaina’s shoulder one last comforting squeeze before removing her hand. For a long while, all Jaina heard was the liquid murmur of Shalassian as Thalyssra and Valtrois spoke in low tones. Jaina had her eyes closed, so the first cool touch of something against her skin made her twitch.

“We are just marking in regular ink first where we will inscribe you,” Thalyssra explained. “You can relax.”

“Not likely,” Valtrois muttered under her breath.

Rather than dispute that, Jaina huffed but said nothing. She remained as still as she was able, while the two elves dotted her lower back with the press of a quill’s nib, light enough to not pierce the skin. They wove the beginnings of a complex circular pattern, almost like a rune. Silently, Jaina tried to guess which one it resembled -- some aggregate involving elements of arcane, spirit, and shadow.

Then one of them -- Valtrois? -- whispered a spell, and suddenly Jaina’s lower back went cold.

“Can you feel this?” Thalyssra asked.

“Feel what?” Jaina replied.

“Perfect.”

There came the clink of metal against glass; Thalyssra tapped the end of the needle against the vial of ink. Jaina was half tempted to lift her head and try peering over her shoulder at what they were doing. Instead, she tightened her grip upon the pillow and kept resolutely still, eyes closed, breath trapped in her chest.

A broad pressure against the top of her hips, as if one of them were holding her in place. She resisted the urge to squirm. Faintly, Jaina could feel a dull ache begin to form in the muscles at the base of her spine. The ache spread, sharpening slightly but forever remaining on the bleeding edge of pain realised. The sound of cloth shuffling. Then the clink of the copper-nibbed needle being dipped into a vial once more.

The seconds ticked by into minutes. Jaina soon lost track of time as the ache began to throb. The mana was starting to seethe all along her back now, as if a living hive of insects were fuming atop her skin.

“Breathe, Lady Proudmoore,” the First Arcanist reminded her.

Jaina inhaled sharply; she could feel the mana enkindle in the bellows of her lungs.

“Not like that!” Valtrois hissed. Jaina began to lift her head in confusion, but felt claws dig into her hips in a silent warning. “No, not you. Stay still. I was talking to Thalyssra.”

“It’s fine, Valtrois,” the First Arcanist said. Her voice was far too level, feigning at nonchalance.

Valtrois began to speak in hushed and rapid Shalassian. When another echo of mana sweltered in Jaina’s stomach, Jaina grit out, “Speak Common, please. If something is going wrong, I would like to know what it is.”

For a moment, they said nothing. Then, Valtrois continued, “You need to work with as much symmetry as possible. Move to the left side.”

“If I had it your way, I would swap from side to side every other second and never finish at all,” Thalyssra retorted. She sounded more strained than irate.

“And if you had it your way, you would send her spiralling into an uncontrolled manastorm,” Valtrois snapped. “Try running an insurrection with that little problem on your hands.”

“That’s enough, Valtrois.”

“I know you pity the human, but you need to take your time doing this even if it means -”

“I said: that’s enough,” Thalyssra growled in a voice like cold iron.

Valtrois went quiet. She and Thalyssra did not speak, though Thalyssra did switch over to the left side of Jaina’s back and began making the same pattern in perfect symmetry.

Rather than lessen, the drone of mana along Jaina’s back seemed to intensify the longer Thalyssra worked. Everywhere the needle touched was numb, and still Jaina clenched her hands into fists around the cushion. The seconds slipped together like so many grains of sand along desert slopes. Dimly she was aware of Thalyssra and Valtrois speaking again, but their voices sounded distant.

Jaina did not realise her hands were shaking until she felt someone -- she couldn’t tell which one -- touch her white-knuckled grip. Her skin was feverish, and when Jaina drew in a deep shuddering breath she could feel the sweat dampening the hair at her temples.

“Do you need us to stop for a moment?”

“We can’t stop! If we stop we risk -!”

“Have a care, Valtrois. Look at her.”

“I am looking at her. She looks terrible.”

“Thank you. That is very helpful.”

“I’m right, though.”

“Well, yes, but -”

“I can still hear you,” Jaina managed to rasp.

“Would you prefer us to speak Shalassian?” Valtrois asked.

“No. Just -” Jaina swallowed thickly as a torrent of mana raced from the space between her shoulder blades and down every limb. “How much longer?”

A long pause followed that question.

“A while,” the First Arcanist finally answered.

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Jaina wiped at her brow with the back of her hand, which came away wet. Her palms were sweating as well. There came the tap of copper against glass, and the inscription continued.

The seething was unceasing, the mana redoubling its efforts as it clawed against the underside of her skin. It started to flow along the same pattern the First Arcanist was slowly etching into her as if trapped by the inscription, only to escape in a torrent that flooded her anew. The world faded into a blur of white noise and sensation. Every perception of things exterior to Jaina narrowed until there was only the murmur of voices, the tap of the needle, the mana building in the cavity of her ribs, the mana-induced headache pounding, and then nothing.

“Lady Proudmoore?”

Someone was trying to jostle her awake. She furrowed her brow and mumbled something unintelligible in return.

“Jaina.”

With great effort, Jaina opened her eyes. Even in the dim light of the underbelly of Shal’Aran, the light hurt her eyes; she squeezed them shut almost immediately.

“Help me, Valtrois.”

Two pairs of hands hauled her upright. No matter how gentle they were trying to be, Jaina still had to stifle a groan behind grit teeth. Her feet dragged along the ground until she had the wherewithal to place one in front of the other. The headache was a blinding light behind her eyes now. She did not realise she had opened them again until she felt someone urge her to shut them once more.

The next thing she knew, she was awaking with a jerk. She was back in her own partition upstairs. She had been carefully arranged to lie on her side. The blanket slipped down to her waist as Jaina tried to sit up, but she had to stop with a hiss. Her back was aflame. Tentatively, she reached around herself to touch it.

“I would advise against that.”

The First Arcanist was seated not an arm’s length away. She was leaning against one of the screens and reading a book. She glanced at Jaina over the top of the pages. “It will itch terribly. Please refrain from scratching.”

Jaina nodded and dragged a hand down her face. When she spoke her voice was slightly muffled. “How did it go?”

“We will have to see.” Thalyssra marked her page and set the book aside. “Would you like to eat something?”

Rather than answer, Jaina muzzily pushed herself to her feet. At some point, the others had removed her robes and left her in a shift and smallclothes. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Thalyssra stood the moment she had, but Jaina waved away her offer of help. Instead, Jaina pushed open one of the screens and stepped onto the first floor of Shal’Aran.

She had meant to try making it outside, perhaps to eat beside the altar ruins. She did not make it nearly that far. Breathing shallowly, Jaina stopped walking. She had only made it a quarter of the way around the circular room towards the exit.

“Here.”

Thalyssra had followed along behind her, carrying two cushions beneath one arm and a platter of food in her other hand. She dropped the cushions to the ground, and promptly sat down on one, arranging the platter of fruit and dark-grained bread on the stone floor so that they were facing the arcan’dor seed. Pursing her lips, Jaina nevertheless sat on the other cushion, lowering herself with a low grunt of pain.

“Thank you,” Jaina said, reaching for a purple-skinned fruit she did not recognise.

The first bite was a burst of heady sweetness. She devoured the rest, dragging the plate into her lap in order to eating quickly and without pause. Thalyssra let her eat in silence, watching with something like envy in her eyes.

“How do you feel?”

Jaina shifted her shoulders. The mana was still thrumming beneath her skin just as it had for months, but now it seemed magnetically drawn to patterns along her back, like water caught by sandbars in a riptide. The headache, however, had been reduced to a dull prickling at the base of her skull. She grimaced and answered, “Uncomfortable.”

Thalyssra’s expression did not change a whit, but somehow she still had a smug air about her.

Jaina rolled her eyes. “You can say ‘I told you so.’”

“I am sure you are tired of hearing that, these days,” Thalyssra replied. Then she added, “And I would never be so gauche.”

Jaina gave a surprised snort of laughter at the expression of faux indignation on Thalyssra’s face. She placed the plate aside. With a sigh, she leaned back on her hands. “One procedure down. Ten more weeks to go.”

“It will pass in no time at all,” Thalyssra assured her. When Jaina leveled a flat stare at her, she lifted one shoulder in an elfin half shrug. “I see my ability to lie has not improved.”

“Must be hard to orchestrate a rebellion with that handicap.”

“I generally leave the outright deception to others.”

“Probably a wise move on your part.” The blanket began to slip from her shoulders, and Jaina straightened.

Thalyssra hummed an amused note in the back of her throat. “Forgive me for being so forward, but it is fascinating being in your company. To see glimpses of what you must have been like before -” she waved her hand in a vague, all-encompassing gesture, “- all of this.”

This is what her life’s story had been reduced to. A vague gesture. A vague phrase. A song sung by sailors treading the vasty deep.

Jaina stiffened in terrible anticipation of where this conversation was inevitably headed. Her grip on the blanket tightened. “You don’t need to talk around it. You know the things I’ve done. Everyone does.”

“I had assumed many of them were overblown.”

“Not all of them. Not as much as I’d like.”

“And not all the stories are so terrible, you know. Besides, last I checked Orgrimmar still stands despite your best efforts.”

Jaina smiled, fierce yet self-deprecating. “Hardly my ‘best’ efforts.”

“I’m sure that you had reasons at the time for your actions. It does not justify them, but -”

“No.” Jaina shook her head. “Stop. Please.”

Thalyssra appeared taken aback. Jaina had to look away. She couldn’t bear to meet that warm gaze. Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, she continued, “What I did at Dalaran -- the Sunreavers -- I had no justification. Oh, I have lies that I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night, but they’re not the reason.” She could feel Thalyssra’s eyes upon her, watchful and silent. “Everyday after Theramore, I struggled. I hurt. And then, suddenly it was too much, and I wanted them to hurt, too.”

For a long moment, Thalyssra seemed to consider this. “I do not claim to fully understand the circumstances of how you came to be in this state, though I have heard the rumours just as anyone else might have,” she began. “I can have sympathy for your anger, but disagree with your actions.”

“How very magnanimous of you,” Jaina drawled.

Rather than be miffed by her response, Thalyssra bared her teeth in a smile. “Yes, I thought so.”

In spite of herself, Jaina laughed; it was a rueful sound. “Not many would give aid to me these days. I am honestly surprised you didn’t turn me away at the door.”

“I would not turn away one in need,” Thalyssra said. For all her withered appearance, her expression was genial, even gentle. It sent a familiar burning rising at the back of Jaina’s throat; she had to swallow and look away.

“You shouldn’t pity me,” Jaina said.

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Pitying you would mean underestimating you,” Thalyssra continued, “and that would be a mistake.”

Jaina shot her an appraising look from the corner of her eye, and found Thalyssra doing the same. “You think Valtrois underestimates me?” she asked, thinking back on Valtrois’ words during the procedure.

“Valtrois is and always has been my brightest and most loyal pupil. I am inexpressibly proud of her.”

“But…?” Jaina prompted.

Thalyssra sighed. “But she is not absent her own shortcomings. She is proud, and right to be proud, but that pride can too easily turn to arrogance. She embodies everything excellent in our people, and everything potentially disastrous. As do we all, I suppose.”

“I’d say it was more than ‘potentially disastrous,’” Jaina added with a gesture towards Shal’Aran’s exit. “Last I checked, the Legion were camped not a week’s walk from here.”

“And so they are.”

A silence fell, far more warm and companionable than Jaina had felt in far too long. Together, they watched the seed of the arcan’dor in the dimly lit cavern of Shal’Aran. Jaina pulled the blanket around herself more firmly, though she did not feel the slightest chill. The movement meant their shoulders accidentally brushed, and Jaina flinched away from the contact.

Thalyssra on the other hand, pretended not to notice. She did not move, and it was only after a short while that she spoke. “If not for the way you looked, you could pass beneath the shieldward of Suramar without attracting any notice.”

Jaina’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, and she glanced at Thalyssra. “How so?”

Thalyssra kept her gaze fixed upon the arcan’dor seed, her expression partially obscured by the cloth of her deep hood. “It’s the way you smell. Like pure mana. Like the Nightwell. I doubt even the Legion’s hounds could tell the difference.”

Jaina made a face. “Are you saying I should take more frequent baths?”

At that, Thalyssra had to hide a chuckle of amusement. “I doubt that would help. Though you are welcome to take as many baths as you like, provided you do not take one until at least a full day after your latest procedure. I believe one of the first things Valtrois did when we arrived here was tap a leyline to heat a pool in the lower levels.”

Eyebrows rising, Jaina hummed. “Maybe she’s not so bad after all.”

“She certainly has her priorities straight.”

Though Thalyssra’s tone was light, she rubbed her thumb across her fingertips in a contemplative motion, studying her clawed and bony hands.

Jaina nodded towards Thalyssra’s hands. “Is there anything that can be done? About your current state, I mean?”

Thalyssra straightened, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I am researching the answer to just that question. Until then, you must excuse us if there are days where we do not approach you in the weeks to come.”

Jaina leaned away from her slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You misunderstand.” Thalyssra tilted her head to look at Jaina fully now. “Because of your condition, there will be times when Oculeth, Valtrois, and I will -” she searched for the right phrasing before saying, “- struggle to be around you. Do not be alarmed if other Nightfallen arrive in Shal’Aran and shy from your presence. We can sense the aftereffects of Theramore on you. It haunts you like a bright shadow. Soon the rest of the world will be able to see it, too. And not just from this.” Thalyssra touched Jaina’s hair, bleached white from overexposure to the mana bomb but for a single streak of gold. “I hope that is something you have considered.”

Jaina did not tell her to stop touching her, but after a moment she did turn her head aside and immediately Thalyssra pulled back her hand. “People keep talking to me about Theramore like it’s over, but it’s not. It’s still happening.”

Thalyssra hummed a contemplative note. “Grief has a long memory.”

“If I’m lucky it will stop.”

With a puzzled glance in her direction, Thalyssra asked, “The memory?”

Jaina shook her head. “No. People thinking that it will ever be over.”

Thalyssra’s breath caught. Jaina looked up in confusion. Thalyssra’s eyes were wide, but she was not looking at Jaina; she was staring straight ahead. Frowning, Jaina followed the path of her gaze. She blinked. The seed of the arcan’dor had sprouted with a single, frail, lilac frond that tentatively poked through one side of the golden casing. Together in the quiet dark of Shal'Aran they watched as the arcan'dor first bloomed.

[feywildatheart]

Nenîth,

I hope you’ll forgive me rushing this story, but things are happening back here on the prime material plane that I expect you’ll want to hear about, or in any case that I badly want to talk to you about, so I’m going to try to finish telling you about the Twilight of Cinders in this letter, and hopefully it won’t grow too terribly long on me.

After resting briefly, Elyn and I continued on, following in reverse the path of these creatures we’d been seeing, and eventually found ourselves in a field scattered with the remains of crashed ships, too many to count, all twisted and broken from the fall. It was horrible, and horrifying, and I think Elyn was quite shaken by it, considering her history with ships and crashes. And as terrible as that was, it was worse when we saw, a short time after the latest pulse of light up into the sky, a ship come hurtling down out of it and crash into the ground with a terrible sound, and an impact that jolted the ground beneath our feet.

We all ran towards it, in time to see three of these same sorts of creatures come staggering out of the wreckage, all of them hurt, though one more badly than the other two. That one seemed to take notice of us as we neared, and Elyn used Tongues again to be able to speak with it, and had another conversation I only understood half of.

I heard her ask if she could heal them, and they must have agreed, because she stepped forward and they let her touch them so she could do so. She asked, as we had of the other, why they were heading towards the west in search of answers, why they all seemed to think answers might lie that way, but I don’t think they had an answer that clarified much, if the expression on her face was anything to judge by. She told them that we were going to look for answers in the north, at the blue light, and the creature folded themselves up and sat down, and I didn’t need her to translate their answer for me, they’d done it with such an air of patience and waiting and expectation.

They told her, apparently, that their name was Aji, and they asked that we heal the more injured of their companions. I did that with my wand, and it seemed to distract them from their course to the west, and they came instead and sat with Aji, to wait with them for us to bring back answers.

And so we went towards that blue light, certain now in our suspicions that it was some sort of weapon, shooting Aji’s ships down out of the sky. We found a piece of arcane technology laid into the ground, glowing blue and brightening by the minute, that seemed to baffle even Elyn. It was covered by an obsidian dome, and as we watched and the light within it brightened, eventually it shot another pulse of that same light we’d been seeing up into the sky, and where it was aimed, there was a patch of sky where the everpresent mist of the Twilight of Cinders had cleared, and through it I could see an explosion that made my heart lurch and my stomach churn with the certainty that we’d just witnessed another ship get hit, that there was going to be another crash and more of Aji’s brethren injured, more dead, and we still had precious little in the way of answers, and we were both quite reluctant to do anything that might involve touching the device, for fear that it might discharge on us, but that left us with precious little that we could do to try to try to stop it from discharging again.

We’d backed off to a safe distance as we debated what to do about it, which took us up the crest of a hill, and I noticed in the distance, through the mist, a faint shape that looked like it might be a similar device, though without the light glowing inside of it. And so we went to that, in hopes that we might be able to examine it a little closer and perhaps gain some insight into how it worked and how to disable it, without the risk of standing so close to the active weapon.

This one looked just the same as the first, except that it was damaged as though it had been struck by a meteor or perhaps falling debris (and honestly, if it was from debris off of one of these ships, then it’s no less than it deserves), and no longer seemed to function. Elyn cast Identify on it and learned that whatever magic had been in it had faded long ago, but that it had been built of evocation magic, though even I could have guessed that much. The magic was so long-faded that she didn’t gain much insight into how to destroy the other one, except by seeing the damage that had disabled this one. And so we went back to our hill and considered how to do it.

Elyn tried her Dispel Magic scroll first, since we could do that from a distance. It dimmed the blue light that had been growing within the device all this while, but didn’t stop it from recharging, only bought us a few more minutes to try to stop it before it went off again, and some other ship was doomed. I shot it from the hilltop, since that’s about all I’m good for when it comes to magics like these, and it cracked the obsidian casing some, after I’d shot a few at it.

That seemed to give Elyn an idea, because she crept down the hill, closer to the device, and cast Shatter on it, which cracked it enough to put a hole in the dome, so we could see the mechanism inside. We’d damaged it enough at that point that the glow was no longer brightening — whatever we’d done, it seemed, had stopped it from being able to recharge, or at least caused it to spill magic out as fast as it could build it. But neither of us were content to leave it like that, and Elyn cast another Identify on it, and learned that it was a defense mechanism, from the time of the ruins that we’d been walking past the whole time we’d been in this dimension. We could surmise that there had been a perimeter of them at one point, though this seemed to be the only one still active, left unattended and shooting up into the sky at regular intervals for who knew how many centuries, until it had worn a hole through the very dimension itself, and into whatever plane Aji’s people call home, and where it was shooting them down from.

In the end, I hit on a rather foolish idea — you don’t need to tell me that, I know it was, but it also seemed the best choice at the time — and I pulled out from my pack one of the flares that [Eheba] had given us, back on Nosirion-1. I made sure Elyn and Squirt stood back at a safe distance, and then, well. I lit the flare and threw it through the hole and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. And it all worked out just fine, even if I did get knocked off my feet when the flare went off. But it did the trick and destroyed the device, left it as dark as the other one had been, and so we counted ourselves satisfied on that front, at least.

Elyn did a Sending to Aji, to let them know that we had some answers and that we'd be returning with them in the morning, and Elyn said they seemed content to wait for us, so we decided to make camp there for the night, rather than heading straight back. We'd had a lot of walking and a fair bit of excitement, and we were both sorely in need of it.

It was a quiet night, with only the lightning sparking off in the distance, and in the morning we packed our things up and returned, and found Aji and the little one waiting for us. Elyn told them what we'd learned, and then told me that they'd said that those answers were enough for them. Elyn asked if there might be enough scraps left in that ship graveyard to cobble something together that might get them home, back to their own plane, but Aji demurred and said that either they would escape on their own, or someone would come for them. They didn't seem worried about starving in the meantime, either, though I can't imagine why not, but in the end there was little that either Elyn or I could do but accept them at their word. Well, and even less for me -- Elyn could take them at their word, but I had to take them at Elyn's, since she can cast Tongues but it only works on her.

I don't think either of us liked walking away from them, when we'd done so little to help them, really, and it seemed like there ought to be something else we could do. But there was nothing for it, and so we left them and headed back to the west, towards the lightning, until at length we found a large, flat rock that it was striking down onto it. When we came closer to investigate it, we found a dip in the ground, that sloped down into an underground structure.

We scrambled down into it, glad to have finally found what we'd come for, and no sooner had we than the rocks scattered across the ground started to roll and gather together until they'd taken the shape of an earth elemental that attacked us almost as soon as we realized what was happening.

I don't suppose it should come as a surprise to us or to you that earth elementals hit hard. Poor Elyn scarcely managed to stay on her feet until the fight was over, and Squirt and I fared only a little better. But we wore it down, until it collapsed back into a pile of rubble, and Elyn and I looked at each other, both of us looking quite the worse for the wear, and decided we definitely needed a night's rest before we faced whatever else awaited us within the temple.

I had a conversation with Squirt, too, while we were settling down for bed, because he tries so hard to defend and protect me, and it's wonderful. But as fierce as he is, his teeth were little match against the earth elemental's stone form, and he just kept throwing himself at it anyway, and taking so much damage because of it. So we had a little talk and I told him that I loved him and valued him, and also that I wanted him to be safe as much as he wanted me to be, and that he might consider that there are other ways he can help me than throwing himself repeatedly at giant stone earth elementals, and getting bludgeoned in the process. He's strong and clever, I told him, and he shouldn't forget that last part, because there might be situations where his cleverness would be a better aid to me than his strength.

He's a blink dog, one of the fey's sacred hounds, and for all the aspersions the Queen of Air and Darkness cast on his character, he's a fine example of his breed. So while he accepted what I told him, and agreed to try, I can't say that he was terribly happy about it. I think he'd always rather throw himself teeth-first at a problem, but he's going to get himself killed that way, and I won't have that. I'm his protector, and it's up to me to teach him how to be more than just his instincts, whether he's glad of it or not.

So we slept, after that conversation, and in the morning we ventured further into the temple and found a central chamber with a fountain and tunnels leading off of it, and windows on either side showing red light, and blue. Elyn and I investigated the fountain, first, but couldn't find anything magical about it between the two of us, so we ventured down the first of the tunnels.

The first we tried came to a dead end, but there was a panel hidden in the wall that contained an amulet that Elyn said was an activation device of some sort, for gods-only-know-what. She wondered if it might be for the device that we'd destroyed on the opposite end of the plane, and I wondered if it might be for the temple, like a ship's keycard granting us access to areas that are otherwise locked, and so either way she decided to keep it on her.

I'll tell you know what it took us some time and investigation to fully discover, which is that the temple is a puzzle, with tunnels and rotating rooms, so that one moment a tunnel ends in a solid wall, and the next, with the press of a button, everything's changed and it continues on. We found our way through it to another chamber, this one lined with a channel of burning oil, and at some point in all of this Elyn and I had pieced together that, between the earth elemental, and the red window, and the blue, that perhaps this place might be guarded by all four elements, and so I called out cautiously in Ignan (am I ever glad I took the time to study that!), and a fire elemental gathered up from the flames around the room's edge, and spoke with me.

They were very nice, all in all, not at all like the earth elemental, who just came up fighting. They said that they weren't guardians of the Scepter so much as they were a test -- a gauntlet, they said, and that we had to prove we were worthy, and so when we were ready for combat, we should enter their chamber.

There wasn't really much for it, and so we did. Squirt, because he is a very good and smart boy, heeded the talk we'd had the night before, and didn't try too hard to bite the fire elemental, for which I'm grateful. I'm not sure whether he'd have fared any better against fire than he did against stone, but I'm glad I didn't have to find out. Instead, he only feinted at the creature, growling and snapping and doing everything in his power to distract them, so that Elyn and I could land our hits a little easier while their attention was preoccupied. Still, there's not much he can do from a distance, the way Elyn and I can, and without Pika there in the thick of things with him, he drew a lot of their focus, and it wasn't but a moment before his fur had caught fire.

Back in HASAI, when we found my bow and Elyn identified it, she told me that one of the things it could do was extinguish open flames, when it was drawn. I hadn't had an opportunity to try that ability out, but what better time than when one's dog is on fire? So the next time I drew to shoot the elemental, I focused all my thoughts on the bow, and on Perrick, and when I loosed the arrow it was as though a wind swept through the chamber, and put out the fire smoldering in Squirt's fur, and I fairly squeaked in delight and amazement.

In retrospect, it might have been better if I'd waited, because the bow can only do that once before it needs some time to recharge, and it wasn't but a moment before Squirt was on fire again, and I was as well, and then I could have put us both out at once. But what was I going to do, just let my dog stay on fire? Obviously not. So we had to take time in the midst of the fight to put ourselves out the old-fashioned way, but it was all fine in the end.

Elyn healed us up a little, and it seemed sure at that point that we would have an air and a water elemental left to face before we'd successfully run this gauntlet, and Squirt and I, at least, were both fairly well singed just from the one fight we'd had that day.

Still, we'd come here for a reason, and we couldn't very well give up now, so after we'd had a few minutes to catch our breath, we returned to the central room with the fountain, and found that it had changed while we were gone -- the pattern of the mosaic tiling on the bottom of the fountain were different than they had been, and the central piece had raised up a bit. And, too, the red light that had shone through one of the room's windows was gone, leaving only the blue.

We tried a different tunnel next, since we seemed to have exhausted our options in the first one, and found it very similar to the first, with tunnels that ended abruptly, and pedestals bearing buttons that made whole sections of the structure rotate and shift things around. There was a new room, and I crept forward down it, calling out blindly in Ignan (and hoping that the dialect was similar enough to the others that whichever elemental we faced next would be able to understand) that we'd come to complete the gauntlet and bearing no ill will towards anyone beyond that.

I found a water elemental waiting in that room, laughing at me as I crept around and called that out into empty halls, and we knew the rules at this point: we had to enter the room to engage it in combat, and so we did.

Squirt did admirably with this one as well, continuing to try to distract the elemental and try to gain Elyn and I the upper hand. I shot it several times, and Elyn threw her magic at it, and Squirt hadn't even really tried to land a bite at all, he was just feinting, but nevertheless it swallowed him up and it drowned him, it just drowned him and I couldn't do anything to help him. It at least had the decency to lay him out on the ground once he'd gone limp, but honestly, who could blame me for being upset, at that point? And Squirt hadn't done anything except be closest to it, while Elyn and I had been throwing everything we had at it, and so I might have snapped something about how I couldn't understand why creatures kept ignoring the obvious greater threat shooting it in the face. And really, I was talking to myself, that's all, but I was still talking in Ignan, I guess, and the water elemental took it upon himself to answer me as though it hadn't been a rhetorical question, and said that I should expect Squirt to get hurt if I kept sending him into battle, and I objected to the idea that I was in any way making Squirt do anything, and then the elemental said that I was deliberately missing the point, and. Well. I liked the fire elemental, and only fought them out of necessity, and they seemed to like me back, or at least be amused by me. But if I met this elemental again, I'd punch them right in their stupid, watery face, and I wouldn't feel bad about it, either.

Between Elyn and I, we got Squirt up on his feet feet again, but it wasn't long before Elyn ended up just where he'd been, swallowed up by the elemental and drowning inside of it. Squirt, Cernunos bless him, didn't even hesitate despite the fact that he'd just nearly drowned himself, and kept trying to grab her arm or her sleeve with his teeth and help pull her out. I don't know how much help he was, ultimately, but she did manage to shove her way back out of the elemental before she drowned, too, and it's a good thing because I think if I'd had to watch both of them go through it I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions.

We did win, in the end, though I think two elementals in one day was about our limit, and we were all looking spent by the end of it. I didn't care to stay in that elemental's room for a rest, so we returned to the central room with the fountain instead, and found that it had lifted up further, enough to show a little space in the pedestal and a jeweled, platinum rod inside that we supposed must be the Scepter of Bells. Elyn was a little worried that it might have been nothing more than a decoy, and we were both wary of the fact that we'd only fought three elementals, thus far, so it seemed rather too easy. But there was nothing for it, so I stood back at the ready in case things went wrong, and she waded through the fountain and claimed it, and nothing happened, no alarm sounded, no elemental formed out of the air in the room to challenge us for it one last time, so she waded back out and gave me the Scepter to put in our bag while she emptied the water out of her boots.

It occurred to me, while we were doing this, that we'd encountered the earth elemental before we'd even properly entered the temple, like a guard set at the front door, and I realized that that probably meant we'd have to face the air elemental on our way out, the temple's last chance to try to stop us and prove us unworthy of it, so we decided readily enough that we all absolutely needed to rest up for a little bit before we took on a third elemental for the day. Once we were ready, we found them just where we expected them to be, in a chamber just outside the temple that matched the one leading into it, and I called out in Ignan the same that I had with the other two, telling it we had no quarrel with it directly but had come to pass the gauntlet, and it formed out of the air before us, and-- nenîth, it called me Firetongue, and if we hadn't been doing this as a paying job, and at the behest of someone I rather liked, I might have ruined it all right there and just refused to fight them, I was so delighted by the moniker. But I got over it eventually (that's a lie, I'm still not over it. I'm never going to be over it. Someday many centuries from now when I'm old and grey and I finally pass on from this plane, I hope my children's children's children carve Maliah 'Firetongue' Breyfield into my burial tree. If they don't, I may well rise from the dead and haunt them, because if a nickname from an elemental doesn't belong on a burial tree, then I honestly don't know what does) -- anyway, I recovered myself enough eventually and we fought, and acquitted ourselves well enough. We succeeded, and the air elemental bowed to us and vanished, and we were able to leave with the scepter and set ourselves to trying to find the exit out of the Twilight of Cinders.

We realized, perhaps somewhat belatedly, that we weren't entirely sure what it was we were looking for, only the direction we were likely to find it in, and so we headed that way and kept an eye out for anything that seemed magical and potentially portal-like, and so in short order we found ourselves all crouched over peering into a shimmering, magical-looking puddle trying to puzzle out if it was our way home, only to discover that it decidedly wasn't when it suddenly rose up off the ground and tried to envelop us, and revealed itself as just one of many horrible caustic oozes lurking in the grasses there.

Poor Elyn got knocked unconscious by one, and I ruined my sword in another, because of course they just eat away at metal, and I was nervous there for a minute, but Squirt and I were able to dispatch the last of them and get Elyn back onto her feet.

We did find the portal back eventually -- obviously we did, or you wouldn't be reading this letter right now -- and landed in a sprawl in the middle of Elelwil's floor, where Veshteth was, looking remarkably haggard from his efforts to keep the spell channeled until our return. I asked how long we'd been gone, expecting that time had passed differently on the two planes, but he said days, and I felt terrible realizing that all our resting and our detour to figure out what was happening to Aji's people had demanded so much from him -- though not, I suppose, as terrible as I'd have felt over leaving that weapon firing Aji's people down to their deaths for who-knows-how-many more centuries.

We told Veshteth we'd found the scepter, and showed it to him, and agreed that we were all of us in dire need of some rest before we told him what had transpired, much less broached the subject of payment. So Elyn and I staggered back to Tace's, and picked up some food for us as well as her along the way, and we ate and slept before picking ourselves back up in the morning and heading back to Elelwil's to finish our business with Veshteth.

Veshteth looked somewhat better with a night's sleep behind him, though I think all four of us were still looking somewhat haggard. Elelwil served us tea again, bless her, and we told them both what had happened and answered the questions he had, and then he paid us, far more than I think either Elyn or I were expecting, even if I had made a point of mentioning that it hadn't been as simple as walking across a dimension after all, and that Elyn had gotten cursed along the way, and the energy cannon and the elementals and the oozes. There was coin, and a musical puzzle box that Elyn was immediately smitten by, and the most amazing jug -- it's cast to look like a howling jackal, and Veshteth poured water into it and then poured it back out and it had turned the water into tea, just like that! It's a spiced blend particular to Rugira Prime, and it was lovely, and honestly I think if he'd offered nothing but that jug I'd have counted it suitable compension. Elyn probably would have disagreed (and rightly so), but I couldn't have been more delighted.

We finished up our talking, eventually, and Elyn and I went off to do some shopping, because I needed to replace my ruined sword. I found a shop that had lovely decorated ones, far fancier than my plain two, and I couldn't decide between two of their designs so I bought one of each. We got some more healing potions, too, from the temple of Mishakal, since it was pretty obvious after the Twilight of Cinders that we were sorely in need of some more. It was nice, to get to spend a day just walking and conversing and not having to worry about elementals or oozes or energy cannons left unattended to blast a hole through the sky into another dimension entirely. I left home because I wanted to see more than just the Feywild and Homai, but it's still nice to have time between all the adventuring, to catch our breath and remember what it's like to not always be afraid for our lives all the time.

I said I was going to try to keep this short, and here I've run on for forever, so I suppose I should stop now and send this while I try to figure out how to tell about everything that's happened since. I'll give you a hint, though, and maybe knowing that I've left you in suspense will help me get the next written and sent to you in a more timely fashion: we got tired of waiting on Pika, Elyn and I did, and we left Yamin behind and have come to Mashoy by ourselves under assumed names. But, I'll tell you more about that in my next letter.

I love you both, more than words will ever be enough to say.

Love,

Maliah

[auskultu]

Political Activism New Hippie ‘Thing’

Michael Stern, The New York Times, 24 March 1968

An invasion of Grand Central Terminal by 3,000 chanting youths that was transformed from a spring be-in to a militant antiwar demonstration early yesterday morning may have signaled a new turn in the hippie movement toward activism in politics and the arts.

The organizers of the be-in — the Youth International Party — said they had planned the affair as a gathering of youths to share songs, popcorn, jellybeans and love for humanity.

But the gathering became a disorderly rally in which the youths chanted antidraft slogans and painted antiwar messages on the walls until they were shoved out of the terminal by wedges of police of the Tactical Patrol Force.

The police, who charged into the youths swinging their nightsticks, reported later that 57 persons had been arrested on charges ranging from felonious assault and criminal mischief to resisting arrest and disorderly conduct.

Two of the arrested youths were hospitalized with concussions, five policemen were injured and two others reported themselves sick.

The meaning of the hippie phenomenon has long been in dispute. Last summer, at the height of the Tompkins Square troubles, it was thought by many observers, that 'hippies were alienated, disorganized and often troubled youths who were against the mainstream values of American life, but for nothing in particular.

Days Were Aimless Living on what they could scrounge from family, friends and middle-class oglers who went to the East Village to be titillated, they spent their aimless days “doing their thing," which chiefly involved introspection aided by drugs, meditation, exotic religion and music.

This year, on the eve of a new influx of youths on spring and summer school holidays, Greenwich Village and East Village policemen, clergymen and social workers, and self-styled spokesmen for the hippies, have said that they sense a new feeling of involvement on the part of youth.

“Many of the kids we had down here last summer are goring into politics," said Inspector Joseph Fink, commander of the East Fifth Street police station. “They sense a real alternative in the McCarthy and Kennedy candidacies."

The Rev. Michael Allen, rector of St. Mark’s in the Bowery on East 10th Street, said:

“The stereotype hippies never really existed in great numbers. What we have down here are several thousand alienated youths—most of them college dropouts—who wear their hair long, but who hold jobs or are trying to write or do something. They are dissenting from American values by withdrawing, but they are very much involved in life."

Allen Ginsberg, the bearded poet, guru and culture hero of many hippies, denies that being a hippie ever meant complete withdrawal from life. “These people are simply seeking another form of social cooperation," Mr. Ginsberg said in an interview.

“They are trying to start a utopian society, in the midst of a locked-in technological society,” he said. “That is something beautiful. It really is a return to earlier American values, to the idea of Thoreau and Whitman that the individual is a state higher than the state.”

A Sense of Urgency Felt Keith Lampe, a 36-year-old former newspaperman and college English teacher who is a leader of the Youth International Party, said he could feel “a special sense of urgency and involvement” among Village youths.

“They have the feeling that the next six or eight months can make a real difference in the United States, in stopping the war in Vietnam and in the Presidency,” he said.

But another leader of the Y.I.P., Mrs. Abby Hoffman, said yesterday that she doubted that many hippies were going to get involved in the campaigns of Senator Robert F. Kennedy or Senator Eugene McCarthy.

Both Mr. Lampe and Mrs. Hoffman are involved in planning the Y.I.P.’s Festival of Life, scheduled for August in Chicago while the Democratic National Convention is in session there.

“It will be a demonstration of an alternative way of life,” Mrs. Hoffman said, “a six-day living experience in a park in Chicago, with free food, tents, theater, underground newspapers and lots of rock bands and folk singers.”

Mr. Lampe called the Chicago festival “a cultural alternative to the Democratic Death Condition.”

While the aims of hippies are hard to define precisely, the outward manifestations of the movement are fully visible on St. Mark’s Place and Second Avenue in the East Village and along Macdougal Street in Greenwich Village.

In increasing numbers as the spring nights get warmer, bearded, long-haired young men wearing bits of cast off military uniforms, beaded head-bands and bell necklaces, and tangle-haired girls in long skirts, leather jackets and winter-stained boots throng those streets.

Dress Not Conclusive Proof Though adult residents and visitors to those neighborhoods assume that all young people in such bizarre dress are hippies, this is far from the truth.

Separating the real from the make-believe hippies among the thousands of young people who are living in the shabby, cheap apartments of the Lower East Side is an impossible task, but some adults who come in contact with them believe that the numbers of real hippies are declining.

The death of Linda Fitzpatrick, the Greenwich, Conn., girl who was slain in an East Village cellar last October, shocked and frightened many would-be hippies, according to Inspector Fink.

Newspaper reports of the possibility of genetic damage caused by use of LSD, the mind-altering drug, turned many others away from the hippie life, said Father Allen of St. Mark’s Church.

But both Father Allen and Capt Brian Figueroa of the Salvation Army believe many left to return to college and will be back in May or June as soon as their classes are ended.

“We expect just as many this summer as we had last year,” said Captain Figueroa as he showed a visitor around the Army’s shelter for homeless youth’s at the Bowery and East Third Street

The shelter, formerly a mission for alcoholics, and a coffeehouse called the Answer on Macdougal Street are the Salvation Army’s chief contact points with runaway youths who are attracted to the Village by the hippie life.

“Many of the kids are just in trouble at home and are trying to get away,” Captain Figueroa said. “But others think, they can lead a life of free sex, or get drugs or escape responsibilities down here. We try to show them a better way.”

Of 86 boys and girls who have been taken into the Army’s Bowery shelter since Jan. 1, Captain Figueroa said all but one had gone home to work out problems with their families. The exception was a boy who was not wanted at home and knew it. He has been enrolled in school here until a more permanent arrangement can be made for him.

Father Allen reported that the arts program at his church that is supported by a grant from the Federal Department of Health,'Education and Welfare is attracting several hundred youths who.had gone to the East-Village after having dropped out of college.

The St. Mark’s program includes a drama workshop, film-making and a poetry workshop that meets six evenings a week and publishes a monthly journal.

Father Allen left his church at the corner of Second Avenue for a sabbatical last summer and returned to find many of the streets around his church filled with young panhandlers.

St. Mark’s Place is the street where most of them do their begging. This kind of life is becoming increasingly hard in the East Village, according to shopkeepers and adult residents. A man who runs a clothing shop on St. Mark’s Place and asked not to be identified said, “the police keep chasing them and fewer come back each week.”

“By summer, I hope they are all gone,” he added.

Mr. Lampe, the Youth International Party leader, said the hope of many hippies to live freely was being frustrated all around the country by police harassment. “It makes us all angry,” he said. “It makes us feel we have to resist.”

The Grand Central Terminal spring festival, he said, was an attempt to “give everybody a celebration because we felt we needed it after all the arrests this winter for draft resistance. It was going to be like a spring tonic."

Mr. Lampe said that almost spontaneously the anti-war chant, “Hell, no, We Won’t Go," began and was picked up in many parts of the domed terminal hall.

Mrs. Hoffman said members of Mayor Lindsay’s staff had been told in advance of the party’s plans, but had neither sanctioned the demonstration nor asked that it be called-off.

“If they had wanted to stop us, they could have had the police shut the doors," Mrs. Hoffman said. “But when we got there and saw all the others we thought, ‘How beautiful,’ they’re letting us do it."

The police said the throng of youths began entering the terminal shortly before midnight. They marched back and forth through the concourse singing songs, chanting slogans and releasing hundreds of colored balloons, which floated slowly toward the midnight-blue vaulted dome of the ceiling.

A little after 1 A.M., firecrackers began exploding over the heads of the police and the demonstrators. Then a band of youths climbed on the roof or I the information booth and began spinning the hands of the four-faced clock. The hands of the clock were broken off and the slogan “Peace Now” and other sayings were painted on the clock faces.

The police began moving in wedges toward the demonstrators, nightclubs swinging, pushing them toward-the side exits. Many youths were knocked to the ground. When the crowd had been thinned, the police pulled back and left the others to leave by themselves. The terminal was cleared by 4:15 A.M.

Although the police reported only two injuries requiring hospitalization, another person, Ronald Shay, a 22-year-old laboratory assistant from Baltimore, was admitted to Roosevelt Hospital with large lacerations on both of his arms.

Don McNeill, a staff member of The Village Voice, who was covering the event for his paper, said that the police had slammed his head against a glass door so hard he had to have five stitches taken to close the wound. Mr. McNeill said he was wearing his press card pined to his coat when he was pushed by the police.

More than 100 men from the Manhattan South Task Force and the Tactical Patrol Force were assigned to the station. They were under the command of Chief Inspector Sanford D. Garelik.

[inhumansforever]

Secret Warriors #3 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It’s the third pulse pounding installment of the Secret Warriors; from the creative team of Mathew Rosenberg, Javier Garrón and Israel Silva.  Full recap and review following the jump.

The Secret Warriors, a randomly collected team of Inhumans fleeing the forces of Hydra in the midst of the Secret Empire event, had been heading West, hoping to reach the Mutant nation of Tian.  Karnak believes a mysterious Inhuman is living among the Mutants who may prove essential if the Warriors are to have any hope of defeating Hydra.  

Crossing over onto the sovereign soil of Tian, the Warriors are immediately stopped by an impressive group of Mutants and former X-Men.  This includes The Beast, the older Hank McCoy, who at one point had been a close ally of The inhumans of New Attilan.  

The Mutants are not looking for a fight, yet they will not allow these Inhuman to cross further into Tian; it is their home, their nation, and allowing these wanted felons in could upset their tenuous treaty of non-conflict with Hydra.  

The Inhuman Karnak has the team searching for is named ‘Leer.’  It is not someone the mutants are familiar with and they are unwilling to give the Warriors permission to venture further into Tian to search for this individual.  

Meanwhile, there is a good deal of passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive banter between the two teams.  After all that had happened with the Terrigen Cloud and the subsequent war between the inhumans and Mutants, The Mutants have little in terms of sympathy for the dire situation that the Inhuman peoples are in.  Ms. Marvel (normally more even-headed and the last person one would suspect to start a hero on hero fight) has had enough and slams a giant hand forward that slams the mutant (and former X-Force and NextWave member) Boom Boom to the ground.

Before a full fledged battle can go down, a earthquake-like tremor causes a large fissure to crack open in the ground, separating the two teams.  At first Inferno assumes it was Daisy who did this, but it was actually Rictor, a Mutant (and former member of X-Force and The Fallen Angels) who has powers similar to those of Quake.

The Warriors agree to leave and are escorted out of Tian by the Mutant’s specialized Blackbird jet.  Yet it turns out to be a feint and Daisy fires a seismic blast that crashes the jet allowing the Warriors to escape and trek further into Tian.

Somehow, Karnak knows exactly where to go and leads the team to an underground laboratory hidden away near the border.  There they find The Dark Beast, an alternate reality version of Hank McCoy who is quite evil.  The Dark Beast has been utilizing all of the chaos brought about by the Secret Empire to continue his experiments, dissecting both Mutant and Inhuman subjects alike.  

The Warriors capture him and Karnak and Quake take him into an adjacent chamber to interrogate/torture him.  Ms. Marvel is absolutely dismayed that her teammates would stoop to such measures and she tries to stop it.  Daisy argues that these are desperate times requiring desperate measures; and if she cannot stomach it then she should quit.  

Whatever terrible things Quake and Karnak have done to The Dark Beast it is enough to get him to talk and they learn that this mysterious Leer had been in Tian, but has since been captured and taken away by Hydra.  

Before the team has time to process this disappointing knows, they are sieged by a large group of Mutants (those who they had encountered earlier plus reinforcements).  The Beast (the real one) was not aware that his Dark self had this lab, nor the diabolical experiments he had been conducting.  The Mutants are somewhat grateful that The Warriors had found the matter out; and foe this they are willing to let the Warriors leave in peace.

Leaving Tian, the Warriors are without a plan and are as far away from being a cohesive team as ever.   Ms. Marvel is still beside herself with anger and disappointment over Quake and Karnak’s conduct (this is just not what heroes do).  Daisy has no patients for Ms. Marvel’s idealism and suggests she leave the team and return to Jersey.  Before the conversation can go any further, their car is hit with rocket fire and overturned.  The Warriors crawl out from the wreckage and find themselves face to face with a legion of Hydra soldiers.  The Hydra force is led by Daisy’s father, the villainous Mr. Hyde. 

‘Daughter,’ he states, addressing Daisy, ‘it is time we talked.’  And it is with this perilous cliffhanger that the issue comes to an end.

Each issue thus far has presented a series of interludes focusing on one of the team members.  the first issue focused on Daisy, the second on Inferno and this issue focusing on Ms. Marvel.  It shows Kamala during the early moments of Hydra’s take over.  She looks on in horror as the entire island of Manhattan is encased in an impenetrable dome of DarkForce energy.  Hydra troops them march into Jersey City and Ms. Marvel is primed to jump into the fray and get to work super-heroing.  

Using her old Avengers com-link, Ms. Marvel contacts Iron Man.  Iron Man basically tells her that the best she can do is lay low; she’s just a kid and what is occurring is a threat that is far too much for her.  Ms. Marvel doesn’t take this advice and patrols Jersey City trying to figure out what she can do to help.  There are far too many Hydra soldiers, far too heavily armed for her to take on her own and she’s forced to keep to the shadows.  She does intercede when she sees a pair of resistance fighters preparing bomb to blow up a Hydra transport vehicle.  She stops them, convincing them that going through with it would put too many innocent lives at risk.  They are discovered by Hydra soldiers and have to flee.  One of the would-be saboteurs is captured.  

Later, back at the Khan household, a group Hydra soldiers knocks on the door and asks Kamala’s father if they have seen a specific young man.  He’s a boy Mr. Khan knows as a neighbor and it turns out he was one of the youths who had tried to blow up that Hydra transport.  Mr. Khan gives up no information, yet Kamala overhears the conversation and feels responsible for the kid who’d got caught as well as his coconspirator who is now being sought out.  

Donning her Ms Marvel gear, Kamala ventures out again, hoping she can do something to makes things right.  It turns out that the young man Hydra had captured broke under interrogation and gave up not only the name of his colleague, but also the location of a resistance safe-house.  Inferno had been hiding out in this safe-house and this is how he had been captured.  

Kamala can only look on from a distance and feel terribly guilty, as though this is all somehow her fault.  Presumedly, Kamala’s feelings of guilt over the matter is what ends up motivating her to aide Daisy when she calls for her assistance (as shown in the first issue).  

This third issues doesn’t have the exact same pizzaz as the second, but is still a fun read with lots of stand out moments and some very funny dialogue.  On the surface, the tension is all about the uneasy feelings between the Warriors and the Mutants, but the undercurrent is more so the stark philosophical differences between Daisy and Kamala.  

For Kamala, being a hero is about being good... always doing the right thing even when times are at their toughest.  For Daisy, however, being a hero is about getting the job done by any means necessary.  Daisy’s willingness to venture into a moral gray zone to accomplish her goals completely defies Kamala’s sensibilities… for her, there is no sense to fighting Hydra if they are going to be just as bad as Hydra is.   The Dark Beast’s actions are detestable, yet aren’t they just as detestable for having tortured him for information?  

Daisy has no time for Kamala’s black and white idealism; this is war and there can be no winning a war without getting one’s hands dirty.   As far as Daisy is concerned, Kamala is essentially a liability to the team unless she can get her act together and start seeing this situation for what it truly is.  

Personally, I think Daisy is correct here.  The story entails the country being taken over by a nazi force; fighting back and doing so with he utmost of savagery is needed... it is the only choice.  And yet I can still see Kamala’s point.  There is no way of fighting this fight without sacrificing one’s own morals and principles.  It’s no easy process, nor is it something that can be truly justified or rationalized away.  The whole idea of a ‘just war’ is merely a cognitive trick that allows one to temporarily shelve their morals.  As Saint Augustine of Hippo phrased it in Contra Faustum Manichaeum:

“They who have waged war in obedience to the divine command, or in conformity with His laws, have represented in their persons the public justice or the wisdom of government, and in this capacity have put to death wicked men; such persons have by no means violated the commandment, "Thou shalt not kill”

It’s a well-phrased and convincing argument, but is nonetheless little more than an eloquent form of cognitive dissonance.  Sometimes violence is necessary, there can be no way around it.  Yet morality will always be the first casualty and one needs to respect this and mourn for it respectively.   In either case, it is neat to see Daisy and Kamala as representatives of these dueling ideologies.

With IvX still so close in the rearview mirror, I wasn’t especially keen on seeing Inhumans and Mutants fighting, nor having the whole matter of who was right and who was wrong re-litigated on the page.  And for this reason, I appreciate that Rosenberg’s script kept the conflict to a minimum.   

It is difficult to bend my mind around the idea that The Mutants would stand idly by and allow what is happening in Secret Empire without getting involved.  They have been given the nation of Tian as concession, an offering that they accepted in exchange for staying out of Steve Rogers’ way as Hydra took over the rest of the country.  The whole idea of it seems absolutely antithetical to who The Mutnats, who The X-Men, are.  Perhaps their acceptance of this offer was influenced by the Cosmic Cube.  As it stands, these Mutants acting so out of character ended up making them seem a bit wooden in the story.  

Javier Garrón and Israel Silva's art is once more top notch.  The action is fluid and dynamic and even the more just standing around talking scenes have an energy to them thanks to Garrón’s terrific ability to relay emotion through facial expression.  

Silva’s color pallet matches the town of the story quite well; this was especially evident int he transition from the lush earth tones of the forest to the cold and sterile atmosphere of The Dark Beast’s lab.  

a few notes:

I recall reading that the Dark Beast had died in one of the final story arcs of Brian Micheal Bendis’ run on Uncanny X-Men.

I am all about Rictor’s awesome porn-mustache; and love that Shatterstar appears to also grown a similar ‘stache.

Is The Vision, Scarlet Witch and Deadpool now members of Hydra?  How did this happen?

Stan Lee once stipulated that he never wanted to see Reed Richards of The Fantastic Four use his stretching powers to extend his neck, suggesting that it was an unnerving visual and kind of took away from Richards’ sense of integrity.  I can see where Lee was coming from in this regard.  I didn’t much care for seeing Kamala stretch her neck in this fashion and would have rather that she stretch from the torso.  Still, a minor nitpick.  

Lunella telling Magik that she’s acting like a super hero cliche was my favorite line.

Rictor joking that Daisy’s powers are unoriginal was my second favorite.  

Who the heck is Leer?  

All and all another great issue and definitely recommended.  Three and a half out of Five Lockjaws.  

[elstine-harboson]

Rivers of crimson had sprung forth from the fresh founts of blood, rippling through the open gashes of ripped flesh and torn sinews; cracked and pierced plate armor now hugging only the dying or dead. The Harboson Company was not far off, several were already injured - bleeding out within the underground cavern as a fierce engagement between the Stormwind Intelligence and the home-teamed Underground Empire. Fire and smoke plumed from the abundance of rifles on both sides - one desperately fighting for their own survival and ideals, the other fighting for their way of life and their team leader.

Cass, Rose, and Elstine had rushed up the ramp and into the underground Keep that shot upwards sharply, producing four large stone pillars to help support the weight of the earth acting as a dome above it. The rest of the Mercenaries and Company were situated in the center of the large cavern, trying to aid their wounded while trying to hide from the various Honor Guard that passed by. -- As Elstine’s mana-pool dwindled, so to did your illusionary disguises. Soon the black and gold armor that adorned your figure became translucent, then finally vanishing completely to show your ragged armor underneath. 

It didn’t take long for the Honor Guard to notice.

Using the last bits of his mana to hold his own disguise, Elstine worked his way up the keep steadily with the two shadow-walkers close behind him. Finally reaching the top of the stairs, albeit winded. Pressing out into the roof there stood the middle-aged, leather-clad woman, Abigail; the Captain for the Region... With her death, the Imperium would be set back for years to come. Elstine drew his sword forth from his leather sheath and charged forward - steel on steel clashing, sparks spraying out as the serrated edges bit into one another. After a few bouts, Abigail tossed down a smokebomb - flinging Elstine and herself out from the smoke cloud - only to reveal that they both now had the same voice. Quickly engaging again, Elstine was disarmed - sword pressed to his throat. Just then, the one that appeared to be Abigail steadily faded to take the same vision as Elstine - two copies. 

With a tough choice in hand, Cass stepped forward and did her best deducting - crippling one, while stabbing into the throat of another. Two visions of Elstine steadily slumped forward, falling onto the cobblestone below. 

Just then, another series of explosions rang out through the large cavern - a massive stone pillar aiding in the support of the roof suddenly came crashing down, and with it the domed roof began to fall. Now raining rocks and tons of dirt, you’re tasked with escaping the underground cavern. 

Do you leave your friends and head towards the exit? Do any of the Honor Guard try to stop you along the way? 

@jarisleif-the-dwarf @r-glasford @scassira-harboson @danirel-thorson @caeliam @justtideguard @pensife 

[animeride-blog]

Top 10 Mecha Anime Of All Time https://animeride.com/lists/4573/top-10-mecha-anime-of-all-time/ #AldnoahZero, #CodeGeass, #EurekaSeven, #Evangelion, #EveNoJikan, #Gundam00, #GurrenLagann, #TheBigO

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Top 10 Mecha Anime Of All Time

What Is Mecha Anime?

Mecha anime is a genre of Japanese cartoons that focuses on robots. The tone of mecha anime tends to be epic, with large-scale battles between robots, although the tone can range in seriousness from dramatic to quite comedic. Some mecha anime shows and films feature robots that are almost like super heroes (this sub-genre is known as super robot), and some feature robots that are piloted by, and therefore of secondary importance to, humans (a sub-genre known as real robot).

10 ) Code Geass

The characters are definitely the best about this anime since they are almost all developed and interesting. There are a lot of them, but even some mirror characters get good development and back story. I liked most of the vi Britannia family and obviously Lelouch and CC.

It’s actually quite nice to see that the story started from I want to avenge my mother and create a world where my sister can be at peace and happy. Yet, it turned into world domination conquest with a lot of twits and turns that leave you to be wondering what will happen next because you don’t know what is happening anymore.

The animation and art are pretty god, but nothing too much outstanding, but it does the job. Soundtrack on the other hand is freaking cool and I still listen to it sometimes. The mecha battles are fun to watch and Lancelot design is so great that I did buy model of it.

9 ) Macross Frontier

Macross has always been a classic mechaa anime, and to this day there are still thousands of fans everywhere supporting the franchise. Macross Frontier is considered to be the favorite out of the Macross franchise due to its deep plot, and exciting cast of characters. The premise of the story takes place in the distant future where humanity is in war with the powerful Zentradi, who are out to destroy everything in their path. Their overwhelming threats forced much of humanity to escape and find refuge in a much safer environment. The Macross Frontier is built in order to protect the rest of humanity but when Sheyrl makes her appearance on board, so do the new enemy Vajra which create a new stage of panic. Alto and the rest of his team must work together to put a stop to the ruthless Vajra and uncover the truth behind Sheyrl’s mysterious history.

This received a spot on our mecha/robot list because mechaa anime always bring something dramatic to the screen, and so we become glued to all that’s happening. Also, the story behind Sheryl and the Vajra outbreak sounds interesting, since there is certainly something brewing that we are just not so sure about. What really attracted us was the art style which combined a more retro feel much like the past Macross series, and also a more modern feel with regards to character design. This is must watch for anyone stoked for cute girls in flashy outfits!

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8 ) Eureka Seven 

In the backwater town of Bellforest lives a 14-year-old boy named Renton Thurston. He desires to leave his home behind and join the mercenary group known as Gekkostate, hoping to find some adventure to brighten up his mundane life. However, stuck between his grandfather’s insistence to become a mechanic like him and the pressure of his deceased father’s legacy, the only excitement Renton finds is in his pastime of riding the Trapar wave particles that are dispersed throughout the air, an activity akin to surfing.

Everything changes when an unknown object crashes through Renton’s garage, discovered to be a Light Finding Operation—a robot capable of riding the Trapar waves—specifically known as the Nirvash typeZ ERO. Its pilot is a young girl named Eureka, a member of the Gekkostate, who requests a tune-up for the Nirvash. Their meeting sparks the beginning of Renton’s involvement with the Gekkostate as he takes off alongside Eureka as the co-pilot of the Nirvash.

7 ) Gundam 00

In the distant future, mankind’s dependence on fossil fuels will lead to their complete depletion, an energy crisis unlike anything the world witnessed. Out of retaliation and fear, humanity began focusing at an alternative source of energy: solar power. Different nations have united together to form three major factions—the Union of Solar Energy and Free Nations, the Advanced European Union, and the Human Reform League. Each of these sectors has access to a solar power generator, which gives them limitless energy.

As a result, countries that were once dependent on the sale of fossil fuels are now plunged in poverty, leading to years of warfare and internal strife over the control of solar energy. Amid this chaos, an unknown paramilitary organization appeared identifying themselves as “Celestial Being,” aspire to end all warfare through armed intervention by using mysterious and technologically advanced Mobile Suits known as Gundams.

Mobile Suit Gundam 00 follows the story of Celestial Being’s Gundam Meisters Setsuna F. Seiei, Lockon Stratos, Allelujah Haptism, and Tieria Erde. These four dive into the devastating battle between the three superpowers to accomplish their goal of changing the world.

6 ) Gurren Lagann

Simon and Kamina were born and raised in a deep, underground village, hidden from the fabled surface. Kamina is a free-spirited loose cannon bent on making a name for himself, while Simon is a timid young boy with no real aspirations. One day while excavating the earth, Simon stumbles upon a mysterious object that turns out to be the ignition key to an ancient artifact of war, which the duo dubs Lagann. Using their new weapon, Simon and Kamina fend off a surprise attack from the surface with the help of Yoko Littner, a hot-blooded redhead wielding a massive gun who wanders the world above.

In the aftermath of the battle, the sky is now in plain view, prompting Simon and Kamina to set off on a journey alongside Yoko to explore the wastelands of the surface. Soon, they join the fight against the “Beastmen,” humanoid creatures that terrorize the remnants of humanity in powerful robots called “Gunmen.” Although they face some challenges and setbacks, the trio bravely fights these new enemies alongside other survivors to reclaim the surface, while slowly unraveling a galaxy-sized mystery.

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5 ) Evangelion – Watch both the series and movies

In the year 2015, the world stands on the brink of destruction. Humanity’s last hope lies in the hands of Nerv, a special agency under the United Nations, and their Evangelions, giant machines capable of defeating the Angels who herald Earth’s ruin. Gendou Ikari, head of the organization, seeks compatible pilots who can synchronize with the Evangelions and realize their true potential. Aiding in this defensive endeavor are talented personnel Misato Katsuragi, Head of Tactical Operations, and Ritsuko Akagi, Chief Scientist.

Face to face with his father for the first time in years, 14-year-old Shinji Ikari’s average life is irreversibly changed when he is whisked away into the depths of Nerv, and into a harrowing new destiny—he must become the pilot of Evangelion Unit-01 with the fate of mankind on his shoulders.

Written by Hideaki Anno, Neon Genesis Evangelion is a heroic tale of a young boy who will become a legend. But as this psychological drama unfolds, ancient secrets beneath the big picture begin to bubble to the surface…

3 ) Aldnoah Zero

In 1972, an ancient alien hypergate was discovered on the surface of the moon. Using this technology, humanity began migrating to Mars and settling there. After settlers discovered additional advanced technology, they broke away from Earth and the Vers Empire was founded, which claimed Mars and its secrets for themselves. Later, the Vers Empire declared war on Earth, and in 1999, a battle on the Moon’s surface caused the hypergate to explode, shattering the Moon and scattering remnants into a debris belt around the planet.

Cut off from Mars, the remnants of the Vers Imperial Army established several massive orbital space stations within the debris belt and a ceasefire was established. 15 years later, in 2014, an attack on the Vers princess during a peace mission causes the Empire and its 37 clans of Orbital Knights to launch a new attack on Earth, this time determined to conquer it once and for all.

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2) The Big O

The Big O is set in the fictional city-state of Paradigm City. The city is located on a seacoast and is surrounded by a vast desert wasteland. The partially domed city is wholly controlled by the monopolistic Paradigm Corporation, resulting in a corporate police state. Paradigm is known as “The City of Amnesia”  because forty years prior to the story, “”The Event”  destroyed the world outside the city and left the survivors without any prior memories.

The city is characterized by severe class inequity; the higher-income population resides inside the more pleasant domes, with the remainder left in tenements outside. Androids coexist with the human inhabitants of Paradigm City; while they are rare, they are sufficiently numerous that denizens of the city do not consider them unusual.

1 ) Eve No Jikan

In Eve no Jikan, The Three Laws of Robotics are held above all else in a world where android housekeepers have become commonplace. Although they look human, they are treated the same as lesser technology such as toasters and alarm clocks. Not everyone feels this way, however. Android sympathizers, known as “android-holics,” have been labelled as heretics and problematic members of society.

Rikuo Sakisaka was raised to believe and uphold society’s tenets about androids, and is perfectly aware they are not human. Then one day, he finds abnormal data in his family android’s activity logs. This leads him to a café that has only one rule that its clientele must follow: there must be no discrimination between humans and androids inside. Curiosity drives Rikuo to discover more about this strange place and its regulars, even though he has no desire to befriend machines.

So which one is your favorite Mecha Anime ? Comment your opinions below !

[officialotakudome]

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Godzilla vs Kong Review

The fourth and supposed final film in Legendary Pictures’ MonsterVerse quadrilogy comes to a close in Godzilla vs Kong. With Kong in Monarch custody following the events of ‘Skull Island’, Godzilla has gained a sense of nearby Kaiju. Their battle imminent, APEX prepares for what may be a destined clash said to end the world.

Godzilla vs Kong is a 2021 monster film, it is produced by Legendary Pictures & distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures. It is currently in theaters with a 30 day release on HBO Max.

Editor’s Note: Near complete to complete spoilers for Godzilla vs Kong may be present in this review. Slight spoilers for the three preceding films may also be present.

Legendary’s MonsterVerse concludes in Godzilla vs Kong.

Said to be the finale of the MonsterVerse, Godzilla vs Kong depicts the final battle of kaiju between Godzilla & Kong. With Godzilla having disposed of nearly all of the other Kaiju in ‘King of the Monsters’ he becomes enamored into a fight with Kong. Sensing the dangers of this government agencies have worked together to keep Kong hidden in Skull Island. But with Godzilla becoming more obsessed it no longer becomes a secure location for him forcing APEX to move him to the Hollow Earth.

Legendary shows off impressive visuals for Godzilla vs Kong.

THE GOOD: Following the events of ‘King of Monsters’ & ‘Skull Island’, Godzilla has been under the watch of APEX. The prophecy of the “Great Kaiju War” has mostly come to fruition with the final battle being between Godzilla & Kong. Godzilla seemingly attacks APEX unprovoked with the public now seeing him as a villain rather than a hero due to his previous efforts in the Kaiju War. Madison who witnessed Godzilla’s behavior in the war remains unconvinced that he’s gone rogue. After an argument with her father she goes off to find former APEX employee turned conspiracy podcaster Bernie Hayes with her friend Josh. Kong is starting to become wary of his Monarch imprisonment. Despite this he has befriended a young surviving native named Jia who was adopted by Dr. Ilene Andrews.

It is revealed that Jia who is deaf has taught Kong sign language. She’s also formed a bond with him to the point where she’s gained his complete trust. Knowing this Ilene gets Jia to have Kong cooperate with Monarch to have him travel to Hollow Earth in an effort to hold off his battle with Godzilla. Dr. Nathan Lind is brought in as a representative of APEX by Walter Simmons who are working with Monarch. Godzilla finds them while out at sea and a battle nearly destroys the entire Monarch/APEX team. Only ending with Kong and the remaining forces playing dead. Madison finds and gains Bernie’s trust being a fan of his podcast. She, Bernie, and Josh stumble into an underground APEX lab where they accidentally witness a Mechagodzilla test. The machine is being powered by the brain of the deceased Ghidorah. Walter captures the trio at gunpoint and explains that he was the cause of Godzilla’s attack as he wanted to eliminate the Kaiju and give the power back to man. Lind and the others lead Kong to the Hollow Earth where he discovers the remains of other creatures similar to himself and Godzilla. Entering what looks like a throne room, Kong finds an axe made from the tail of Godzilla’s species. APEX betrays Monarch and holds Lind and the others hostage as they capture a sample from the throne room. The noise causes bird like creatures to attack and kill most of the group. Simmons’ daughter attempts to escape, but is blocked by Kong. She fires shots at him that only annoy him and he crushers her ship killing her and the others inside as Lind, Ilene, and Jia watch. 

Godzilla arrives in Hong Kong where Monarch is stationed alongside Madison’s father. They are coincidentally located on top of the Hollow Earth where Kong and the others are. Godzilla fires an atomic blast creating an opening between Hong Kong and the Hollow Earth and Kong climbs up it with Lind & the others following. Godzilla and Kong engage in a second battle destroying a ton of the city. Godzilla defeats Kong and leaves him for dead. Suddenly Mechagodzilla awakens through Ghidorah’s soul and kills Walter as he enters the city. Godzilla and the Ghidorah possessed Mechagodzilla fight, but Godzilla exhausted from his battle with Kong is badly beaten by Mechagodzilla. Kong nearing death is saved by Lind and Jia convinces him to aid Godzilla saying he is no longer the enemy. As Godzilla falls, Kong fights Mechagodzilla and is about to lose as he too faces exhaustion. Godzilla takes note of Kong’s axe and powers it with his atomic breath giving Kong the edge to destroy Mechagodzilla.

With Mechagodzilla gone Kong and Godzilla appear to ready themselves for a third battle. Kong however, drops his axe surrendering to Godzilla. Godzilla accepts Kong’s defeat and returns to the sea becoming the Titan King of Earth. Sometime later Kong, now residing in Hollow Earth as it’s Titan King accepts Monarch’s trust who continues to watch over him as he remains close with Jia. 

Godzilla vs Kong is the surprising finale you hoped for.

Most people know what to expect from any sort of adaptation of Godzilla or King Kong. While the latter is usually pretty good at having well written human characters, the former is great with action sequences. Godzilla can be pretty solid with human character development. Like for example, I remember enjoying the humans in Shin Godzilla. It tends to be way more miss than hit though. The human characters in Godzilla vs Kong can have moments, but they’re pretty ridiculous and forgettable here. I did like the relationship Jia and Kong had, but I wish they would have featured it more. It’s neat to think of the idea of Kong being taught how to communicate by a human. Kong’s relationship with humans is a recurring theme of the series throughout it’s history and we see it here & there in Godzilla just not as much. 

This is an oddly colorful film as well. Godzilla is no stranger to bright colors as they’re more often than not used for the kaiju attacks. That remains true here in Godzilla vs Kong, but they expand the use of color to bring out the life of the set pieces. The Hong Kong fight scene in particular is beautiful as hell and really helps pop out the monster designs. The action is as good as you’d expect (or hope) it to be. I also appreciate how Legendary tries to expand Godzilla & Kong’s respective lore with the idea of them having been apart of an ancient war between their two species in Hollow Earth. I’ve seen many Godzilla and King Kong adaptions and I think that storyline is unique to the Legendary universe. While it’s suggested that this is finale, they do a ton of seed planting for the future in case Toho renews their contract. Which is looking very likely citing the current box office numbers as the film has already made it’s budget back. 

Strong action scenery makes up most of the film.

THE BAD: Don’t come into this film expecting much plot. Unless you’ve been closely following the connected dots of the kaiju themselves spread out across the four films there isn’t much going for the human characters. And that’s ok no one should expect the human characters to be amazingly fleshed out in an American adaptation of Godzilla. Though I did like Lind, and the small bit of relationship building with Kong & Jia. There’s also some bad writing, like really, really bad. For example, there’s a scene where Mechagodzilla is nearly killing Godzilla and Josh temporarily stuns him by pouring alcohol on a computer that’s no longer connected to him. 

Human characters are once again the weak link of the franchise.

OVERALL THOUGHTS: Godzilla vs Kong is the epic finale that goes above and beyond for it’s titular kaiju. While the human characters are predictably forgettable there are some standouts, at least in my opinion. There’s some really solid world building for the future of the franchise should Toho renew. And the use of colors in the film really stood out. Otaku Dome gives Godzilla vs Kong an 85 out of 100. 

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Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales Review

The follow-up to 2018’s Marvel’s Spider-Man arrives with a new lead in Harlem Spider-Man Miles Morales. Taking place a year and a half following the events of the first game, Miles is still struggling to come into his own as The Friendly Neighborhood Spider. Peter is trying to train him while protecting his own backyard in New York City. After dealing with a disastrous encounter with Rhino, Peter entrusts Miles as the sole Spider-Man of New York as he and MJ go out of country on business. Miles must now find his path as Spider-Man without his mentor and a little help from best friend Ganke Lee.

Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales is a 2020 action-adventure game, it is developed by Insomniac and published by Playstation Studios. It is available exclusively on Playstation 4 and Playstation 5.

Editor’s Note: This review contains near complete to complete spoilers for the story of Spider-Man: Miles Morales. Our review of the original Marvel’s Spider-Man and its DLC can be viewed at these links 1, 2, 3.

Playstation’s Spider-Man returns with a new entry that bridges the first game and eventual Spider-Man 2 starring 2011’s Miles Morales.

Two years since the initial launch of universally acclaimed Marvel’s Spider-Man comes Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales. As the name suggests the game picks up where the initial left us with Miles Morales having his own run in with a power giving spider bite. Though Miles and Peter have mostly similar spider based powers, Miles has his own original Spidey flair to help him stand out such as having the ability to create an electromagnetic field to get the jump on multiple enemies, his own unique tech and gear compared to Peter’s, and even the ability to turn invisible for a short period of time.

Miles is (mostly) on his own in Spider-Man: Miles Morales.

THE GOOD: 2018’s Marvel’s Spider-Man was a surprise in such a multitude of ways. For one, it was a video game title taking on the form of a beloved fictional character, it was based on a comic book/superhero, and it was a licensed video game. Granted licensed gaming had made a bit of a quality comeback thanks to titles like the Batman: Arkham series, and even some Transformers titles released by Activision just to name a couple. But there was always room for worry in the back of fans’ minds that some kind of controversy was just around the corner of what looked like “a sure thing, and Square Enix dealing with their own troubles following the release of The Avengers this distant worry will always have an unfortunate place in licensed gaming. However Marvel’s Spider-Man ended up being a fantastic game thanks to the renown track record of developer Insomniac. Having tackled several genre from dozens of IP the studio has shown time and time again that they just know how to build good games. Though that’s the core issue with taking on something like a licensed game for the first time or anything for the first time; there’s always room for error. Thankfully, Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales is not that at least as far as the story. character development, and most of the gameplay is concerned.

Miles Morales grows as a human, man, and hero in Spider-Man: Miles Morales.

Spider-Man: Miles Morales opens up with Peter Parker and Miles preparing to protect a prison cargo hosting those responsible for the final events of the original game. After struggling to defeat Rhino and Peter having been beaten Miles raises his courage to fight him lone unlocking a new power in the process aiding in Rhino’s defeat impressing Roxxon R&D Director Simon Krieger. Peter informs Miles that he and Mary Jane will be overseas away on business for several weeks leaving the safety of New York mostly on him. Lacking confidence Peter tells Miles to believe in himself and if he truly needs him he’s there. As Peter departs Miles contests with a new tech savvy gang known as The Underground which seems to be involved in a power struggle against Roxxon’s military grade forces. Roxxon is in the middle of releasing a brand new energy source known as Nuform, but the concoction is dangerous to humans causing them terminal illness. After an initial run in with The Underground, Miles returns home with whom best friend Ganke is currently residing as his parents go on vacation. Miles’ old childhood friend Phin makes a surprise visit to Harlem. Miles asks about her brother Rick who they both looked up to, but she unexpectedly dodges the question. During a rally for Miles’ mother Rio who’s campaigning for Mayor of Harlem The Underground attacks a Roxxon convoy carrying a literal truckload of Nuform on a bridge. During a fight with members of the gang that leads to a battle with The Underground’s head of command The Tinkerer, Miles accidentally learns that it’s Phin when his electric powers causes her armor to malfunction which was shielding her face. Phin retaliates as Miles’ electric powers go out of control sending him into the truck containing Nuform ensuing an enormous explosion that destroys a large portion of the bridge. Roxxon reinforcements arrive and they threaten Miles after he saves citizens from the bridge shocking bystanders. As they’re about to kill a cooperating Miles he accidentally unlocks a new ability that allows him momentary invisibility giving him an opening to escape.

Tweaked gameplay mechanics and it’s story idea give us a potential glimpse in what’s to come for Marvel’s Spider-Man 2.

While internally battling with what to do in regards to Phin and her connection to The Underground, Miles begins to reconnect with his recently estranged Uncle Aaron who had been emotionally abandoned by the family for unknown reasons. This inadvertently reveals his identity as the Harlem Spider-Man to Aaron and Miles through searching his late father Jefferson’s old police files discovers that Aaron is the Prowler a legendary super enhanced criminal. Revealing the reason behind the family abandoning him, after this discovery Miles has resolve to try to convince Phin to stop what she’s doing with The Underground having earlier learned of Krieger being responsible for the death of her brother Rick who worked with him on Nuform. The energy source making him and his team terminally ill killing the latter, though Rick died trying to protect Phin from an incident at Krieger’s lab. After successfully infiltrating The Underground as himself, Miles learns that Phin plans to blow up Roxxon HQ, but is unaware of the severity of the impact which will destroy New York and much of the surrounding area. Miles reveals his identity to Phin after a pursuit and she reluctantly works with him only for the two to be captured by Krieger. After their escape following a battle with a Roxon tech enhanced Rhino, Phin now consumed with rage sees Miles as her enemy like Krieger and Roxxon & continues forward with her plan threatening his life if he tries to stop her again. Having bonded from a prior Roxxon infiltration, Miles learns that Aaron has returned as the Prowler and is captured by him. The two fight after Aaron fails to convince him to stop worrying about New York and to only focus on himself. Miles beats him and continues his chase of Phin while evacuating the city with Ganke and his mom once he tells them both everything that happened. A war breaks out between The Underground & Roxxon in Harlem, but Miles and a reformed Prowler stops them. Miles finds Phin at the science museum that held their award winning project which she plans to use to aide the explosion plan as an emotional blow to Miles. The two fight as Miles tries to explain the issue surrounding her plan but she refuses to listen. As the explosion begins Phin finally realizes that Miles was right. but he’s injured from some of the impact. Phin helps him absorb the Nuform. but Miles can’t contain it for long which endangers Harlem from the blast release. Phin uses Underground tech to fly Miles into the sky so he can release the blast safely. but at the cost of her own life. Miles’ identity is revealed to the citizens of Harlem, but they shield him from being shown on TV as a news crew shows. He places his and Phin’s award on their favorite church as a tribute. Now brimming with confidence as a hero a returned Peter is proud of all that Miles has accomplished while he was away. Norman Osborn demands that his son Harry be “awoken” despite warnings from Curt Connors in an end credits scene.

Miles Morales has moments where he can be playable as a citizen of Harlem.

If you were one of the lucky few that managed to come into possession of a Playstation 5 and an even luckier few who as of yet have not experienced the 2018 Spider-Man entry, first I commend & envy you, second I highly suggest playing ‘Miles Morales’ after a playthrough of the remaster. The unique perspectives of both titles combined in a single sitting make the $70 price tag more than worth it (not that I’m all too thrilled about a price hike for games). And ya know the 4K, ray tracing, whatever I guess that too. Anyways, Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales is from a basics standpoint a lot like the original. You’ve got the Arkham like combat, the fantastic swinging, and the finishers. Just like in the last game there’s a skill tree which you use to upgrade Miles with skill points. These range from attack, tech, and support skills such as increased invisibility meters and finisher storage counts. Miles’s electric venom powers add solid combo chains for a higher score and opportunity to gain finishers for tougher enemies. Eventually you can unlock an explosive form of the attack which is great for dispersing large groups of enemies. You’ll use tech for support and to get the jump in enemies like before, but Miles has unique tech like electric bombs which can stick to electric panels and if you know how to use them they can act as great distractions that lead to a large deal of damage to several enemies.

The Tinkerer threatens all of New York in her quest to end Roxxon.

Side quests return with most of it being randomized events spread throughout the world map and some minimal story based events. The “defeat enemy base here” side quests return just skinned with The Underground and Roxxon. New to the game are the scavenger hunt and time capsule quests which have you finding mementos left behind by Miles’ late father Jefferson and his friend Phin. Also new are the audio tunes which Miles’ Uncle Aaron tasks him with finding to complete a track he and his father were working on together using the sounds of New York for the song. Some quests will unlock Miles unique skills or costumes in the game to dress the Harlem Spider-Man as you see fit.

Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales continues the growth of two young superheroes sharing the same title.

THE BAD: An unfortunate setback to Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales is that it often times feels a little too close to Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse story wise. It’s the curse of origin stories, odds are the origin has already been told and there isn’t much you can do to differentiate it from it’s core. There’s a handful of glitches present at least on the PS4 version. One I experienced in particular was during the mission where Miles had to restore power to his apartment complex. A bug prevented me from completing the mission and I was stuck there wondering what the hell was happening for over an hour. So far it’s the only major bug I’ve experienced, though others have reported more.

Like Peter before him Miles struggles with balancing his hero/citizen life in Harlem, New York.

OVERALL THOUGHTS: Marvel’s Spider-Man: Miles Morales is a excellent appetizer to the upcoming Marvel’s Spider-Man 2. Keeping what made the original special all while giving itself a way to standout is always the way to go with sequels such as these and ‘Miles Morales’ more than delivers on that end. While shorter than the original game the quality isn’t effected by the bit sized entertainment. I played on the second hardest difficulty of the game Spectacular and was able to clock in about fifteen to twenty hours of play which is slightly more than similar title Uncharted: The Lost Legacy. The sheer jump in a quality gaming experience from the spin-off even with it’s limited time left me craving for more of Insomniac’s Peter Parker and Miles Morales.