#also i felt like a genius when i figured out how to do the halo

[breserker]

oral fixation

jackrabbit brujo :: vel tag

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-15: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Come on then, Miss Direction Blind. I'll be the one to give you the directions now.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

After a week of working at Warson, I’d technically adapted to how things went about here. Zheng Lin had also arranged my first solo gig.

Zheng Lin: The design hub has a mentor system set in place.

Zheng Lin: So, all Assistants and Junior Designers will have a mentor assigned to them.

Zheng Lin: Of course, it is not up to you to choose, but your future mentor.

Zheng Lin: Every Senior Designer, including Director Qi, will participate in this program as a mentor.

MC: Director Qi too?

Zheng Lin: Correct. The selection criteria will be the results of your first independent work.

Zheng Lin: It might be solo work, but you can always approach me if you run into something you don't understand.

Zheng Lin: And also, I'll get Brother Mao to help you out, considering how you've only just arrived here and have yet to familiarize yourself with this place.

Zheng Lin: Of course, his aid doesn't include helping you out with your design.

Zheng Lin: In any case, just make sure to do this job well because the results of this will determine who your future mentor will be. Understand?

I understood what she was getting at. Mentors would greatly influence and affect the growth of a rookie. One will be able to learn much more when paired with an experienced mentor who shares the same aesthetic sense.

Although the deadline is still a long time from now, I want to become the best mentee choice to ever face Sariel.

The job this time was to create a dress for Lin Yao, the new up and coming actress, for her award ceremony.

❖☆———————————★❖

She was a child actress who'd recently risen to fame when the popularity of the young idol teen drama she starred in half a year ago exploded. Due to her cold countenance, she was dubbed by the media as the "Nation's Fairy Nymph" 

This time, the local crime movie she'd starred as the lead for had received a double harvest at the word-of-mouth box office. It has also been nominated as one of the most popular movies and the movie with the best female lead among many others.

This movie was about a talented dancing genius who secretly plotted the murder of her abusive stepmother for many, many years. This caused the creation of a second personality within her; the murder happened then. At the end of the film, she danced in the pure white snow beside the dead body of her stepmother. Something that she'd only ever dreamt about. And there, etched upon her face, was the first smile of her life.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Her performance is way too good! I can't even tell that it's an act...

After watching some of her award-winning works interviews, I finally managed to get some semblance of understanding about Lin Yao.

She was someone of few words, a polite and obedient kid who never once had a single bad article to her name. She was forever smiling in front of the cameras. She was hardworking and responsible when it came to her work, and has had a smooth journey ever since her debut. It was the very epitome of what a perfect life was; one that everybody admired.

MC: A traditional fairy dress would be too conservative. Although that'd be very in line with her image, it'll merely be the same thing all over again. That wouldn't make her stand out on the red carpet.

MC: I can't help but feel like she's not all as inwardly peaceful as she appears on the outside. Perhaps she's fiercer or more sensitive deep down...

I didn't know how I could express this mismatch in her persona.

Perhaps it was those eyes of hatred of hers that shot daggers in the movie, or maybe that one sliver of vulnerability that she let slip in her interviews every once in a while. Those factors made it hard for me to decide just what kind of style I should go with her dress.

MC: And I also feel like digging deeper to uncover the other more charming side of her that no one knows...

The genius young maiden of the nation. A turbulent era of change. Self-redemption and self-destruction. All of these factors were only impactful when combined together with the era it was set in. It was only then, that everything felt fated to be.

MC: What if I added these elements to the dress?

I closed my eyes and imagined it in my head. A black feather dress inspired by the nation slowly formed in my mind's eye.

MC: I know!

Brother Mao: Heavens! You gave me a scare right there!

That was when I realized that I'd quite literally leapt out of my seat in my excitement. I gave an embarrassed laugh.

MC: Brother Mao, I'm going to go out and do some fieldwork to get some inspiration!

❖☆———————————★❖

If I were to find things related to the nation, then the museum would be the most appropriate choice.

Back when I was little, I'd always be left in the care of my mother's ex-partner when neither she nor my grandmother had the time to take care of me. He was responsible for managing this museum that could be called my second home of sorts.

MC: But, why does it look different from how I remember…?

The place had been renovated during the long period of time I hadn't been to it. All the exhibition halls had changed locations.

I followed the signs towards the hall where all the local things were displayed, only for my attention to be caught by a familiar figure.

Dressed entirely in black, said person had his arm behind his back as he stood motionless in front of the collections before him.

His straight posture made him look like a tall, yet silent, statue from afar. Under the lights of the spotlight, a faint silvery-white halo surrounded him. I could even see the small particles of dust floating in the air amidst the light. It made him look stand-offish and sharp.

I couldn't stop myself from raising my camera and snapping a shot. 

Click! 

The man noticed; immediately whipping his head around.

MC: ...Osborn!?

Surprised, I retreated a step; only to realize that my hands were now empty. Osborn had snatched my camera from me.

Osborn: Watcha hiding?

He cocked his head to look at the camera, the corners of his mouth upturning into an arc.

Osborn: You're sneakily taking shots of me? Let's see how they turned out.

MC: Return it back to me first!

Osborn purposely lifted the camera higher out of my reach.

Osborn: Why are you so frantic? It's not like I mind or anything.

MC: I still have things to do! Hurry and give it back already!

Osborn: What did you come here for?

MC: Photos. I came here looking for inspiration.

Osborn nodded, turning and walking away with my camera in hand.

Osborn: Weren't you here for pictures? Come on, let's go.

Does he want to accompany me?

I hurriedly chased after him and held out the guidebook for him to take. However, he'd only waved his hand in dismissal and signalled for me to follow behind him.

He led me around the museum as if he knew the place like the back of his hand. All I had to do was to name the exhibit and he'd be able to find it immediately.

His sense of direction is incredible. What is he? A human-sized GPS?

MC: Do you come here often, Osborn?

Osborn: It's my first time here.

MC: …..

Osborn let out two short laughs as he crooked his head and contemplated me.

Osborn: And how many times have you been here?

MC: I've come here a couple of times in the past, I guess. I'm not very familiar with this place. Ahem...

??: (Y/n)! Is it really you? You've come back to the country?

The curator uncle that I'd not seen in a long time suddenly comes round from a corner. He looked astonished to see me here.

Mr. Curator: You've grown into a splendid young woman in the years I've not seen you. It's great to see you back! Come by my place for dinner when you're free!

Mr. Curator: Oh, yes. Should I get you a guide? I remember that you got lost here once.

MC: No need! My friend here has a superb sense of direction!

My face heated up as I hurriedly pointed to Osborn. He didn't say anything more, only laughing as he nodded to Osborn before leaving.

Brilliant. I originally intended to keep the fact that I was directionally challenged under wraps when around Osborn, but now… He's gonna make fun of me again.

MC: Right, but I'm still pretty good at reading maps…

In the end, Osborn couldn't hold back his laughter and ended up laughing till his shoulders were shaking. He took hold of my arm in one swift motion and started walking forward.

Osborn: Come on then, Miss Direction Blind.

Osborn: I'll be the one to give you the directions now.

Somehow, I vaguely felt my heart skip a beat at that.

MC: I want to go to the national exhibit…

❖☆———————————★❖

The national exhibit had now been renovated and refurbished retro-style. All the new collections exhibited here now turned out to be clothing and accessories. 

Looks like I made the right choice in coming here.

Osborn: Want do you wanna snap?

MC: That one. The brown layered cheongsam patterned through burn-out printing.

MC: The blueish-grey female damask lined jacket!

MC: And that short-sleeved georgette velvet cheongsam that's also patterned through burn-out printing!

I'd virtually snapped a picture of every outfit on display here. The tentative image I originally had in mind seemed to become clearer now.

MC: Okay, that's all.

Osborn kept the camera and glanced at the time.

Osborn: Let's go then.

❖☆———————————★❖

Dusk had already fallen by the time we walked out of the museum. The smell of sundown envelopes us in its serenity, as the breeze carries the fragrance of hyacinths.

Osborn walks up to a black motorcycle and leans on its back seat.

MC: Thank you for today. I didn’t cause you any trouble by hogging you and making you take pictures for me, did I?

Osborn: Sure you did.

MC: …Ah. What are you going to do about it?

Osborn: Then, how about you do a little something to repay me? The bracelet I was looking at earlier; have you seen anything like it before?

The image of Osborn staring seriously at the white-coloured jade cong earlier flashed through my mind.

MC: That’s not a bracelet. It’s a jade cong. They’re used as ritual artefacts in ancient witchcraft or religious sacrifices.

MC: The one you saw earlier was a typical one belonging to the Liangzhu Culture. It’s speculated that it’s used to communicate with gods or the souls trapped in this realm.

Osborn: You know quite a lot.

MC: I used to come here a lot as a kid, and I’d just tail the big sister, the guide, back then when I had nothing better to do. That’s why I remember so many things.

Osborn: Hu? You don't look like an expert at all.

MC: I’m still learning, but they do say that the better your memory, the smoother the sail of your learning curve.

Osborn: Let’s see… Wasn’t there an expert earlier who couldn’t even tell left from right?

MC: I was born with a poor sense of direction! I told you that my map reading skills were still passable!

Osborn: Okay, okay. What’s with the glare? I’m only poking fun at you.

Osborn: My sense of direction is brilliant, so just follow me next time.

MC: ……

MC: Right, but that jade cong earlier was a little odd.

Osborn: Man, the way you change topics needs a little working on.

MC: Do you want to listen, or not?

Osborn: Spill.

MC: I’ve never seen a jade cong from the Liangzhu Culture with the double-headed snake motif carved onto it before.

MC: There exists a sacred double-headed snake motif in Sumerian Culture. It represents Ningishzida, the Lord of the Good Woods.

MC: And in the mythology Ningishzida hails from, the gods used clay to create humans and make the beginnings of the first civilization.

MC: Just like the Fuxi Nuwa from our ancient mythology.

MC: Funny thing is that, coincidentally, the Sumernarian two-headed snake is also very similar to the Fuxi Nuwa.

Osborn unknowingly furrows his brow whilst muttering about something under his breath. However, he quickly returns to his usual playful self.

Osborn: Okay. I've got it.

MC: Why are you interested in something like this?

MC: I remember that the bracelet you showed me up on the roof that day had the same motif.

Osborn: Ever heard of this saying?

Osborn made a come hither motion, signalling for me to get closer to him.

Osborn: The more secrets you know, the more you'll be...

He did a cutthroat gesture whilst smirking at me.

MC: Do I look like I care?

Osborn: It has something to do with someone I'm looking for. I'll tell you next time if I get the chance.

MC: Hmm…

Osborn: But, no telling anyone about what happened today.

MC: Okay. Now gimme the camera.

Osborn: I helped you and yet not even a single "thank you" from you?

Osborn leaned further backwards, purposefully dodging my hand that went straight for the camera, a devilish look on his face.

MC: Thank you!

Osborn: Now stick your hand out.

A small lemon candy was placed into my outstretched palm alongside the camera.

Osborn: Where are you headed? I'll send you.

He flipped himself onto his bike, surveying the congested road up ahead.

MC: I can't possibly bother you like that...

I waved my hand and turned his offer down out of habit, yet inwardly, I was silently pondering about just how I was to get onto that tall bike of his.

However, just as I was about to step onto it and swing myself onto the seat, the engine gave a resounding roar as said motorbike speeded away from me.

Only a single line hung in the air in his wake: "Bye!"

MC: Hey! I was just being nice! It wouldn't hurt to have asked me again...

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-13) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-18)

[morepeachyogurt]

i’m locking up everyone (who ever laid a finger on me)

Elle Greenaway Gen fic, brief romance with ofc 

Word Count- 8,100

Summary-  Elle’s been angry since she was young, a look into that anger until she finally gives in.

Tw- blood, knives, murder, brief mentions of rape and pedophilia (nothing graphic), minor substance mentioned, and language I guess

read here on ao3

You think it all started when Randall Garner decided you weren’t worth living. When he took a bullet from his shiny gun, broke into your home, your safe place, and shot you in the chest. As your blood spilled onto your floors you couldn’t help but blame the man who sent you home. Hotch may not have pulled the trigger but he loaded the gun which almost took your life. You were helpless, had to sit there, and watch it pour onto your floor like a pond being drained to make room for yet another building. Its life is sucked out of it like yours was. You closed your eyes because you did not want to see the blood. You’re no stranger to blood, you’re a woman after all, plus you work a job surrounded by murder and misery. There's nothing quite like watching corpse after corpse of other women laying on the floor, their eyes panicked and their blood staining the floor. It was never supposed to be you but now it was. This is how it ends, you suppose. You didn’t even save a life going down like you always thought you would. You were targeted. A victim. You were not an accident caught in the crosshairs. No, this was intentional and now you’re bleeding out your soul and you almost don’t want to be brought back to life. 

~

When you were seven your mother baked pie after pie. Your father was dead, died heroically everyone said. Like that made it better. Who cares that you’ll never see him again, he’ll never teach you to ride a bike now like you guilt-tripped him for not doing before. Now he's dead and you’re surrounded by baked goods to fuel the appetite you don’t have. You feel hollow and you wish you didn’t. Sadness like your mother would be better, anger like his fellow officers would be better. You ask her why she’s baking pies, she doesn’t even like them. Fueron la cosa favorita de tu papá, cariño. Lo echo de menos cada dia. She acts like you don’t know your father’s favorite dessert, like you don’t miss him too. Ah, there’s the anger. Much better, you’ll revel in. That was not your question, you wanted to know why she felt like she could replace him with apple pie. You don’t tell her this, your father didn’t call you peanut to be vicious, he called you it because you were kind and soft. Were. Instead, you give your mother a soft smile like that fixes anything.

The days go on like they always do, a tv show where you cannot cancel your subscription. The anger subsides a bit, there will always be a gaping hole where your father’s kind eyes and gentle smile took root. For now, your heart is creating a shelter for it. It’s not perfect yet but you hope someday it will be.

You learn to laugh again, you speak Spanish with your mother. Sea bilingual mija, los estudios dicen que es buena para tu cerebro. ¿No quises saber la lengua materna de sus ancestros?  You let her teach you the words of the women who can before you. It’s a beautiful thing to speak two languages. Perhaps connections make us who we are, now your ability to connect is twofold. 

~

Your first day at the bau was almost as you imagined it. You did not imagine the genius barely old enough to drink, looking at crime scenes like he was made for it. Sculpted by the gods to examine the bodies of women like you and say why they were executed and by whom. Perhaps he was, Gideon did seem to think of himself as a god figure. You did not expect when returning to the office to see a woman who looked as though she stepped inside a rainbow and absorbed all its warmth. She looked like she would give you great hugs, she looked like home. That was a dangerous thought to be had in a place like this. They say it's a family. No family should be hoisted upon the foundation of murder. Blood should not be the glue that holds people together. Oh, and blood there was, almost every crime scene had its stench. The rust in the air reminds you of the junkyard by your house where you used to get high at with your friend that was never quite a friend. You would talk about the secrets of the universe and whether or not you felt as though you could exist in this world without paying a price. You argued that the world seems to take reservations, some were born with them already made, others bought them. The rest of you were forced to sell your soul to the devil to earn enough money to survive, to have a place in the world. She never quite saw your point. She will. 

~

Even in your youth, you’ve never truly felt safe, perks of having a cop as a father means you’ve learned the cruelty of man far sooner than you should have, than you would have. He gave you rules to keep you safe.

Rule 1: you cannot walk alone or late at night. You yearn for the freedom of the boys on your block. The night and its darkness is so pure to you, the stars always in sight. Your mother tells you your father is in the sky and you look for him, to see if he twinkles at you. You do not want your mother to know this, it’s a secret shared by the two of you and you think that's sacred. Since you can’t walk alone at night you never get to look for him. Your father and freedom robbed from you by the men on the news and in your father’s case files. 

Rule 2: never leave your drink unattended, you do not drink you are much too young but sometimes your eyes wander to your liquor cabinet and you wonder if there is a better state of being. If you can float above the longing for a different reality where you have a father and you are happy. 

Rule 3: Do not dress provocatively, you are fourteen years old and you do not see why what you wear should impact your safety. You are not a gift wrapped up in a pretty package waiting for it to be ripped away to reveal something desirable. That does not stop the men from leering at you when you walk home from school, you still have your backpack on so you know it’s part of the appeal. It does not stop the boy in your science class from trying to grab your ass after class. You punch him in the nose and you get suspended. They do not listen to you. They do not care about the words of a girl, you are not here to have opinions on the world apparently you’re here to be a toy for those meant to have opinions. One day you’ll show them they’re wrong.

The list goes on and on, society loves to tell you that you will never be safe in this world. You wonder why no one is trying to make the world safe for you. Maybe that's your purpose. You were too late to be saved from the cruelty of this universe but perhaps there's another young girl who can be. 

~

College, the supposed best years of your life. You decided to fulfill fourteen-year-old you’s wish to save the girls of the world so you major in criminology with a minor in psychology. What better way to stop them than to get inside their heads. You won’t let them into yours. They do not deserve the honor and the horror. You watch crime shows for fun, maybe for education. You see how these girls get taken and you know how to not make their mistakes. You also see what the killers did wrong. Part of you wonders if your future job, and the education for said job, are all an elaborate plan for you to win at the world. Life’s a game and you plan to be its victor. Learn their mistakes. Be better. You won’t fall for their tricks, you’re smarter than that. 

Your studies do not stop you from enjoying your time here while you can. Once you see your first real corpse you know there's no going back. Any bit of being insouciant will be stolen from you just like the lives of the bodies you will hover over. 

The party you are at is loud, not as loud as the inside your head, but enough to help you get out of it. You lock eyes with a woman who is quite possibly a work of art. She's in one of your classes, the buzz of alcohol in your head pleasantly blocking all memories of your studies. She smiles at you, shyly, and you wonder for the first time if perhaps angels are real. Her hair is blonde, just like an angel, it is her halo. Her eyes are blue like the water of the lakes you have stared at looking for an answer and perhaps you can find it in her eyes. She makes her way to you, she too has been loosened by alcohol for she stands far too close to be mistaken with platonic intentions towards you. Lily, your brain provides, is even more beautiful up close. She has freckles that dance along the bridge of her nose and you briefly wish to kiss them. Kiss her. The two of you dance, swaying to the beat of whatever trashy music is playing. You ask her if she’d like to go outside and take a walk with you. She says yes.

She is curious why but she follows you outside. You hesitantly grasp her hand as you pull her along a secret path you found on your first week here. She looks at the constellations above you and names the one you are staring at. As she looks at the sky you decide she is more beautiful than they are and you gaze at her while she gazes at the stars. She catches you eventually and you place a hand on her cheek. Her eyes shimmer in the moonlight and you ask if you can kiss her. She accepts and you accept that it might be your new favorite hobby. Perhaps you could spend hours kissing her. You do. 

Lily and you have your perfect YA book experience. She takes you to coffee shops and you look at the stars together. You are not breaking your father’s rules for now you are not alone, it will end though, you know it. You are not the type of girl who gets her happy ending. You tell her a bad pun about the stars and she laughs and tells you the names of constellations she knows, god her laugh. You wish you could bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. Granted, you spend your rainy days with her cuddling up with bad movies and good hot chocolate. You gift her a pair of constellation earrings, you tell her, think of me when you look at the night sky, you want to say, please don’t forget me when you leave me, she gives you a blanket which is almost as soft as her. You are so in love with her your words can not describe it, so you use other people's words. You write poetry on the soft skin of her forearm. She doodles little flowers on your wrist. Perhaps they are like matching tattoos, unlike matching tattoos, these do not last forever. Just like the two of you. The problem comes not with her, she was never anything but perfect to you. The problem of course is you.

As you drown in your textbooks filled with bodies and bodies and bodies you can feel your soul filling with misery and a passion for justice. Slowly it consumes you and there is little time for the joy that is brought to you by her. She feels you slipping away like a boat that is not properly tied. It’s hard to be in a relationship where the other person is half focused on you while the other half of her mind wanders in dark alleyways with killers, wanting, no needing, to know why they commit their sins. Study dates turn into texts turn into nothing. There is no formal break up. You do not deserve the courtesy of a clean break and she is too sweet to break your heart. The two of you drift apart like you always knew you would, and soon you only see her in your one shared class. Her mind is not consumed with darkness, Lily does not wish to catch the monsters of the world, she wishes to paint them. Sometimes you look into her studio while she paints and you watch her hands and marvel. You never know if she’s aware you do this, but if she is, she spares you the shame of being so pathetic you need to watch someone you love paint from the shadows because you were too much of a coward to commit yourself to her and you allowed yourself to slip away into the darkness of your mind.

You think everyone got it wrong, it is so easy to be fueled by hate and spite. Look around you, the world is a cruel place. To not be affected by it is a power that you almost envy. To see the bad in the world and choose to be good is something you never had and will never have. It is not in your cards so you decided to make the best of it. You miss her kind eyes and gentle laugh every day of your life, but you know it is better to live in the darkness than let your black ink slowly turn her away from the light where she belongs.

~

The day you turn 18 you buy a handgun. You used to carry it around your ankle, liking the weight of your footsteps hitting the ground. One day the ground will break under your heel. Now, as an agent, your handgun sits on your left hip. You want people to fear you, you want them to know you are dangerous. And yet, you still don’t feel safe in this cruel world. So you buy a knife. It glimmers in the light, its handle is intricately carved out of wood. You have a holder for it on your thigh for the days where you wear dresses, on days where you aim to please. On days you don’t give a fuck about anyone else, when you wear what you wish, your knife sits either in your pocket, if you are blessed with pockets, your shoe, if it fits, or the holder you bought which holds your knife nice and close to you, flesh with your back. You like the power you hold with your weapons. You learn your craft better than most. You learn accuracy, precision, strength. Throwing knives feels even better than it looks, you know you hold in both your hands the ability to take life from someone who is not worthy of it. 

~~

When you were in fifth grade, boys decided to see how fun it would be to push your buttons. You were smarter than them, faster than them. They didn't like losing to a girl, why is being a girl shameful, you asked your teacher this once. She did not answer you, you suspect she does not know. If you were the first to answer a question, and you often were, they would tease you. Try hard, was their favorite. Well maybe, if they wanted to beat you they should try harder. You told a boy this once and he grabbed your arm and called you a bitch. Your mom did not let you start taking martial arts classes. 

If they did not like your words, perhaps they would respond to physical intimidation. You preferred kicking shins, it did not result in blood and there was lots of sweet, sweet, plausible deniability. Not that they ever tried to get you in trouble, the biggest thing in the world is a man’s ego. You became meaner, colder. Your mother asks you where her sweet girl went, she does not want to hear that perhaps she never existed. No one can hurt you if you never let them in. If you carry yourself with a scowl and your words bite those who try you and you hurt those who try to hurt you. They can't, you won't let them. You are not weak like they are, you are strong. It never quite works though, the boys in your class see a challenge. Something they can beat. They challenge you loudly, in front of everything and everyone. You can no longer afford to make a mistake. If you do, they yell we beat Elle, haha we did it. The teachers watch as they attack you. Most do not care. The kind girls in your class do not experience this and maybe, just maybe, you should go back to being like them. It makes you feel vulnerable though, to be kind without question. No, they have to earn your kindness, earn your respect. Giving it out for free did not win you anything. You take the name bitch and wear it like a badge of honor. 

~~

Eventually, you fall for the propaganda of your team being a family. As an only child, you’ve sometimes wished for siblings, maybe you’ve found them. Reid is like your little brother, annoying at times, but sweet and endearing. You would cause destruction if anything happened to him. He deserves it. JJ is hard to describe as a part of your family, she reminds you of Lily with her bright eyes and kind smile. She is not Lily but you wonder if she would ever consider being with you. She is a part of this world of darkness, you might not soil her. Oh, but you would, it is selfish of you to think that you could be loved and not ruin them. Your touch is like a virus, it kills if given the chance. You will not give it another shot. 

Garcia is your sister, she is concerned about you when you risk your life in the field time, and time again, you can’t help but think she chose the wrong job. You love her, almost, and not quite. She is always sweet to you, her personality is a breath of fresh air in this world. It needs more of her and that's why you want to be close to her but can’t. Morgan is your older brother, he roughhouses with you, he won't admit it but you are just as good as him. You knew you would be, the world underestimates you, and as annoying as it is, it is your advantage. He understands you, you think he is not the only one who is afraid of loving others, of course, neither of you says anything but you never needed to. Gideon and Hotch would be your fathers but they are nothing like your father. Your father was kind and he taught you things, he gave you praise. Hotch and Gideon are cold to you, Gideon more than Hotch. They are both fathers but you feel sorrow for their children. It must hurt to know they will always be second in importance to killers, that they are not enough to be home every night for. You resent them both for hurting their children. 

~

Fresh out of college means it’s time for a career. You decide to join the FBI, the police were not enough to save your father, they are almost useless, you need to be powerful. You join the highest law enforcement in the country and you excel. Sex crimes is not a fun job, but you take pleasure in taking down men who decided to pray on women and children. They do not deserve the nice jail cells they get, but you hope they do get what's coming for them in prison. Of course, that banks on them getting jail time at all. Rape is the only crime where people can suggest that the victim enjoyed it. It is the only subjective crime. There is no enjoyable murder or robbery, victims do not ask to have their identity stolen. It fills you with more rage than you knew was available. You are close with your colleges but you are not their friends. They think you are though. You drink with them, you play games with them, you joke with them. You do not care very much about them. It is a weakness to rely on others for joy, it is foolish to attach yourself to people who are here to hold up a broken system. You also hold up that system, for now at least. You promise yourself you will never be close to your teammates. Justice has no room for friendship.

~

Gideon keeps a book of people who he has saved. You keep a book of vile men who’ve charmed the justice system, not you though, you are justice but you are not a system. Perhaps you are vengeance. 

~~

Your mother taught you to cook when you were little, Cuban food to keep your father alive in memory. As if he would smell the spices and resurrect from the dead. You continue to cook though, it's a hobby and a good one. It provides for you. Unlike Reid, Chinese take out is not your main food source. 

Never cut peppers while thinking about murder. A rule no one taught you but they most definitely should have. Your mind is full of your latest case. A pedophile who would cut the hair off his victims to make a doll of them. He wanted to keep them forever, forever young too. You cut your finger instead of the pepper. The pain does not bother you, you are far too used to it for it to impact you, in fact, if anything it makes you feel alive. There is blood dripping down your finger and you are memorized. It’s different from the blood when you were shot, this is carefully controlled. The contrast of it against your skin is divine. You’ve always thought blood was messy, the villain that comes once a month, and an inconvenience when you cut yourself shaving. You never thought it was elegant until now. You don’t want to continue to cut yourself, that was never your brand. But now, maybe after being inside the minds of men who hurt others, you wish to see their blood run down your hands. 

You clean and wash your finger, you’ll catalog and examine those thoughts for another day. You are not evil, not like that. At least you hope not. Although, what would it matter if there was one more person committing sins out there. God has lost control already, he will not control you, society will not control you. You are in control, more than you’ve ever been. 

At night you lie awake and think about what you could do to cement your newfound control. You think about the men who’ve gotten away with their heinous acts. You think that perhaps, it would feel good to kill them. For them to suffer like they made others suffer. Prison was not for them, the judges made sure of that. They say liberty and justice for all. These men have liberty but they have not found justice. You will help them find it. 

~

Not only did Randall Garner break into your house and shoot you. He had the audacity to stick his filthy finger in your bullet wound and write on the walls of your home. He wrote ‘rules’, how ironic. You’ve lived by the rules your father gave you even before he was buried in the earth. Now, you’re being punished for not following the rules of a killer. Your father’s rules were not enough to save you. It’s time you break them and make your own. 

Rule 1: Do not take shit from anyone, especially a man. If they are cruel to you, be crueler to them. This, however, does not mean to be rude to everyone. Simply, just like in middle school, people must earn your respect. Children, however, are exempt. They have not been tainted by the universe yet, they are unmarked and kind. If they are not kind, something made them that way and they deserve your kindness more than anyone else. 

Rule 2: Be smarter and be faster than everyone else. They will not catch you, they may know it's you, it's inevitable, but you will be as free as the men you will hunt. 

Rule 3: Friends are for fools, you do not need them. They will slow you down and they will try to convince you that you are wrong, that you need fixing. You can almost hear Reid telling you that you need help, that you're sick. You are not a coward, and you do not need fixing.

~

High school was not the best time of your life, but it certainly wasn't the worst. You had a tight circle of friends, you didn't quite share with each other, at least your secrets. But you cared enough about each other that it was not important that they didn't know about you. Your friends didn't need to know about your pining over the girl in your math class, that helped you out if you ever needed it and was as sharp as her jawline. You weren’t lonely and that was enough for you, you were, dare you say it, happy. You cooked for your friends on occasions, typically birthdays. You got invited to parties and learned to love the loud music and the smell of beer. You were top of your class, much to some people’s chagrin, but they couldn’t shake you. You joined debate so you could argue for a sport, and boy were you good at it. Teachers said they never met anyone as passionate as you, you didn't tell them that you carry resentment for the shallow topics they choose. There's airing on the side of apolitical and there's apathy towards others. They didn’t like you discussing your opinions, that did not stop you one bit. 

Your friend that was always a bit more plays with your hair and you think that maybe the world is kind and gentle, maybe she's right. You feel safe in her lap, her hand carding through your hair before she starts to braid it. It’s intimate in a way that makes you want to sob, no one has touched you like they aren’t afraid of you or aren’t afraid of you breaking in a very long time. You look too much like your father for your mother, and you feel disconnected from her. The two of you do not embrace. 

The ceiling above you is popcorn and if you stare long enough you imagine it’s the stars, a beautiful constellation. The world always feels so small with just the two of you. You don’t like being reminded that it is you that is small, not the world. The world is large and it is terrifying, a disheartening juxtaposition. 

~

After someone decides that maybe you shouldn't die you are rushed to the hospital. Granted, you're the one the dialed 911, you always did have to save yourself. You don’t remember much, you are so tired and you’ve lost so much blood. The medics say that they are losing you, perhaps you were never here to begin with. They administer cpr to you and you feel like your body is being crushed. It feels like they are going to kill you as they try to save your life. The next time you open your eyes you're back on the jet. You feel like you're dreaming, and then you know it can’t be real because your father is here. Your father is dead so you think that you must be too. What a cruel trick it must be to have your afterlife still consumed by your job, you are on a jet but you can not fly it. Dad calls you peanut and you almost lose it right there. The shelter you built for your heart after his loss feels like it's been shattered. You feel raw, exposed. Somehow, in his presence, you do not mind it quite so much. You’ve missed him more than you remember and you almost hope that this is real. What this is, you aren’t sure. He tells you it’s a midway point, that you have to choose whether or not you want to live. And that you must make it now. 

On the one hand, living always has been a chore. It’s peaceful here with your father. The two of you can talk about everything you��ve always wanted to talk about. You’d like to hear his thoughts on philosophy. He always was your hero.

 On the other hand, who will water your plants? You haven’t gotten to say goodbye to the bau and you haven't gotten your justice yet. 

You choose to live. 

~

When you moved into your apartment, the first thing you did after unboxing everything was to buy a plant. Your apartment looked dead, just because you were here to make your living in death and you’ve never quite felt alive, did not mean your apartment was doomed to suffer the same fate. You started small with a succulent, they were supposed to be easy to take care of. Slowly your collection grew, you were growing flowers and herbs as well. Your house has never felt more like a home than when all your plants are blooming. It gives you a purpose, something to come home for. You’d also like a cat but you know you are never home enough to sustain all its needs. Hotch has a son at home that he never sees but you suppose that he’s not as important to him as your cat would be to you. You try your hand at painting on your wall, like maybe you learned something from all the time you stared at Lily. You wonder if she still thinks of you, if she looks at the stars and remembers you. You still have the blanket she gave you. It adorns your couch and you think it might be your most prized possession. 

You consider getting a tattoo of poetry or a quote in her honor, you feel somedays like you might be obsessed with her but you also might just be in love with her still. You’ve found that there's a fine line between love, obsession, and insanity. Where you fall on the scale you aren’t sure yet and you know you don’t want to find out. You think the two of you were like the quote; ‘A sky full of stars and he was staring at her’. That first night where you walked together was exactly that. She was more beautiful than the night sky and you love the night sky. Maybe someday you’ll get that tattoo but for now, you have crimes to solve and your heart to bury. 

~

You’ve always known that other Latina women were of the more likely to be victims of sexual crimes. That didn't stop you from being shocked and having your heart break every time you saw another woman like you report a heinous crime done to her. You’ve never appreciated your mother deciding you needed to speak Spanish more than when you’ve been able to communicate in these women’s native language. Something about language makes people feel safe, at home. You think perhaps, communication is the world's greatest tool. 

~

You cut your hair like you think it will solve your problems. Like you don’t feel like murder is an option now, like you don’t resent your team for getting you shot. Like you don’t feel like every man is out to get you. At least more than they were before. For a team of gifted profilers, no one seems to notice that you are breaking. Or maybe they do and they simply don’t care that you lie awake at night wondering if your choice to live was a good one or how your blood looked on your knife that day where you accidentally cut yourself. Or maybe, you’ve gotten so used to hiding yourself that they simply think you are still the same person you were before a bullet pierced your skin. Before a man targeted you for not following his rules. Because he needed to be in control. Now he’s dead and it's your turn to be in control. They won’t notice it at first. But you will start controlling them ever so slightly. And then, then you will strike. First, you will make them think you have PTSD, after all, you’d be a prime victim to it. They will be lenient because they think you dream about your attack and not how nice it would feel to slice through the skin of a monster. They don’t know you, you've made sure of that. You’ll open up to Reid if by open you mean fake everything. You’ll tell him about the dreams you aren’t having, and that you definitely see his face everywhere you go. How your walls still feel like they are covered in your blood. Of course, that would be suspicious so first, you will be short. You will be passive-aggressive, more than normal, you will make him see that you are wrong. He will be compelled to help you, ask you what is wrong. He’s too kind to you and this world, he hasn’t quite been burned yet. He will. Maybe by you, maybe by some other man who decides he broke a rule. Someone might think he is too, a sinner. He falls right into your trap. You decide to really play up the trauma and you raid your minibar. Fourteen-year-old you was right about alcohol, it does let you float above everything, you aren’t happy but you are above everything. He knocks on your door and you pretend to be drunker than you are. After lying straight to his face while you put on yet another facade, you kick him out. Tell him that he can’t fix you. Oops, maybe that was more of the truth than you wanted him to know. 

There's a slight flaw in this new plan of yours. You were always a bit too sensitive about rapists, perhaps it's a combination of your youth, your womanhood, and the fact that you have sympathy. And rage. You are told by Hotch, who if he wasn't your boss you are sure you’d have told him to go to hell by now, to set yourself up to be an almost rape victim. They tell you that of course, it won’t happen. They’ll be watching you. Problem is you don’t trust him with your life. Shouldn’t trust him with your life, he is of course the one who loaded the gun for the man you shot you. You agree, because you have to, you can’t say no without fielding questions and avoiding pointed stares. It’s too much for you though, it's like you’re in your own personal horror movie. You turn up the music and you block out their calls. You do not want to hear from them right now. It all goes south when you accost the man who wants to take you for himself. You are reprimanded for your actions but you don’t give a single fuck. 

It's time for the next step in your plan. Justice. Or as some would call it, murder.

~

You go back to your hotel with the rest of the team so they don't suspect anything of you. They never do. Later, you’ll go for a walk to clear your head, you’ll make sure someone hears you leave. You’ll track down this son of a bitch and you’ll make sure that he doesn’t live to see another day where he can create evil. You’ve always thought the law did its job, but Hotch says that he’ll have to be let go because there isn’t enough evidence now that you’ve ruined everything. He doesn't say that in as many words. His stoic nature allows him to be ruthless without saying anything, which works for him because no one can ever call him out on subtext. If the law doesn’t care about women, you will. You corner William Lee and you point your gun at him. He smirks at you and you’re glad he does, it makes your job that much more satisfying. You fire at him. You’ve been shot at now, you know how it feels, you watch as the life in him slowly leaves his eyes and it’s more addicting than anything you’ve ever felt. His blood pours onto the pavement much like yours dripped onto your floor. You think it would be more enjoyable if you had his blood on your hands. If you could feel the life leaving him. Next time. 

The team finds you, gunshots are very loud, one more point to a knife. You tell them it was self-defense. They mistake the slight shake in your voice as fear, not adrenaline, the good kind. That's on them though. Elle Greenaway does not get scared, she creates fear. You can tell that they don’t 100% believe you, and they shouldn't, but they accept it anyway. You know someone is going to corner you after this, ask you what really happened. You decide that you’ve had enough of chasing killers. Now you’ll be the killer, being chased by them while you’re hunting rapists. 

~

Back when you were new at the BAU and JJ’s smile still gave you butterflies you wondered how they all fell so easily together. Reid and Gideon had chess, Morgan and Garcia had, whatever they had, JJ, Reid, and Morgan were like siblings, Hotch and Gideon the heads of the family. And then there was you. You didn't quite fit in, not yet at least. You wondered how they could make bonds with people that could very well be shot and killed in the coming case. How they could make themselves vulnerable to that kind of destruction. It was better to be cold, it was better to not let them in.

Too bad you always were bad at keeping your promises. You let them worm their way into your heart. It makes saying goodbye oh so much harder. Somehow, you don’t quite regret it though, it made your time amongst the blood enjoyable. Well, as enjoyable as it can be here. You still stand by your opinion that no family built on murder can be steady. It will crumble, and you will not be here to see it fall.

~

You open your booklet filled with men who make you seethe. When you were very young you assumed that monsters had a certain look to them. That they had red eyes filled with darkness, claws, to scratch you with. You thought if you saw a monster on the street you’d know it. Sadly, the monsters of the world live not in the shadows, but in the light. They are your baseball coaches and math teachers. Every time you arrested one, you heard echoes of the same flawed speech. I never suspected anything, he seemed so normal. There is no normal, it’s an illusion we hold to make ourselves feel safe in our own skin. We shouldn’t feel safe in our skin, that's what kills you. 

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a rapist by his toes, if he hollers, let him scream, so much fun for you and me. 

Your hand picks Caden Mechein. Kansas, victim count three, blondes. You take the train, pay in cash, your hair is dyed red and you cut it to a pixie cut so you won't be quite as recognizable to Garcia. Your baseball hat and sunglasses should help with that. You’ve changed your fashion, it fulfills a fantasy you didn't know you had. You dress like a punk now, good thing your mother can’t see you she’d have a fit. You sit alone as the train fills up, no one asks to sit with you, like they know you’re dangerous. Good. You want them to be afraid of you. You stare out the window the entire trip, images flash in your head of what you're about to do. You watch the fields and fields of corn come into visions and you know it's almost time. 

After a day and a half of planning and anticipation, you’ve arrived in Topeka. It’s a nice place, different from the east coast. People are friendlier here, you’ve heard about the midwestern nice but it’s different to actually experience a stranger smiling at you while you walk down the street. The darkness conceals you like you conceal the knife on your hip, hidden behind your leather jacket. You have latex gloves in your pocket because as much as you would love to feel his blood on your hands you aren’t going to risk leave fingerprints

You reach Caden’s house, his lights are off, he’s asleep. Perfect. You will kill him in his own home just like you were almost killed in yours. You jimmy the lock, breaking a window is too loud, too suspicious you do not want him to know you’re coming. Suspense is key for murder, it builds up in their heart and makes it just that much better when they see the knife in your hand. Or you’d think, it is your first kill after all. 

You make your way into this sicko’s home, you find his bedroom. And you knock on the door. He curses like Jesus Christ will save him from you, he is no match for you. He is out of bed now, he’s asking you what you want. Your blood, you answer him. He pales, just like he’ll look when his blood is drained from his neck. You corner him in the corner of his room and you bring your knife out from your holster. It glimmers in the moonlight, because he feels so safe and secure in his room that he sleeps with a curtain open. Well, felt safe, you doubt he’s very secure with you spinning the knife in front of his face. Why are you doing this, he pleads with you like that will make you walk out of the room right here and abandon your plans. Men always were stupid and arrogant. You tell him that he knows exactly why, that this is his comeuppance for what he did to those girls. 

Enough is enough, time to get what you want. You grasp the knife, marveling in its weight, in one bold stroke you slice his neck open. The blood gushes, it does not touch you, you made sure to step back before the flooding began. You watch mesmerized as the floor begins to stain crimson. Caden gasps for air, his feet give out and he falls on the floor. His head hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Eventually, the bleeding stops and you walk away, leaving his corpse to cool before it burns in hell.

Once upon a time, you would have added a signature, perhaps a Birdsfoot Trefoil, signifying revenge. That would be too clean and sweet for the police so you don’t give them it. You wonder how long it will take them to realize that this is the work of a vengeful woman. You hope it doesn't take long, you want the world to see your wrath.

~

Just like you suspected when you returned home from William Lee’s case, Hotch pulls you into his office. You can see the anger in his eyes and you know then and there that he could kill you with his bare hands and not think twice about it. He is angry because he knows what you’ve done, he’s a firm believer that the law does no wrong and he is a coward.

“Elle, I need to know if you murdered William Lee.”

 You scoff at him, “of course not, who do you think I am?” He does not reply and you think that says more than if he had written a thesis about you.

“No Hotch, I didn’t commit cold-blooded murder while on the clock for the FBI”, 

You both know that that isn’t true, only one of you is sure.

“Why do you care about him anyway? Relate to him, maybe?”

“Do not throw those kinds of accusations at me, Agent Greenaway.”

He throws your official title as a way of saying that you are no longer his friend, lucky for you never once thought he was, you are not in the habit of befriending men who would see your death as inevitable. You know that this is the end of your stay at the federal bureau of investigation. Might as well go out with a bang. 

“Right, of course, my bad. Forgot you think you’re better than everyone else. I have news for you Hotch, you’re a shit father and a terrible husband. You never see your family, you’re so caught up in the high of catching killers your son barely knows who you are. I don’t think you’re any better than the men we catch”

“Elle, I understand you are still recovering from what happened to you but you can not speak to me this way. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, and are pending investigation”

He uses your name now because he knows you are right, he wants you to see him as the good man he sees in the mirror. You want his mirror to crack under what it sees.

“What happened to me? Oh yeah, when you let me get shot because you don’t give a fuck about me or any of the women on this team. I'm not suspended, I’m never coming back to this hell hole. I quit,”

You leave your badge and your gun on his desk. You won’t be needing them.

~

You ride the high of your first kill like you the first time you got high in highschool. You feel powerful, and like you’ve done the right thing. Out of curiosity, you check the news on your train to Nevada, they don’t mention Caden’s sins. They make him a saint that died as a tragedy not out of righteousness. You’ll make sure they know the sins of your next body.

After you slice this one's throat, you’ll dip your finger in his throat much like Randall Garner did to you, and write ‘scum’ on his forehead. He does not deserve honor in his death, he deserves shame.

~

Your body count racks up and you’ve never felt both powerful and powerless. You are making a difference, these men who think themselves above the law are finding that they are not above your law. The look on their faces when they understand what’s coming for them is a thing of elegance. When they see all 5’8 of you and realize that they will lose to a woman. Their crimes have not been forgotten, will never be forgiven, and now they will die because of them. They hurt women so now they will be hurt by a woman. 

Every day you read the news about another man who you must add to your list and you are disheartened. You are sick of this tango for one. You long for the days of your past when you were happy. Those days are over though, this is your job now and you do it well. You do this for all the past versions of you, some more innocent, some more jaded, all you, all beautiful. For every girl who has ever felt victimized by a man who considers himself mighty. For every girl who still lives in bliss about what the men around her are capable of. You will try to make sure she never learns. You do this for every beautiful, broken girl and so that there needs not to be more of you, this club needs no more members. It’s time they make a new club for girls who are happy, you wish you could have been one of them. 

Spanish translation (I am not a native spanish speaker forgive me for any errors):

'Fueron la cosa favorita de tu papá, cariño. Lo echo de menos cada dia.' It was your father's favorite thing sweetheart. I miss him every day

'Sea bilingual mija, los estudios dicen que es buena para tu cerebro. ¿No quises saber la lengua materna de sus ancestros?' You should be bilingual my daughter, the studies say it's good for your brain. Don't you want to know the mother tongue of your ancestors?

Tag List!: @royalpenelope @scandinavian-punk @theatreandfeminism @babey-jj @hellskitchensmurdock

[imalwaysintune]

Barbershop Au

This is purely for my own indulgence, as I thought of this idea and couldn’t get it out of my head. I woke up at 5:30 am this morning in a cold sweat and intensely wanted to write about these four funky little men in a barbershop group. No I don’t know why.

Also, I got my new laptop today (yay!) and this is the first thing I’m writing on it, so it’s basically officially cursed now. I also blame @ggracee for fueling this fire.

Enjoy! Stuff under cut!

------------------------------------

In the Archives:

Martin had been quietly working on his notes when he suddenly felt the air behind him grow colder. His stomach dropped and he turned his chair around, just as he saw the air shift and Peter fade into view. It was terrifying the first time he’d seen it, had seen the way the space shifted and how it looked like the universe was going to collapse into a black hole.

But it hadn’t, and Martin had gotten used to Peter’s comings and goings. Peter himself, on the other hand, was another story. He was cold and heartless, and he had ripped Martin from all his friends and would chastise him every time he even so much as look at another member of the archival staff.

Martin sighed as he leaned his head on his hand, and waited expectantly for Peter to start talking. It was just better this way.

“Hey, Martin. I see you’re busy here doing... things. Um, you know, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor,” Peter seemed almost nervous, to Martin’s surprise. He didn’t normally look Martin in the eye out of habit, but this seemed intentional. 

“As if I have a choice?” Martin sounds bitter, probably more bitter than he meant. He had just been having a rough day, rougher than usual. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Jon, but Peter made that virtually impossible.

“Oh come on Martin, I deserve more credit than that,” Peter looked at Martin directly then, and he looked nervous. It would’ve taken Martin aback if he cared enough. He just rolled his eyes and made a lazy gesture with his hand that roughly meant “go on”.

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized Peter’s hands were held behind his back, and he appeared to be holding something. When he brought his hands forward, they were holding something that looked like a piece of clothing. It was covered with red and white pinstripes, and Martin just stared at with mild surprise.

“So, I know we aren’t really friends. At least, you don’t consider me a friend. But there was no one else we could ask. We lost out last tenor to the Hunt and Elias doesn’t want to switch just to spite me now that I forced him to sing lead, so... you’re basically our only hope,” Peter was almost stumbling over his words, and in that moment he seemed more human to Martin than he had ever seen the man.

“Okay,” Martin said, remembering how much fun the show choir had been when he was in high school. That felt like so long ago now.

“Okay? Just.. okay? Like that? No fighting? You don’t even want me to beg?” The nerves that had fueled Peter just a second ago were replaced with bewilderment. 

“I mean, you can if you want. But, I have nothing better to do, and frankly, the prospect of seeing Elias in that ridiculous suit you’re holding is just too good to pass up,” Martin said as he sat upright in his chair. He grabbed the suit from Peter’s hands and left the room, going to one of the many bathrooms that were littered around the institute. 

He didn’t know what he expected of the suit, but he was pleasantly surprised when he felt the fabric grow and shrink to fit Martin’s form. He absentmindedly wondered what kinda freaky fear magic was used to make the suit fit so well as he examined himself in the mirror.

For how ridiculous he thought the fabric design had looked before, he quite liked how it flattered him. It made his ginger hair pop, and his body looked good. He’d never worn a suit that was properly tailored to him, so it was a nice change.

He walked out of the bathroom and back into the room where he knew Peter would be waiting. His eyes lit up as they landed on Martin, standing up from where he had sat down and walking over to the shorter man. 

He beamed like a proud dad as he pulled out two more items from seemingly nowhere. He held out an iconic boater hat in one hand, and a bright red and white cane that matched the pattern of the suit. 

Martin had the urge to laugh, something he hadn’t felt in awhile, so he let the laughter flow as he grabbed the items from Peter. It almost felt surreal, but it would seem that the being who took away all of Martin’s happiness would also be the one to provide it

Skip forward a few weeks to Elias’s office:

Martin stood outside of Elias’ office, debating whether or not he should follow through with his plan. However, as he figured Elias would already know he was there, he opened the door anyways.

Elias’ was staring up at him from the huge desk in the middle of the room, and Martin swallowed hard.

“Can I help you, Martin?” Elias drawled, looking up at Martin expectantly. 

Martin crossed the room towards Elias, holding a stack of papers that looked like they were dangerously close to spilling everywhere. When he got to the desk, he dropped all the papers on the desk and started rifling through them, looking for a specific paper.

When he finally found it, he picked it up and walked around the desk, coming to settle next to Elias. He placed the paper down and pointed to a specific area on the page.

“I was trying to practice my part of ‘Coney Island Baby’, but I can’t get this one phrase here on page 7. I was wondering if you would work with me on it so that I have something to compare my part against and maybe it can help me-” Martin was abruptly cut off by the dreaded feeling he got when Peter was about to show up.

Sure enough, the space in front of them started to shift and soon Peter was just... there. Martin mentally chastised himself for being so careless. Of course Peter wouldn’t want him talking to anyone outside the time he allowed, even if it was to get help.

“Now, Martin, you surely know why I’m here. I have to say I’m majorly disappointed in you,” Peter didn’t sound disappointed. He sounded like he always did. His inflection rarely changed but it didn’t stop the words from stinging. 

“Look, I’m sorry Peter, but I was just asking for Elias’ help on a part. If you don’t let me ask him for help when you’re not around, how am I supposed to get better?” Martin regretted challenging Peter as soon as the last word left his house.

Peter didn’t look angry. Far from it in fact. He looked like he’d been struck by genius. Martin’s stomach dropped when Peter finally revealed his brilliant idea.

“Here’s an idea. You can sit in the Lonely until all your sheet music is memorized! You need to learn to be part independent, Martin. You’re in the big leagues now.

Before he knew it, Martin felt the air around him grow thick as him and his papers were thrust into the dimension. Right before he lost complete contact though, he managed to thrust out “Can I at least have a pitch-pipe-” before disappearing into the Lonely.

It was Elias who broke the silence, sighing heavily. “You know, Peter, just because I offered you Martin to use for your secret little experiment doesn’t you can take him away from his work. He was doing important filing-” And suddenly with another ‘whoosh’ of Peter’s hand, Elias was destined to join Martin in the Lonely.

He could almost imagine the fit Elias was having, but he told himself that it was all for the best. This was the most productive they were going to be until Simon showed up.

Ah Simon Fairchild, the wild-child of the group. He was unpredictable, rarely showed up rehearsals and yet always seemed to know the sheet music intimately. It was as frustrating as it was liberating, to know that at least someone was serious about the group. 

Oh well. At least this fun little experiment will test if his boys are up to the test.

A non-disclosed theater:

A few weeks after the “Lonely” incident, Peter, Elias, and Martin all gathered at the theater Peter had rented out for their rehearsals. Martin thought it was a bit much, but Peter thought the huge auditorium was perfect. Martin couldn’t even fathom how much something like this cost.

Suddenly, Martin had the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked over towards Peter, who was smiling giddily. 

To Elias’ left, a being popped into view. He was wearing a dark green suede suit, brown and tan saddle shoes, and a wide brimmed hat that outlined his face like a halo.

Martin had never seen this person before, but Peter was looking at the figure in elation, walking over to him and enveloping the figure in a hug. 

When Martin looked towards Elias for any sort of assistance, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Martin, this is Simon Fairchild. He’s our Baritone. Even though he rarely shows up to rehearsal, I have to admit, he’s a borderline musical prodigy,” Elias explained to Martin. 

Peter and Simon seemed to be in deep conversation, and Martin strained his ears to hear what they were saying.

“-but it seems entirely unfair that you would send them into the Lonely without me. I could’ve helped them! They could’ve been out in half the time. Plus, I’ve never actually been inside The Lonely so it truly would’ve been quite an enlightening experience-” At this, Martin couldn’t stand to listen to Simon again. Talkative, that one.

He turned towards Elias and opened the sheet music for the latest song Peter had assigned to them and got to work. If Simon and Peter wanted to goof off, that was on them. At least he and Elias would be productive.

“One, two, a one two three four-” Martin began, and him and Elias erupted into wonky two part harmony. It wasn’t the most beautiful thing, but it was the most alive Martin had felt in months. 

- THE END!

-----------------------------------------------------------

This one is so cursed I’m sorry-

I just really wanted to write about these stupid cursed men if they joined force and made a barbershop group. I don’t have everything I wanted to write about in here, so maybe there will be a part 2 if it seems like y’all want it. Don’t be afraid to hit up my ask box and my ao3!

Words: 1708

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Heaven Sent

Hello my dearest ones!  This came about when I was writing my SaiIno fic Equinox. Its a God/Goddess AU for ShikaTem. Temari is a Goddess that the Nara clan prays to. And you’ll see where it goes from there….Don’t get too caught up in the details.  It’s just fluffy AU one shot  :D

Summary:  The Nara Clan had always prayed to the Goddess of Wind and Sky for protection and guidance.  Shikamaru could have never imagined that there was someone there listening.  

Temari was the Goddess that protected the Nara clan.  She’d fulfilled that role since the clan’s beginnings.  In that time she’d never come across anyone like Shikamaru. 

*

**

Heaven Sent

For as long as he could remember Shikamaru and his family would make the familiar trek to worship at the shrine dedicated to the Goddess that protected their clan.  His father was the clan head and it was important that he was seen as a man that revered and respected the Gods.  As a child, he had no choice but to go along.  Before the seasons change, for every milestone, and journey, really for anything at all they were there.  Bringing along with them offerings and supplications.  

He would often drag his feet murmuring how troublesome such rituals were not understanding the point.  Eventually, as he’d grown older, it became a place of solace and peace.  Through the ups and downs of life, he’d find himself there.  Whether it was just for a few quick minutes or hours he found peace worshiping under her watchful gaze.  He knew that she was there for the Clan, the Goddess of Wind, and Sky had always watched over the Naras.  At times though, it felt as though he was speaking directly to her and she was listening. 

Temari was amused by the spiky-haired mortal.  From above, she’d watched him grow from a lazy child to an accomplished adult. He was a curious one. Prone to laziness and complaining, but by all measures a genius. For as long as she’d been watching over the Nara clan no one had ever captured her attention the way that he had.

The prayers of humans could be quite tedious and self-serving. His prayers to her though were typically disjointed not at all following along with the familiar scripts. Most of the time it felt as though he was just talking to her. Telling her about his day, his family and friends. Sharing with her little pieces of his life. She found them to be fascinating. Life as a Goddess could be stagnant. Outside of answering prayers, performing miracles here and there her days were pretty predictable. That’s why his visits were always so entertaining.  Life as a human was so strange. 

Temari knew that it was wrong but at times she wished that she could reach out to let him know that she was there and listening. Something would move in her when he’d appear at the shrine in tears, upset or angry. Once even yelling in anger questioning her existence. His Sensei had been killed and Shikamaru had been inconsolable blaming himself. That night he was there at her feet crying and shouting into the wind.

If she had a heart she was sure that it would have been broken. She wished that she could have comforted him, to prove that despite what it may seem like she was there.  Watching over, and protecting him but unfortunately, her powers were not strong enough against fate and the cruelty of man. 

He left that night completely exhausted and broken and she feared that his faith in her had also been destroyed. 

She waited impatiently for days hoping that he might return. Wondering why the belief of one mortal would bother her. When he reappeared there was determination set in his eyes. He brought the typical offerings given when one was undertaking a journey. His was one set in revenge. So he prayed to her, asking for wisdom, guidance, and eventually peace. He even apologized for his previous actions, reaffirming his faith in her. 

She was thankful when he returned safely.  He’d left as a child, innocent and naive, but he had grown. Surprisingly his belief in her seemed stronger than ever. As he grew into adulthood and his roles in the village and clan his prayers became more regular, adamant, and sincere.  His visits had become the highlights of her weeks. 

As he became older her thoughts of him had changed and matured. She’d oftentimes find herself imagining what life might be like if she was mortal, living there in his village.  She’d dream about him holding her, kissing her as a mortal woman.  She would be there in the flesh during difficult moments to comfort him.  They would celebrate and share in the joyous events.   It created a hollowness in her chest.  A kind of want and longing that she never had before.  She knew that it was a foolish wish but as the days passed she fell in love. Forced to dream about and love him from afar. 

Temari was possessive over him, her Shikamaru, that when his mother started praying for a good marriage for him she began to panic. He was now the clan leader, of course, he needed to marry, she had just never considered what she would do if he was to do so.

Later that week during his regular visit he told her about his clans and mother’s insistence that he marry. It was clear that he didn’t want that but he felt bound by responsibility and duty to the clan that it would happen. 

She only had one choice and that was to go down to Earth. 

*

**

Temari barged into the room where her brothers were meeting. She knew that convincing them might be difficult but whether or not she had their support she was going. 

“Temari, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Shikamaru. They’re trying to arrange a marriage for him. I need to go down there.”

They both tried to wrap their mind around what she was saying. “Go down there?  Temari what are you talking about?  The mortal?  You can’t go to Earth, especially not just for him.” Kankuro had never seen her so scattered 

“I have to. I can’t let him marry someone else.”  She explained in a frenzy. 

Her brothers stared at her in disbelief. They knew about her interest in the human. Never once could they have imagined she would go this far. 

“Temari, think about what you’re saying. You can’t do this.”  Garra tried to calmly reason with her.  

“I have to. I can’t keep my role watching the clan while he is married to some woman.” How could she objectively carry out her role knowing that his heart belonged to someone else? She could only imagine the kind of vengeful actions she might take. 

“Temari, you would give up us, your immortality, the powers of heaven to be with him, a mere mortal?”  Despite the hesitance in her response, Kankurou had his answer.  

Temari knew what was at stake but it did little to deter her. “I don’t understand it myself but I have to.  I’ve become too involved.  I need to be with him, an eternity, an immortal life without him would be empty.  To watch him grow and love someone else would destroy me.  I’m so sorry.”  Her brothers regarded the tears in her eyes carefully.  Never once had she spilled a tear but now faced with the possibility of infinity without the Nara she was brought to her knees. 

Garra knelt down next to her kindness and understanding set in his eyes.  “Then you must go.”

“Garra…”

“Temari, go, he is your destiny, a fate that has been set in motion far longer than we have been around.  Go.”  She was thankful for her baby brother’s support. 

“Kankuro?”  She asked hopefully.   Taking a deep breath he nodded. 

“I don’t understand it either, I don’t know if I ever will but if this human will make you happy even just for a few years then he is worth it. I don’t think that there’s anything that either of us could do to stop you”

Her tears fell in relief.  “You’ll watch over us?”

They smiled holding each other tightly. “Always. You know where to find us.”

*

**

Shikamaru made his way to the shrine, following his well-worn path. His mother was still adamant that he marry.  It seemed that the Goddess had chosen not to intervene.  Still, he had faith.  Perhaps she had planned to answer his prayers in another way. 

He stood at his normal station, the Summer breeze comforting him.  The wind always made it feel like she was there with him.

He offered his typical gifts, rattling off familiar prayers before launching into his own.

“I guess that I am to be married. The Council has given me an opportunity to choose my own wife but it is futile at this point. There is no one on Earth let alone the village that I could imagine marrying. It would be less troublesome to have them choose. Please I just ask that she’s not too difficult.  Even if we do not love one another I pray that we can have a happy marriage. Please just watch over me as you’ve always done.” 

He finished his prayers feeling much lighter as was usually the case.  The Goddess had always protected and guided him. He was sure that she would continue to do so. 

He turned to make his way down the steps until he stopped in his tracks, a figure coming towards him haloed in light. 

She appeared golden blonde hair with shimmering teal eyes. She was gorgeous, a picture of heavenly beauty. 

At the sight of him, Temari felt herself becoming overwhelmed.  This is the closest to one another that they had ever been.  Here she could so clearly see the deep brown of his eyes.

“Shikamaru….”. She breathed reaching him her voice music to his ears.

He peered at her curiously.  There was something that seemed so familiar about her.  “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“Sorry, I’ve just moved to the village. They sent me here to find you.”  He nodded confused but decided not to question it.  He’d never met anyone like her.  

“Temari.”  She offered, no one on Earth knew her name typically just referring to her in prayers as Goddess.  

“Temari.,” he repeated and the sound of her name on his lips felt heavenly.  Here she was just Temari and that was so incredibly freeing.

“It’s wonderful to meet you.”

She smiled, if only he knew. “You as well.  Was I disturbing your prayers?”

“No, I just finished, prayed for a miracle.”  He shrugged a small grin across his lips. 

She nodded.  “I see.  Was your prayer answered?”

He looked down at her, her glittering teal eyes looking up at him. There was something about her that felt so comforting and safe.  That he could trust her with the deepest secrets of his heart.  His warm hands reached up to cup her face, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin of her cheeks, needing to know that she was real.  She settled into the warmth of his skin against hers. 

“I think it might have been.”

*

**

“Our nephew is cute.” 

 Gaara and Kankuro looked down fondly at the newest member of the Nara clan. Shikamaru and Temari had brought Shikadai to the shrine to offer thanksgiving and prayer for the birth of their son. 

“Yes, I’m excited to see them in a few weeks.”  After Temari left they’d been making visits to the mortal realm to see her and meet the man that she’d given up everything for. After observing their relationship it was easy to see why she had made her decision. 

They watched as the little family made their prayers thankful that their sister had chosen how she wanted to live. In all the eons that they’d been around, they’d never seen her so content.  She was so much happier now sharing a simple life with her deer keeper.  

*

**

“Do you think that the Gods really hear our prayers?”   Temari asked her husband with amusement in her eyes.

He looked at her thoughtfully before nodding placing an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

 “Yes, because they sent me you.”  He answered sincerely, kissing her softly. She came into his life so unexpectedly his very own miracle. There was not a day that passed that he didn’t thank the Gods for her.  

Temari sunk into the kiss. Since that day she knew that she’d made the right decision. A numbered amount of years with Shikamaru was worth more than an eternity without him. 

Getting used to life in the mortal realm was difficult at times. There were a few occasions in which she would long for her life as a Goddess. Despite it all, Temari was so incredibly happy sharing this life with him. She thought that she knew everything about him but every day he showed her something new and she would fall in love all over again.  He loved her so wholly and fearlessly. He provided her a life that she could have never imagined when she was above all alone. Now, she had a son and was a mother.  When Shikamaru held her and their newborn son there was nothing more that she could wish for.  

As much as he believed that she was the answer to his prayers she knew that he was the answer to hers.  

“I love you Temari.”

Those words always left her breathless.  There was nothing in Heaven that could feel remotely as good as this did.  

“I love you too Shikamaru.” 

*

**

Thank you for reading!  I hope that you enjoyed it, AU’s are pretty fun!  I’ve written two sentences for the next chapter of The Arrangement so….that will be out eventually lol.  Take care, stay safe!  Love you all! 

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #448

Top Ten Moments in The Secret of Monkey Island

This week was one of those weeks where I had a list all ready to go, and then I discovered something that made me throw the whole lot in the bin and write something new in a hurry. And the thing that I discovered is that it is, approximately, the 30th birthday of my favourite videogame of all time, The Secret of Monkey Island.

When I was a kid, I’d go round my cousins’ house and play on their Spectrum or their C64. I played the usual 8-bit hits of the era; Dizzy, Ghostbusters, Skool Daze, that really weird and probably insanely offensive Spitting Image beat-em-up… then I got my Amiga around Christmas 1990, and I figured games would be more-or-less the same but with more colours. I was wrong.

I got two games in short succession that utterly changed my appreciation for the medium: Lemmings and Monkey Island. The first was funny, inventive, colourful and characterful; a fiendishly difficult puzzler that nevertheless made you want to come back for more, because you just fell in love with the Lemmings themselves. It was like nothing I’d seen before, and felt impossible. Monkey Island, on the other hand, was not only better, not only more my cup of tea gameplay wise, but just blew the doors of my perception of what games were and what they could do. It was like an interactive movie before that was even a term; a living cartoon where you were the main character. A funny, wordy, witty adventure story, full of gags and references that I didn’t quite get but that I knew were smart and humorous (and there was lots of daft humour in there that I did get, too). It wasn’t just a case of being able to talk to people – I’d done that in stuff like Skool Daze – but the ability to solve problems, to divine solutions; to work out that you can drug dogs by smearing meat with dubious petals. And even when do did something like that, the game was irreverent enough to put a disclaimer on screen assuring you that the dogs were only sleeping. It broke the fourth wall, and I was only just old enough to understand what that meant in narrative terms; this was a game about gaming, about stories and adventures. It was filled with movie references (George Lucas even makes a cameo!). It inspired me to write into Amiga Power for help with a particular puzzle, and they printed my letter, but by the time it came out about three months had passed and I’d solved the puzzle on my own.

Monkey Island was the first game that I loved as much as the cartoons I watched or the comics I read; Guybrush and Elaine and LeChuck and the rest were the first gaming characters that I took to my heart in the same way as Bumblebee, Garfield, or Peter Venkman. I’ve said it before, but I’m not sure I’d love games the same way if I’d never played Monkey Island. It certainly changed the types of games I wanted to play; even though I’ve enjoyed my fair share of platformers, racing games, and shooters, it’s always the slower-paced narrative games that I come back to, the Fables and Mass Effects and Deus Exes of this world (even faster-paced games like Halo, Gears and Half-Life still grab me with their stories, as daft as they may sometimes be). Basically, Monkey Island made me a sucker for a dialogue tree.

Monkey Island was my gateway to a whole host of other LucasArts adventure games; Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis, Sam & Max Hit the Road, Day of the Tentacle, Grim Fandango… Ron Gilbert and Tim Schafer were among the first names of games creators that I ever knew (probably the very first, in all honesty, was Peter Molyneux – I am British after all). It was a window into a much larger world, one filled with choice, consequence, non-sequiturs, and rubber chickens with pullies in the middle.

Anyway, to celebrate Monkey Island, here are my Top Ten moments from the game. See you next year for the Monkey Island 2 list.

How to Get Ahead in Navigating: I’ve gone about it before, but this simple, daft joke – swapping a guide book for an actual navigator’s head – blew my mind as a kid. It forced me to think differently about puzzles and comedy and how to approach the game. For little old me, it was a revelation, and just desperately funny.

How Appropriate, You Fight Like a Cow: a discussion of Monkey can’t be had without talking about the innovative swordfights; a wholly successful attempt to replicate the verbal parrying of a classic Hollywood swordfight, the insult-riposte dynamic also reinforced the puzzle mechanics of the game. Sublime.

Order Hint Book: Monkey Island was the first adventure game I played, so I didn’t realise at the time how innovative its gameplay was, because you could never get hopelessly, game-ruiningly stuck, and nor could you die. Except at one point, when you drown, but even that is a hilarious gag that is easily avoidable. The control verbs changing from things like “Pick Up” to “Decompose” is just tremendous.

Use Staple Remover on Tremendous, Dangerous-Looking Yak: Monkey plays fast and loose with game conventions, sending itself up in the process; the moment when Guybrush enters a room and is hidden from view, undergoing a series of preposterous and expensive-sounding adventures, which you only know about because you can read his actions in the sentence line as if you were still controlling him (“use… gopher repellent… on another gopher…”), is a phenomenal piece of comedy stagecraft, a game parodying games parodying itself, using its own architecture to tell a joke (as well as being a play on the whole “noises off” style of gag in the first place).

Ask Me About Loom: like I say, I’d never played an adventure game before; I’d never heard of any LucasArts (sorry, Lucasfilm Games) titles, apart from maybe Maniac Mansion. So the bloke in the SCUMM Bar with his “Ask me about LOOM” badge, who launches into an intense sales spiel when you speak to him, didn’t make sense at first. But when it clicked, the very idea of a pirate in this game directly referencing another game was fourth-wall-breaking hilarious genius; happening right near the start of the game lets you know what you’re in for.

The Rock: when you get to Monkey Island, there’s a puzzle where you need to use a makeshift seesaw to catapult a boulder onto a tree (or something). If you line it up wrong, you can sink your own ship (and presumably drown your mutinous crew). The first time I played the game, this is what I did; there’s another great gag where castaway Herman Toothrot turns out to have a ship of his own. But the second time I played through, I didn’t sink my ship, and sailed back with my original crew. This blew my mind; whilst obviously not at Warren Spector levels of emergent game design, the fact that you could actually change what happened, to have a different experience to another player, was phenomenal, and another one of those watershed gaming moments for me.

Men of Low Moral Fibre (Pirates): the trio of loitering pirates are funny in and of themselves, with their breath mints and Pieces o’ Eight and minutes from a PTA meeting. But what I always found really funny was that they are literally called “Men of Low Moral Fibre (Pirates)”; that’s what it says in the sentence line when you hover your cursor over them (an aside: Monkey Island and Lemmings probably taught me how to use a mouse). Again it was the game using the structure of a game to tell a joke.

Rescuing Otis: this is what promoted me to write into Amiga Power back in the day: how the heck do you rescue Otis from the jail?! There are delightful red herrings regarding files and whatnot, but the eventual solution – juggling acidic grog from mug to mug as you make your way through the town to eventually pour it on his lock – was a rare moment of fast-paced tension in a relatively slow game. Solving it on my own made me feel so clever at a tender age. And it’s funny! So great!

A Rubber Chicken with a Pulley in the Middle: ah, my beloved rubber chicken. Found early on in the game and used in a couple of puzzles, I don’t think I quite grasped the silly brilliance of it; as a kid you’re just more accepting of the surreal. Why does a rubber chicken have a pulley? It’s basically just so you can zip-line across a chasm; it’s a wholly functional, boring plot device. But it’s also a rubber chicken. It’s sublime comic genius. And then you cook it! Madness!

The Voodoo Root: I’ve not even mentioned The Ghost Pirate LeChuck yet (if I’m honest his best “moments” are in the sequel) but the finale of the game, when you’ve distilled your Voodoo Root and you’re dispatching ghosts left right and centre, brilliantly marries an epic adventure action sequence with the point-and-click structure of the game itself. But then you fight LeChuck and he boots you around the island, until finally you crash land on a soft drinks dispenser, and finally defeat him with… a can of root beer. Cue fireworks and a strangely romantic ending. Is it as good as the ending of Monkey 2? No, but nothing is. Literally nothing, in the history of the universe.

Wow, there we are. I never had room for the dance steps, the recipe, finding the treasure, defeating the Sword Master, or Stan. Stan! I didn’t have room for Stan! See, that’s how good the game is; I barely mentioned one of the greatest gaming villains of all time, and I didn’t even get round to one of the medium’s funniest supporting characters. Blimey.

Man, I love The Secret of Monkey Island. Ron and the rest of you guys: you done good. Thanks for the memories.

[sparklyjojos]

THE SAIMON FAMILY CASE recaps [5/13]

In which magic routines are explained and Kirigirisu tries his hand at solving the mysteries of the show.

--

The next morning, Ajiro and Kirigirisu have some time to kill before the show, so they take a walk through the famous Joue-ji Garden. Apparently Ajiro is interested in traditional gardens, which similarly to his interest in magic was jump-started when he visited the splendid grounds by the Saimon family’s residence. It’s interesting to see Ajiro’s another side—not just a hard-working boss, but a man appreciating beauty.

Looking at the temple’s five-storied pagoda, Kirigirisu thinks of one of his fellow detectives, whose real name is Gojuunotou Fudou (五重塔 不動, gojuunotou meaning a five-storied pagoda). No wonder the man prefers a slightly less weirder pseudonym Gotou Fudou.

Now that he thinks about it, there’s quite a lot of strangely named detectives in the Club, many using nicknames. [These detectives don’t matter that much in the overall plot, but the author’s note at the end of the book mentions they were in part inspired by all these cool ideas for detectives the fans keep sending him. Wholesome].

There’s Raiouji Rokenrou (雷王寺 路拳郎), his real name being Terada Ichijirou (寺田一次郎), that delinquent punkish detective we already met.

There’s Mikuruma Noritaka (御車 法隆), real name Gosha Noritaka (五車 法隆), whose reasoning method revolves around him convincing himself through self-hypnosis that he’s a genius and can solve anything, and who loves to think about cases while riding his bike at breakneck speed. (Apparently he and Raiouji love to go on rides together.)

There’s Yakushiji Saiten (薬師寺 祭天), actually Yakushiji Kinta (薬師寺 金太), who’s the kind of guy to spend half a day admiring himself in the mirror.

Together, these four—Gotou, Raiouji, Mikuruma and Yakushiji—make a fine team sometimes called the Young Four Heavenly Kings, or Young Shitennou (ヤング四天王).

And that’s just a few of the Club’s detectives. It’s… kind of weird how many strangely-named members the organization has. (Although some have more normal names, like Arito Tarou, a guy who doesn’t like our two main detectives all that much.)

Kirigirisu’s name is also extremely unusual, but to be fair, he doesn’t even know if it’s his real name. It may have well been a nickname. He wonders if having a weird name isn’t more likely to make someone a detective, considering that it may lead to bad experiences in childhood, or something. Maybe taking on nicknames reveals a desire to become someone you’re not?

Anyway… returning his thoughts to the upcoming show, Kirigirisu remembers yesterday evening’s conversation with Ajiro.

--

“Most tricks fall into one of three categories,” Ajiro said back then. “Production, vanish, transformation. You can demonstrate all three with a commonplace object like a cigarette.”

He let Kirigirisu take one more look at the trick with snapping the cigarette in half, but from another angle, revealing that no actual snapping occured, the cigarette was just cleverly half hidden in Ajiro’s hand. The trick was aided by acting out a forceful movement and making a tough face while “snapping”. The next part of the trick was playing catch ball with what seemed like a torn half, but was actually the intact cigarette. The illusion worked because Kirigirisu was already convinced that the snapping had occurred, and Ajiro’s hands moved too quickly for him to realize the truth.

While Kirigirisu understood the need for the rule about never showing the same trick twice to someone, he didn’t feel at all like learning the truth ruined the magic for him. On the contrary, he felt even more emotionally moved and fired up. He would compare that feeling to the catharsis caused by solving a tough case, that emotion of finally attaching a logical explanation to something that seemed unsolvable.

Seeing his enthusiasm made Ajiro even more eager to serve as a lecturer, so he quickly explained another trick. It looked like he was pushing the cigarette into his left fist using his right hand… but in actuality he just pretended to do it while hiding the object in his right hand, where Kirigirisu couldn’t see. Then it was simply a matter of keeping the Kirigirisu's eyes on the fist—in other words, making use of misdirection—which let Ajiro withdraw his right hand with the hidden cigarette and drop it onto his lap (an action magicians know simply as “lapping”).

Next, Ajiro showed the part of the routine where he seemed to be pointing to something invisible in the air and catching it. These movements were meant to misdirect attention; while Kirigirisu was looking at Ajiro's pointing and catching left hand, his right hand could do whatever it wanted without being seen—perform a so-called “secret move”. In this case, the secret move was picking up the cigarette from his lap and hiding it in his palm.

When Ajiro earlier demanded that Kirigirisu followed his movements, this too served as misdirection pulling attention away from the act of lapping.

That's all fine and well, but how could a lit cigarette have been hidden in his hand at the very beginning? Ajiro explained that while magicians usually use a "pull"—a metal tube slightly bigger than the cigarette in which it can be safely hidden—he used a simpler method called "the throwing vanish". He acted like he's throwing the cigarette towards his left hand, but it actually stayed in his right.

But how could he lap it without it giving off visible smoke? He didn't; instead he put it between his crossed legs under the low table, so smoke couldn't rise freely. This trick could only really work in a place like the inn where customers sat on the ground.

Okay, but if the cigarette never entered his left hand, why was there smoke rising from within it? Well, Ajiro simply moved the hidden-in-right-hand cigarette below his left fist, let the smoke rise up, and only then retreated his right hand, once the viewer's attention was firmly on the fist. He did something similar later when Kirigirisu was holding his hand closed. He retrieved the cigarette from its hiding place, then—moving his right hand fast enough that smoke would dissipate in the air fast and wouldn’t be seen—moved it under his fist, letting smoke rise.

That was the end of explanations, so Kirigirisu asked about Gensui's tricks from earlier. Did Ajiro understand the secrets behind them too?

"I do. The truth is, he showed me the same routine when we met for the first time. But it's still his secret, and besides, I wouldn't be able to explain and show it as well as he would. After we talk about the case tomorrow, maybe you'll have a chance to learn about it from him." That maybe doesn't sound optimistic, and seeing Kirigirisu's saddened face, Ajiro adds, "Gensui didn't actually tell me the method, you know. I studied some magic and figured it out by myself later. Maybe after the lecture I just gave you, you can try to uncover the secret yourself?"

Kirigirisu's detective brain attempts to figure it out.

There were eight or so individual illusions to Gensui's routine. Putting his card into Kirigirisu's hand out of nowhere. Having Kirigirisu's name already printed out despite not knowing him. Changing Kirigirisu's card into his own. Pulling Kirigirisu's card out of an empty pocket. Making an orange silk handkerchief appear. Turning it into a ball. Turning the ball into a mandarin orange. Somehow making half his card appear inside that orange.

How Gensui slipped him the card is unknown. He could have learned Kirigirisu's name beforehand from Ajiro, but Ajiro denied that he had told him. Besides, it's improbable that he would have the card printed so fast, unless he was ready to pay good money (it’s 1977 and word processors are only now beginning to crop up). Where Kirigirisu's card disappeared to was unknown, as Gensui couldn't exactly lap it, and a secret move was out of a question when Kirigirisu could see both his hands. Was it then hidden in some secret compartment inside his pocket? Or maybe the card he pulled out of there wasn't even the same one, but a copy he had received beforehand from Ajiro (who denied this as well). The silk handkerchief probably had been hidden somewhere, the problem was where. The transformations into a ball and an orange were mistifying, and finding the torn half of the card inside the orange truly seemed like pure magic.

Ajiro's demonstration should have given him a hint, but he still had no idea how to explain the routine. He kept thinking about it so hard he couldn't sleep well that night.

--

Before the show, the two detectives go to the employee area once more. While most the performers are hanging out talking in a group, there's no Gensui or his brother anywhere. Perhaps they prefer to stay out of sight to make sure no one spots both of them at once.

When they meet Gensui in his trailer house, he's wearing a tailcoat that matches his imposing figure much better than the staff jacket from yesterday. He makes that unemotional face again when others can see him, but as soon as the door closes behind them he's back to a gentle smile. (Both expressions look perfectly natural. Well, as a magician he's probably been learning acting since childhood.)

Ajiro tells him about his and Kirigirisu's conversation. Gensui listens closely, smiling the entire time, though at the same time he’s carefully regarding Kirigirisu with his eyes.

"I'm always happy to witness the birth of a new magician friend," he says finally. "If Souji approves of you, then I shall give you my trust as well. If it's not a problem, I could give you a lecture on yesterday's routine after the afternoon show…" Gensui's comforting smile almost seems like that of a Buddha statue surrounded by a halo of light.

Kirigirisu can't believe his own luck and immediately decides in his heart that he’s going to work his hardest on the case, as he can't possibly let this wonderful man come to harm.

"Actually, I had a great idea right now," Gensui adds. "I'd like you to take part in the show. Is that alright?"

“You’d like to… me…!”

“That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Kirigirisu,” Ajiro prodes him on.

“But… what would someone like me even do?”

“Please do not worry. It’s something even a child could do.” He explains some more and indeed, it’s something easy: Kirigirisu will be chosen from the audience to assist the performers and just has to follow the script.

“I promise you I will do my best, Mr. Soga!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Please call me Gensui… or Tensui, when people are watching.”

It’s amazing to think that if Kirigirisu made a different impression on Gensui, he’d never get to see this gentle, smiling side of him, just the emotionless imposing act. He has half the mind to shout “please call me Tarou!”, but it can’t get through his throat. (Tarou is a really common name. There’s that detective in the organization called Arito Tarou who always calls Kirigirisu “the fake Tarou”, and he doesn’t like to remember that.)

--

Later that morning, the two detectives finally enter the circus tent with other spectators.

Ajiro has a nostalgic look on his face; while a busy man, he always makes sure to see the family's show whenever it comes to Fukui prefecture near Kyoto. The last time he saw it was just that summer, in fact.

Kirigirisu looks around astounded, having never seen something like this before and already anticipating something marvelous. If a single cigarette was enough for such a wonderful show yesterday, how grand an illusion using that giant bell is going to be? It feels like entering a dream or another world altogether, or even like stepping outside his own body. (Which is maybe a good thing; Kirigirisu isn’t fully sure what his reasoning method is yet, but it seems to have something to do with thinking better when he relaxes and gets this sort of detached feeling.)

And so, the two detectives watch the wonderful magic show.  [The narration tells us that it was the very same show that was described earlier in details.]

It is unlike anything Kirigirisu has seen before, and his emotions are best described as similar to falling in love and going on a honeymoon. He is firmly set on doing his best to make Gensui happy, but still dreads the moment he will have to come on stage and anxiety almost gets the most of him (what if Gensui wanted him to catch that rose that didn’t land anywhere near him, what if he wanted him to recognize all these flags, oh God).

His turn comes when little Koyomi announces she’s going to pick one of the spectators by listing “random” personal attributes: someone who hasn’t brought any family along, who is a man in his forties, who does not wear glasses, who thinks his name is unusual, and who came to Yamaguchi from a prefecture far away.

Koyomi seems genuinely surprised when he says he came here all the way from Kyoto, making him wonder whether Gensui didn’t tell her the details, or whether she’s just a really good actor. He follows the previously agreed script (the drawing is just a normal circle, no, it’s the flag of Japan; now it’s a clock or a scale; let’s say it’s a clock). Asked for current time, he gives a half-scripted answer, pretending that his watch is a little early and telling Koyomi the current time plus five minutes (Gensui himself made sure his watch worked correctly beforehand).

Thankfully, everything goes well… though as soon as he sits down, Koyomi asks him to pick the next person, which was not a part of the plan, and he panics a little. It’s a strange feeling when a girl over thirty years your junior has to give you an encouraging look. It’s even stranger when a thousand and five hundred people are, if just for a moment, hanging onto your every word.

--

As soon as the guests leave the tent, another surprise awaits them. Where there should be just empty space, now stretches a vast flower field, their petals wet with rain. Ajiro explains that it’s trompe-l'œil, a painting technique that uses forced perspective to create the illusion of depth. Indeed, up close the flower field is clearly just a picture, a strangely deformed one at that. Just like many other illusions, this one works only as long as the spectators can’t take a closer look.

--

They meet with Gensui, who has apparently just changed from the black diving suit into the usual tailcoat. His hair is still a little wet. He thanks Kirigirisu for cooperation and is in turn thanked for such an amazing show.

“Well then, it’s time to keep my own promise,” Gensui says. “Let’s start the lecture on yesterday’s routine. First, how I was able to learn your name. It’s very simple—perhaps disappointingly so, for which you’ll have to forgive me. After Souji told me he would take a coworker along, I simply called the organization’s secretary and asked for your name.”

“I see… but you must have learned about it not even a day before we met. How did you manage to get a card printed out so fast?”

“The secret here is likewise very simple. All the cards weren’t printed at all, but handwritten by a talented member of my staff. All those giant signs you see around were made by them as well. As long as you have access to the right ink, it’s possible to make your handwriting look like print.”

“You said all the cards just now…” Kirigirisu is slowly starting to understand. Multiple cards. One had to say Tensui, another Gensui...

Gensui nods, then shows them how he prepared the orange. He takes a pre-torn half of a card that has I’m Soga Gensui written on it, rolls it up, then carefully inserts it inside the fruit by removing and replacing the stem. This is apparently a variation of a widely known illusion, Bill in Lemon.

Next, Gensui repeats the first part of yesterday’s routine: he takes the intact card with I’m Soga Tensui on it, which seems to magically disappear in his hand, only to return when he gives Kirigirisu a handshake. Confused Kirigirisu passes the card to Ajiro, who also makes it disappear in his hand… but once Kirigirisu can take a look from another angle, he realizes that the card was just moved to the back of his hand.

“The act of hiding an object in your hand is what we call “palming”,” Ajiro explains. “This particular variation is known as the back palm.” He gives Kirigirisu a handshake and swiftly moves the card to its previous position, so it stays in Kirigirisu’s palm once he withdraws.

But what if the other person attempted to look at the back of his outstretched hand? This is also not a problem, as Ajiro demonstrates: one just has to move the card into another hidden position inside one’s palm. His moves are ridiculously fast. Even Gensui seems impressed.

Next question: how did Gensui change Kirigirisu’s card into his own just by moving his right hand over it? The truth is, that right hand had the Tensui card hidden in it using what’s called a “classic palm”. First, he inserted that hidden Tensui card underneath Kirigirisu’s card. Then he palmed Kirigirisu’s card and took it away, revealing the Tensui card underneath. This may be complicated, but Gensui’s skills made it seem like a single fluid move. With Kirigirisu’s card still palmed in his right hand, he then pretended to pull it out from the empty pocket.

The secrets really are so simple once you learn them, though they do require mastering the palming techniques. As Gensui points out, it’s not an easy feat to make your hand look naturally positioned while you’re secretly holding something with it. (Kirigirisu does wonder when busy Ajiro would have time to train something like that.)

Next question: okay, we know that the torn half of the Gensui card was hidden in the orange beforehand… but then why would its edge perfectly fit the Nice to meet you part from the Tensui card, the one that was torn in half with Kirigirisu watching? This also is very simple: because what Kirigirisu was handed was not one half of the Tensui card, but of the Gensui card.

The magician sneaked the remaining Nice to meet you fragment of Gensui into his hands together with the intact Tensui. Then he torn Tensui in half. The Nice to meet you fragment of Tensui was promptly palmed, and Kirigirisu took that sneaky little Nice to meet you fragment of Gensui instead.

This wasn’t the only thing the magician had kept palmed at the time, either: he was already holding the orange silk handkerchief in his right hand. After he lit the torn Tensui part on fire and let it burn to ashes, he simply let the silk fall out of its hiding place.

In order to magically transform the silk into the ball, Gensui then performed what’s known as a “switch”. He pretended to insert the handkerchief into his left fist, but what he actually put inside was a small orange ball, which had been previously palmed in his right hand along with the silk.

Transforming the ball into an orange was based on a similar switch. When the ball was thrown high in the air, Kirigirisu’s eyes naturally followed it, allowing Gensui to casually pull out the prepared orange out of his pocket. While holding it, Gensui caught the falling ball, palmed it, and presented just the orange to Kirigirisu.

With this, the entire routine is now explained.

Kirigirisu (whose eyes are shining with awe at this point) inspects the orange ball, which turns out to be very soft. According to Ajiro, it’s a Goshman sponge ball.

Gensui seems eager to show more magic, so he takes the ball from Kirigirisu, presses it with his finger, returns it… and the ball in Kirigirisu’s hands has magically divided into two, each somehow the original’s size.

“Sponge balls like this one are very popular, since they allow the magic to happen in the spectator’s own hands,” Ajiro explains. “Let me handle that for a bit, Kirigirisu.” He takes the two balls for just a second, puts them back into Kirigirisu’s hand, gently pushes his fist closed…

...and Kirigirisu realizes with a start that there is now a good ten sponge balls inside his own hand, so many he can’t even get a grip on them, resulting in them falling to the ground while he fumbles in complete shock.

“Wh… how… I...?!”

“Aw, Souji, how awful of you,” Gensui teases. “You overdid it and scared poor Kirigirisu into shock.”

“Awful of me? It’s your own fault that he’s in shock.” Ajiro finally takes mercy on dumbfounded Kirigirisu and explains what just happened. “You may want to remember what I’m going to tell you now, Kirigirisu: illusion is all about showing the audience impossible things. Since those things are impossible, they can’t have actually happened, it just looks like they did. You can solve the secret by process of elimination. Look at all the distinct processes that make up the effect, reject what must be impossible, and what remains in the end will lead you to the method.”

Like the classic process of elimination used in solving cases. Spurn by those words, Kirigirisu attempts to figure out the solution.

It was certainly impossible to divide a sponge ball into ten parts while still keeping the same size and texture. Therefore, the ten sponge balls had to have all existed from the beginning.

How could one make it seem like the sponge ball was multiplying? Since the effect was shown right after Gensui’s lecture, it probably had something to do with what he had said. Both Gensui and Ajiro took the objects into their own hands before returning them. Therefore… Gensui almost certainly had another sponge ball already palmed, and gave it to Kirigirisu together with the original. Perhaps the soft material allowed for easy compressing and hiding of even ten of them at once.

But why on earth would Ajiro randomly keep eight sponge balls on his person? That seemed improbable. If so...

“Boss, when did Gensui give you eight of these sponge balls?”

Gensui and Ajiro both look happy and proud hearing this.

“That is a very good question,” Ajiro says. “While Gensui was showing you the miraculous dividing sponge ball, he sent me a look and secretly passed eight more balls to me. That was enough for me to guess what he wanted me to do.” And so Ajiro became Gensui’s partner in crime, so to speak.

Once all the explanations are done, Gensui gives Kirigirisu a little challenge: to watch the evening show and using his new knowledge try guessing the secrets behind the illusions.

“But—I certainly won’t be able to see through something as amazing and polished as that show!”

“There’s no need to be humble. You are a capable detective. Even if an illusion isn’t quite the same thing as a murder case, wouldn’t you still be able to grasp the solution?”

“Speaking of murder cases,” Ajiro interrupts, “you wanted us to see the show before talking about the case at hand. Are the two connected?”

“They are,” Gensui admits with a serious expression.

“Then—then I’ll do my best to solve the show,” Kirigirisu decides. “Even if I’m not really confident I can do it.”

Sensing that the mood is getting too dark, Gensui announces he’s going to show them one last trick for now. This one he won’t explain yet in order to pique Kirigirisu’s curiosity for later.

“Unfortunately I don’t have playing cards with me right now, so I’ll make do with this,” Gensui says and gives Kirigirisu a familiar business card to inspect. Nice to meet you, I’m Soga Tensui. Nice to meet you, Kirigirisu Tarou. “There are countless variations of card magic. I hope I will have an opportunity to show you Paul Curry’s Out of This World one day, the illusion that the great magician Dai Vernon once called “the card trick of the century”. But today, instead of the flashy Out of This World, I want to show you its polar opposite I devised: Change The World. The simplest card magic possible, stripped of all unnecessary decorations, using only one card.”

“It’s been a few years since I’ve last seen it,” Ajiro says, visibly expecting something amazing to happen.

Gensui puts the card on his open left palm.

“Keep your eyes on it… it’s going to be over in a flash.” He reaches out with his right hand, then moves it fast as lightning, making it pass a good ten centimeters above the card. It really is over in a flash. The card was hidden from the detectives’ sight for just a split of a second, and yet… it has been transformed into Kirigirisu’s business card.

If you ask Kirigirisu, this entire day full of illusion seemed to Change the World for him.

And so, Ajiro and Kirigirisu prepare to watch the last show of the season.

Nobody could guess that it would end up being the Saimon family’s last public performance.

--

The evening show follows the same programme as the afternoon one. Using his new magic knowledge, Kirigirisu is able to figure out some things.

For example, the three Courtisanes couldn’t just produce their smoking pipes out of thin air—that was impossible—so they had to have them hidden somewhere. Knowing where to look now, Kirigirisu notices the moment they pull the pipes out of their long sleeves. When the Courtisanes throw the pipes in the air, he knows better than to follow the objects with his sight, and can easily see the women retrieving the umbrellas from their sleeves and opening them; it seems those umbrellas can be folded into a tiny size and loaded up their sleeves in large numbers. The umbrellas also have barely noticeable tiny pockets in them, where the confetti falls from when shaken. (It’s not really that Kirigirisu figures the solution out, as much as just knows where to look, and starts to understand why you shouldn’t show the same trick twice to the same person.) The umbrellas must also have some sort of a thin tube inside to pump water through, and strategic lighting creates the rainbows.

Tensui then shows up from inside the bell somehow. He couldn’t have hid inside beforehand, considering that the stagehands ring the bell at the beginning, and the resulting vibration and noise would render anyone inside deaf, if not kill them. If Tensui couldn’t appear from within the bell… then he must have appeared from below. Was there some sort of a hidden trap door in the floor, like in a kabuki theater?

Now that he thinks about it, is this newly appeared warrior actually Tensui, or maybe Gensui? Well, whichever brother it is, he is certainly "Soga Tensui" as far as the world at large is concerned.

How Tensui lights his left hand on fire without getting burned and how he disappears behind the big screen are mysteries Kirigirisu can’t solve. The two bells seemingly hitting each other and merging into one, which then disappears, just seem like pure magic; you can’t exactly palm a giant bell like a sponge ball.

The beginning of the mirror illusion is obviously just a pantomime that Tensui and Gensui are acting out. The problem is how one of them can get safely stabbed with a sword. The suddenly appearing glass pane in the frame can be easily explained if one notices a subtle change of lighting inside it. The frame probably has a similarly sized piece of glass attached on hinges at a 90 degree angle, so it can be moved to fit into the frame while the audience is distracted by the two warriors. Who moves the frame and how they do that, and how they manage to put a mirror inside later in half a second, is a mystery.

The flying bowtie is just baffling, as is Tensui’s manner of zooming off-stage without moving any of his limbs, or the way he appears from underneath that black cloth on the wooden cross that is kept above the ground at all times (although it is now obvious that what was inside was not a demon, but Tensui making the “horns” using his arms).

How the pictures on the origami doll box change remains a mystery, but the assistant appearing inside and Tensui’s switch with Kotensui can both be explained if they are able to enter and leave the box from below through a trap door… though the Tensui-Kotensui switch must require a lot of skill, considering how the tied hands under the cloth seem to move the entire time. Perhaps they perform the switch one hand at a time?

Kirigirisu already knows the secret behind Kotensui. It’s interesting how drastically the impression he gets changes now that he knows there’s a real boy inside, perfectly acting out stiff, jerky movements of a marionette.

Next comes the switch between adult Koyomi and little Koyomi; while tricky in execution, it can certainly be possible if the tunnel is placed over a trap door, and the big capes both Koyomis are wearing probably help hide the switch a little.

Kotensui’s walk in the air is actually way more impressive now that Kirigirisu knows it’s not actually a marionette. Even assuming the boy is lifted by means of invisible suspension cords, it wouldn’t explain how he walks through the tunnel without those cords catching on the ceiling.

The three members of the audience chosen by throwing a rose around turn out to really be random. It's fascinating how small Koyomi can ad-lib on the spot when talking with them. Maybe she's actually much older than she looks, who knows.

Next come the origami doves that grow twice in size when Koyomi blows on them. That seems impossible. And since it's impossible… Kirigirisu remembers Gensui's lecture and realizes that Koyomi probably performs a switch: the big doves she seems to inflate by blowing are distinct from the ones she and the spectators fold together. That would also explains how the inflated doves seem to grow little "legs".

How Koyomi's hat is able to make a paper dove disappear and a real one appear is still a mystery.

Kirigirisu already knows the outcome of the entire rock-paper-scissors routine and is a bit tempted to show stone against Kotensui's surprise scissors (which are easily made with a Magic Arm), but that wouldn't be fun, so in the end he shows paper like everyone else.

It's unknown how the Arm Guillotine doesn't cut through something in its upper hole. Later, the disembodied gloved hand (obviously fake) is thrown in the air and transforms into a dove… which is impossible. That glove had to already have the bird hidden inside somehow, and Koyomi just released it while pretending she's throwing the glove.

The Magic Hands act doesn't really have a secret involved, instead being a show of engineering and physical skill. Kirigirisu can't help but be deeply moved by the spectacle. A marionette performing dangerous acrobatics is one thing, but a small boy doing the same makes Kirigirisu develop sudden parental feelings, an urge to leap onto the stage and protect that little child somehow.

Next are the many tricks performed by the three girls and the clowns, all miraculous. How can the ribbons change into hula hoops? How can the hoops be linked together? When Kotensui drops the previously light globe, why does it hit the ground with a thud and doesn't bounce? And then there’s the floating, burning ball that zips all around and finally disappears when the clown catches it… at least Kirigirisu can guess that the cape covering the ball must be switched with an already prepared big flag of Japan at some point.

No idea about the secrets behind the next part: the clown pulling out red balls from within the flag, the girl turning them white, turning those balls into juggling pins using a tube, making the pins and balls switch colors, somehow stuffing all of them inside the tube. Then pouring seemingly infinite genuine beer out of an empty bottle and shaking candy out of a hat. Kirigirisu's confusion is amplified by the way these tricks are performed in quick succession, with lots of chaos on stage.

The man chosen through the flag quiz this time is a journalist, clearly different than the teacher from earlier, though he also chooses the flag of Japan. Once again Koyomi makes an intentional mistake, only to magically turn the Korean flags into Japanese ones. The flag card in her hand is probably switched when everyone's attention is on the giant card. But if she already has the Japan card prepared, then… does she know for certain that the spectator will always choose the flag of Japan? Neither man seemed like a planted stooge.

Next is the trick that Kirigirisu himself took part in, Watch & Sketch Control. The woman chosen instead of him gives very natural answers about the drawing (it's a ball, now it's a clock), then gives Koyomi the current time—which in the evening show is of course different: 6:54 PM. The next spectator chooses 3:00 as their favorite hour, and when the last spectator says stop, the magically moving drawn clock does stop on exactly 3:00.

A drawing starting to move is of course impossible. The only explanation Kirigirisu can think of is that what looks like a blank page actually has two white paper “clock hands” prepared beforehand, which—judging by the the way Koyomi supports the sketchbook with her arm behind it—can be moved by stealthily handling them from behind. Koyomi simply draws the arrows on top of these two prepared hands. This moment would always happen at around the same time into the show, so one could predict from what position the clock hands would begin their journey and set them beforehand.

In the same vein, Koyomi must then secretly set the right time on the real clock she has hidden behind the sketchbook, although how she knows when to stop without looking at the clock's face is anyone's guess. The circle was already red beforehand, and Koyomi just removes another piece of white paper that hides that color. All of this seems improbable considering the audience is able to examine the paper she used after the show… but only after the show. The staff can easily prepare a convincing fake in the meanwhile.

Finally, the "last illusion" from Koyomi. Kirigirisu suspects that the liquid inside the pitcher is not actually water, and that both the milk bottle and the wine glass aren’t as empty as they look, but a detailed explanation escapes him. Making a fish appear out of nowhere is impossible, so it must have been hidden somewhere.

Transforming a fish into a dragon is likewise impossible. The only explanation is that the giant writhing shadow isn’t actually a shadow, but a pre-recorded projection, and what seems like rain is delivered by a system of sprinklers. While everyone pays attention to the “dragon”, the stagehands quickly switch what’s behind the screen: the small tank to the giant tank, the plain black backdrop to the black-and-white funeral curtain. The projection trick would also help explain the earlier illusion with the warrior disappearing behind the screen.

While Koyomi and Kotensui hide under her umbrella, the clock on the table shows fast-forwarded time, probably with use of some timed mechanical device that Kirigirisu doesn’t know. The switch from little Koyomi to big Koyomi most likely uses the trapdoor again; the cape is held up in the air so that it acts as a “wall” that doesn’t let the audience notice the switch, the umbrella providing an additional shield. A trap door must be also how a chair magically shows up behind the umbrella set on the ground. The one thing a very convenient trap door does not explain is how adult Koyomi then disappears while sitting in a chair without visibly reaching the floor.

Kotensui’s acrobatic act—fully deserving its title of a Swing without a String—looks just plain terrifying now that Kirigirisu knows there’s an actual child in there. Just like before, Kotensui falls seemingly to his death, but is caught by Tensui and carried down to the stage. How Tensui performs Sea Walk and Sky Walk is not an easy mystery to solve, as expected of his signature acts.

Finally, the underwater escape. Watching the illusion a second time makes it painfully obvious that Tensui is just pretending to desperately struggle, but has it all under control. He gets out of the handcuffs and the chains with the same timing as before, swims around the cage searching for a way out in roughly the same manner, and just like before the Press Hammer seems to crush him at the end. How exactly he can get out of there in time and reappear in the auditorium, Kirigirisu can’t guess.

Though Kirigirisu managed to figure out some of the methods, the sheer number of remaining mysteries proves that magic really is an art full of secrets. When he and Ajiro leave the tent, they’re greeted by snow, swirling beautifully in the evening air like yet another wondrous illusion.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[bullet-farmer]

Below and Beyond the Call of Duty

Below and Beyond the Call of Duty

Rating: PG

Beelzebub/Dagon, Beelzebub&Satan

Summary: So how did Beelzebub get those two crowns on her lapels, anyway? Hint: it involved ushering in the cruelty of the 1980s.

CWs: None I can think of. Demon politics are fraught, though!

Notes: Beelzebub is “canonically” the demon of gluttony, as well as the demon who nearly overthrew Satan. 

Beelzebub and Dagon use she/her pronouns; Satan uses he/him. 

***

Beelzebub’s reign as prince of hell had lasted well over seven thousand years for more reasons than any demon could count. She wasn’t Satan’s left-hand demon just because no one else wanted the responsibility, or just because she was one of the most ruthless of the Fallen. It wasn’t really because all of hell’s denizens feared her—though, of course, a little fear stirred in with respect never hurt one’s political career.

She was and remained hell’s de-facto ruler because she had something most demons lacked: genius.

Few demons, of course, can be accused of having imagination—at least the sustained and sustainable kind. But the kind of genius Beelzebub possessed was not the imaginative but the intuitive. Unique among demons, she was particularly attuned to human frailties and the way those frailties played out in every interaction, from the personal, to the communal, to the national, to the global. For just as clothing, food, and art fluctuated in and out of style, so did sin; and Beelzebub’s ability to predict what sin would come into fashion, and how and when it would damage the humans who engendered it, was something her subjects looked upon with awe.

Satan was loath to admit it, but Beelzebub had a lot to be proud about, particularly on this historic occasion.

And that made her not only a genius, but a dangerous potential foe.

Pride was a dangerous thing. He knew that far better than any being in creation. It was also the most delicate of sins—one that had to be handled like any tincture. Administer too little and a demon would fall into despair and dysfunction; too much and they would fancy themselves his equal—or his superior.

But give them just enough, and they would remain both confident and servile.

The equation with Beelzebub was particularly delicate, but Satan was confident he had figured it out.

That was the primary reason he had arranged this ceremony.

Today, Beelzebub had temporarily vacated her throne in head office’s Great Hall to accommodate hell’s actual ruler. As Satan rose from the seat of power, hell’s armies stood at attention—well, at least to the best of their abilities. No one had ever accused demons of being orderly.

Beelzebub, however, pulled the stance off flawlessly. Even her flies were still upon her shoulders.

He expected nothing less.

“Attend us.” The king of hell hardly ever needed to raise his voice; his legions knew better than to require him to repeat himself. And sure enough, all idle whispering ceased.

“Prince Beelzebub,” he said, “we have called our forces here today to witness an extraordinary event: the creation of a new title. You alone among demonkind have earned every dishonor we can award: the inverted cross, the fallen star, the brimstone heart. Yet your efforts in this year alone have hastened the apocalypse and struck a decisive blow against our enemies.

“You alone have predicted the political fortunes of two of the most powerful nations on earth—indeed, you were the first to notice how deeply they were intertwined.”

This was the first step: engender envy in her subordinates. Again, the balance was a most delicate one: give them just enough envy for her to see what he was doing; to let her know that as much as her subjects respected her, at any moment, that respect could turn into invidious rebellion.

“The politics of humans are ever capricious, but you alone understand the nature of that capriciousness; the way the pendulum swings from left to right, from advancement to regression. Who but you could have stirred up enough religious hypocrisy and political malaise to see an actor elected president? And an equally iron-willed British counterpart?”

That was the next step: wrath. Use big words his legions had little care to understand, to anger them at having to listen to this prattle—and stoke envy’s green flames even more.

“Reagan and Thatcher; they will be the beginning of the end.”

With that, he stepped down from the dais on which the throne sat. When he reached the floor, he held out his left hand; in his palm, two tarnished medals glinted in hell’s half-light.

“For services below and beyond the call of duty, is our dishonor to present you, Prince Beelzebub, with the double crown of disgrace.”

Beelzebub stood straight-backed and unblinking as he pinned the medals to her lapels.

And here was the final step.

“You are dismissed,” he told the legions. Glad, most likely, not to be forced to endure more ceremony, they left quickly—not fast enough to seem rebellious, but not too slow.

When he was alone with the prince, Satan placed a hand upon her shoulder. Though they were alone now, he leaned in to whisper.

“You know you have done well, Beelzebub. But consider: you could do better still.”

Gluttony.

The only sin Beelzebub could not see, for she embodied it.

It would ever be the chain about her neck.

Hang more and more medals upon it, and the weight of the excess would keep her tethered.

“Yes, Your Travesty.”

“I’m glad that you agree.”

With a pat upon her shoulder, he left her to return to the ninth circle.

The traitors would not feast upon themselves.

***

Beelzebub waited until she could be sure the king of hell hadn’t lingered to test her loyalty. But of course he had no reason to.

For six thousand years, she’d played into his every move. “Did you hear all of that?” she asked one of the arrases.

The rotting tapestry rippled and Dagon stepped from behind it.

“Every word,” she murmured. Her eyes glowed in the gloom; ghost-bright and beautiful.

“Hmm, and what do you think?” Beelzebub asked as her flies shook themselves from their stupor; they circled her head again in the pattern of a broken halo.

“That you’re right, of course.” Dagon neared her. “He underestimates you; that’s his problem, isn’t it? Just because we followed him, he thinks we’re followers.”

Beelzebub nodded. “Strategy izzz not his strong suit. Nor subtlety.”

Dagon stroked the burns along her cheek. “That’s why he follows your lead now.”

“Perceptive,” Beelzebub hummed as she leaned in to kiss her. “That’s why I like you.”

Dagon tasted like saltwater; like the depths of things.

“Well,” Dagon said when they emerged, pressing her forehead to Beelzebub’s as the prince’s flies encircled them. “What’s next?”

“Oh, we continue,” Beelzebub wrapped her hand around Dagon’s. “I enjoy his rewards and his praise—for now. It makezzz them respect me—and fear me. And when I’m tired of him, they will rezzpect and fear me more when I put an end to him.”

“Snuff him out,” Dagon murmured with a smile before she kissed her prince again. “Oh, I do like you.”

“And I like you.” Beelzebub raised her lover’s hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles. “Hm,” she said as she brought the other demon’s fingers to her left lapel. “A dishonor for going below and beyond the call of duty.”

She looked into Dagon’s eyes and felt her own burn red.

“He’s yet to see just how low and far I’ll go.”

As always, if you like my fic, please consider donating to Raices, to help refugees currently being held in US concentration camps.  Every little bit helps. 

[starfaring-princelotor]

First Sight

Summary: It has been a year since Emperor Lotor’s disappearance. The Medic has been trying to survive.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: Blood, light gore, mentions of death.

A/N: Wow, in this blessed year of 2019, I still hate S8 with a burning passion.

Also, a special thank you to @legendofcarl and @fairy-cat-mother for beta reading this long chapter!

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One ___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

“Captain Shirogane. Whittaker didn’t make it.”

Another soul lost, another day of war continued. The captain’s back was towards you, but his face was watching the sun rise over the silent, desolate hills. He has been standing guard for most of the night and you took note of this one important detail. Even a captain needed rest, even a doctor needed to put the scalpel down once in a while. Shiro sighed heavily then turned towards you, his expression stoic like a hardened soldier but eyes...his eyes told you everything.

“You stayed with him?” he asked, avoiding the red dotting your coat.

“Until his last breath.”

“They don’t teach you about that in training.”

“No, sir. No, they...they do not,” you crossed your arms, “I don’t think that it is possible to teach something like this, Captain.”

A pregnant pause, a few seconds of Shiro’s gaze studying the restless sunken sockets on your face.

“Takashi. I told you to call me Takashi. We’re well acquainted enough by now. It’s been what? A year since I pulled you out of that ditch?”

“A year and 3 days, exactly,” you cautioned a step closer, heart hurting and hands dirtied with blood, “We make it out of here alive and I’ll start listening to you, friend.”

As a friend. As a comrade. As a pair of fractured misfits trying to cozy up in society again like the war overseas didn’t already kill their souls. We can’t leave this behind us, no matter how many bullets we take. We can’t die, but we can’t live like nothing happened. We can’t be doctor and captain, yet we can’t remember who we really were before all of this. The idea that we made it would be enough for us. It would be enough.

There was a red dot between his brows.

BANG!

BANG!

Jolting from your sleep never felt so real before. You swore, you were back in the barracks with your nerves and hackles raised in defense at...nothing. It was just a dream. A memory, a time that you would have preferred rather than now. Another loud bang made you clutch the scratchy blanket tighter to your chest, moth eaten and too thin to really keep you warm in the cold cell.

The lights flicked on, revealing you and the rest of the prisoners huddled together. Mere foot soldiers to flight fighters to ion cannon engineers from Lotor’s ship. Hostages to Haggar’s will and interrogation. Zarkon’s witch. No, you recall that those who were summoned never once returned. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened to them.

“You.” Sendak’s voice alone had you cringing from the sheer resolution behind it, “Your trial has come.”

You narrowed your eyes at him like a mouse trapped in a corner with other scared, meek beings. And they were right to be afraid. By all technicality, you and the Galra under his ward were the last to see Emperor Lotor alive. You specifically saw him leave and you knew this very fact would be held against your case.

When you made no movement, only to delay the inevitable, he approached you with a condescending look, “Come of your own free will or High Priestess Haggar will come here instead.”

He really didn’t like humans. Small, frail, weak. Emotional. And that bite mark on your neck signifying more than you were aware of? Sendak almost sneered at you. Almost.

You stood up and allowed yourself to be cuffed without a fuss. No word, no flinch, not even bothering to meet his challenging gaze. Your eyes were on the ground, trying to calculate how you could use your words and turn the evidence to be on your side. The side that won’t end up with your corpse launched into the vacuum of deep space. Each step down the hall felt as if you were walking to your own death.

The door opened, but this was no court. That was a medical table, those were physical restraints hanging down from the ceiling, and there, standing under the halo of light, was Haggar. This was the first time you saw her.

“State your name.”

You gave it with a bitter taste on your tongue.

“You are hereby being charged with the complicit assassination of the Emperor of the Galra Empire - Emperor Lotor,” she announced, voice throaty yet evident of her power, “We have recorded evidence that you willingly allowed Emperor Lotor to return to the hands of Voltron alongside with his generals. How do you plead?”

How do you plead? What a loaded question. They already had solid evidence against you. Now they just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say you were guilty. You let him go. In doing so, you unwittingly forfeited your own safety to the fates of Galra Court. Or rather, whoever was next in charge. Whoever was left after the Empire became fractured in civil war.

You trusted Lotor to return. It has been nearly a year. The odds were stacked against him, against you, that either would be staying alive for long.

“Guilty. I plead guilty.”

Honerva narrowed her eyes into thin slits, critically studying your surrendering form. You gave in without her taking what she needed from your mind. You were compliant, too compliant, and yet this fact alone showed her one thing: you were smart. You knew how their system worked and you knew what unfortunate side you were on. Now, only one thing remained.

The crime must fit the punishment. Victory or death, right?

“You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime in prison without parole.” Haggar glanced at Sendak, “Take the inmate away.”

“I know where Lotor is.”

Lie. She knew it was a lie, indicative by the way the corner of her lips dipped lower in a barely contained snarl. Prisoners would say anything to change the outcome of their fate, and Honerva was not one for mercy - not where her rightful son was concerned And yet, those five little words were the perfect ones to make her raise a hand, halting Commander Sendak.

“I know where the Emperor is.”

The thin paper in your hand felt heavier than anything you’ve ever carried before in your life. Your eyes skimmed over familiar writing - your father's words etched out in dark ink, but not nearly as dark as the shadows growing in the corner of your mind.  Prisoners were becoming soldiers. Ultimatums were set and no matter how much you begged your father to change his mind, begged for him to understand that he was being used, he still made the worst possible choice.

It’s funny, now that you think about it. He once told you that he wanted to be a soldier when he was younger. To make sure there was a future for children, for you. Now, he got his wish. But it shouldn’t be like this, never like this.

The tears blurred your sight before you were able to take a hold of yourself. And how could you? Your father, the only family who saw you as a person instead of a physical investment for others, was walking onto the battlefield as live bait. Helpless couldn’t even begin to describe the fateful situation thrust upon your shoulders and a fleeting thought that karma was out to get you passed through your mind. This was wrong. This was wrong and everyone knew it.

Your grip on the paper crinkled it, nearly tearing it where your fingers dug in. Sobbing, you were sobbing so much, chest constricting as the thoughts of being powerless attacked your mind. It’s a system. There’s a system, maybe you could talk to someone, talk to the higher ups about switching camps? Just don’t panic. Your father will be fine, you can save him still. Maybe there was still time to -

“Doc?”

It was Shiro.

“Doc!”

The sight of you crying, choking on your own tears and leaning on the the wall for support, instantly alerted your captain. He has seen you post breakdown, eyes red-rimmed and composure regained like nothing had happened. But this? This was worse. It was worse seeing you crumble to the ground with teeth gritting, lip quivering, and streaks of painful tears dripping down your face. The stuttering breaths, the whimpering, the breaking. It. Was. Much. Worse.

Shiro rushed to you, arms pulling you in to his chest, “Talk to me.”

You couldn’t.

“Please, say something.”

You didn’t.

“We can get through this.”

You can’t.

All you could do was weep for what was to come.

“I worked alongside Emperor Lotor as his private medical officer for the last four years. From his time as a prisoner in Voltron’s hold up until his disappearance, every injury and sickness I assessed are logged in the medical database at the Galra Headquarters.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I know where he was going.”

Honerva was never one to be impatient. She was calculating, much more than Zarkon ever was. It was how she survived this long, through being poisoned by quintessence, mourning her husband’s death, and withstanding the Empire’s eternal disgust with her. But she also knew when the floor was shrinking around her and soon, her conniving ways would end up with her dead.

She needed allies to find her son and right now? You were as good as any. The witch can torture the information out of you to get what she needed, but logically that wasn’t the most efficient choice. Space was huge, there was a gamble that the your words would lead to a firm dead end, but Honerva was on borrowed time to search for her only child. Limited on necessary resources. Those under her command were spread thin.

“Emperor Lotor managed to pierce the Rift. He succeeded in starting to supply the Empire and the rest of the universe with unlimited quintessence, but there were...complications.” You took a deep breath, “I am already sentenced to a lifetime in prison, but I guarantee you, I’m more useful alive than dying in a cell wall.”

Yes, this seemed almost too perfect to Honerva, but the more the doctor spoke, the more this plan made sense. If - when they find her son, he would no doubt be in critical condition after all this time. Even if he wasn’t, having a medical team attend to him immediately would ensure his survival. Time was wasting, she couldn't assign another druid to read the entirety of Lotor’s medical history when there was someone who already knew it standing right in front of her.

“You will be under Commander Mar’s ward and accompany him on his search for Emperor Lotor,” she approached you then, closer for intimidation, “You are to report any and all information you gain during your mission directly to me. Emperor Lotor must be found.”

Yes, his Empire needed him. The universe needed him to continue working for an era of peace and prosperity. Right now, with the warlords loose and slavery still persisting, you knew all of this would eventually end up in total and complete destruction. You were not excluded from such a fate. Even though you had options, you could run, you could hide, you could corner yourself, but how long until you perish by conflict or by choice?

That is how you found yourself here, standing on the bridge besides Commander Mar. He accepted his mission with honor, accepted your partnership, however temporary it may be. The Commander was no fool, none of the higher-ups were. While some sought power for themselves, the Galra understood power was not only for security, but for survival as well.

He turned to face you, that sullen, empty look reminding him of a tired soldier who fought too long, “Doctor, do we have a heading?”

You stayed silent for a moment before raising your sunken eyes to focus on his scarred expression,   “To the remnants of Daibazaal, Commander Mar. The trans-reality gate is there and that is the last place Voltron was located. That is where Emperor Lotor traveled to.”

He nodded to his subordinate who punched in the coordinates. A few jumps through hyperspace and they would arrive in less than two weeks. Two weeks for you to prepare either the worst or the best outcome. Two weeks for you to plan an escape and flee for your own good. Two weeks…

Before he turned to leave, you asked, “Commander Mar, can I speak to you in private?”

The taller Galra grunted, granting your wish, then led you into the hallway just outside the command center, “What is it, Doctor? You have time to gather supplies we have on the ship, if needed.”

“I appreciate the generosity, Commander. But…” you crossed your arms, “If I may ask, why did you accept this mission?”

“You question my loyalty to the Empire?”

“No, no, not at all. I...apologize for my disrespect.” You glanced to the floor, debating in that mind of yours, “I am not blind. I’m aware of the fractured state the Empire has been in since Lotor’s crowning at the Kral Zera.”

“A human knows of the Kral Zera?”

“While he was working alongside Voltron, yes, Lotor informed me of the Kral Zera.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, “And your team was the one who killed Emperor Zarkon.”

“Yes. Yes, we did. My captain and I gave Lotor the tools needed to take down Zarkon.”

You expected disgust, even fury or an attack, yet all you received was a calculating look from Commander Mar. He had his own thoughts about Voltron working with the Empire and how it was run. At the same time, he had his own grievances when it came to working under Zarkon, as well.

“Voltron has been a smear on the Empire. Now that they have killed not one, but two Emperors, I swear to never align with them again,” there was a certain conviction in his voice, one that held truth with hidden malice, “I am loyal to the Empire and the Empire alone. That is why I took this mission because Lotor is the Emperor. Retrieving his body will bring closure to those in charge and we may finally proceed with another Kral Zera ceremony.”

“And if there is no body? How long will the Empire stand on it’s own two feet? How long until he is officially announced deceased?”

“Five years.”

The Empire did not have five years to last. No leader, no one taking charge until either five years pass or a dead body arrives. The system can only hold as long as the council would allow it, but even that was in shambles. Options were becoming more and more limited. Even after five years, if Lotor comes back, there won't be an Empire for him to run.

“Why did the witch let you live?”

No more. No more standing aside. Lotor made you choose.

“Because I am loyal to the Emperor. And right now, his return means more than just ensuring the future of the Galra Empire. His return ensures the end of war.”

You were tired. Exhausted, like the life was drained out of every pore of your body. You didn’t want to do this anymore. Now, you wonder what drove you to do it in the first place. Be a medic for war. Be a healer. Battle death on a daily basis. Was it for money? For financial security? Or just to prove you were good? Save those who couldn't save themselves? Either way, you couldn’t handle it anymore. Not now. Not for a while or never, if you decide to put the white coat back on again.

“Where will you go?”

Zipping your backpack shut, you placed both hands flat on top of the table. It was the only support you had from collapsing into another painful cry, mourning for the death of your father. No headstone. No body. Hard to find a body when a bomb is dropped. Your eyes drifted up to see Shiro, your captain, your friend, the one who held you so the dark promise of grief didn't get a chance to consume you whole.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you be back?”

“I was discharged. I'm not coming back,” you spoke, emphasizing your dismissal.

“The war is over. Treaties were signed, now we’re just working on bringing soldiers back to their home. Are you sure - “

“Find another medic.”

He paused.

“Find another medic. I’m not doing this - ” your weary voice, once strong and dignified, now whispered, “I can’t do this.

Shiro’s silence spoke volumes, but nothing meant more to you than when he approached you with a soft, understanding gaze. He picked up your bag, the weight more unbearable than he could imagine, before gently handing it to you. And you took it. You took this burden, but he never wanted you to feel like you had to deal with it alone.

“I understand,” he pulled you in for a hug, “Take care of yourself out there. And if you need anything…”

You returned the hug, needing this more than you realized, “I’m sorry, Takashi.”

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize for anything, least of all this. Take your time. You deserve that much.”

You needed time to heal. And before you left through the tent, you turned to look back at  your dearest friend once more.

“Come find me after you’re back.”

“Cease fire! Cease fire! I surrender!”

You huddled behind your shield, barely large enough to defend yourself. Commander Mar was dead, as was most of his crew, and standing across from the battlefield were three people you didn't expect to see again. Three people who left with the Emperor on that fateful day months ago. All of them were equally wounded, exhausted, and still raging with the fiery spirit of battle.

“Zethrid!” Ezor’s pained scream echoed the hangar, gaining her ally’s full attention.

Immediately, the behemoth Galra rushed to her aid, hands out and unsure exactly how to help her friend. There was blood profusely gushing from Ezor’s thigh, entire leg now missing due to the recent battle. Axes were weapons not to be underestimated, a lesson she will ingrain in her mind well if she survived after this. Zethrid snarled as her thoughts became conflicted with worry, with hatred, with the burning will to seek revenge.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” she ordered Acxa, “Do it, now!”

Acxa’s options were limited, too. They always were in the heat of battle. Yes, the three of them managed to take down Commander Mar and his warriors, sans you. She was smart. She knew to leave the medic the last one standing because medics had moral obligations to their crew. You were no Galra doctor, you were human. Humans were susceptible to being compassionate.

“What are you waiting for? We have to get Ezor out of here!”

Take the fleet, hide in the deepest part of the galaxy, find someone who could aid Ezor, but...but she may not have the time. She may not survive. In her critical condition, none of them knew how to properly handle decapitated limbs, and the chances of living after such a fatal blow was already haunting the general. Acxa saw your gaze flicker to their wounded companion then back to her own steely glare.

“I can help her.”

Acxa gripped her gun tighter, barrel pointing directly at you as she pressed the lightest of pressure on the trigger.

“I can save her. You kill me now, she dies. It takes nearly three days to find the nearest planet. She doesn’t even have 30 minutes to live.”

Desperation. Acxa hated feeling desperate. All of them did. Hated leaving the fate of others in the hands of unknown, hated feeling powerless in the face of danger when their friends were concerned. Hated trusting Lotor to protect them and guide them like a good leader. You were on Lotor’s side, but he wasn’t here.

Acxa lowered her gun, signalling her consent for your aid, then you rushed to Ezor’s side while pulling out a syringe. It had an ominous, black liquid in it. You would never consider using this on her, but she was going to die, and the Witigue drug has been proven to bring back those on the brink of death.

You tugged the rope to pull your dingy into port. The wooden pier was nearly desolate of life except the spare few locals. All who initially hesitated at the mere sight of you, but took you in regardless, granting you a place to live among their home. Clear blue waters with equally clear blue skies. It was paradise, the place your father was born, far away from the city life and all it’s deadly toxicity.

No, not really toxic. Just the politics. Just the corruption.

“A fisherman, huh? Never took you for a fishing type.”

At that voice, that one voice you knew so well, your head shot up to see those familiar mirthful grey eyes staring straight at you. And that smirk, that smile that told you everything will be okay, everything is okay. It was infectious, incredibly infectious. You felt your lips and your heart smile at the mere sight of Shiro. He was here, your friend, he was really here.

“Captain - “ “Takashi. Don’t think I forgot that promise.”

You jumped off your boat and stumbled in front of him. His eyes took in all of you, from your humidified hair to your toes fitted in flip-flops. You looked healthy enough if that small laugh after his comment was anything to go by. Not even a second passed before he embraced you in his comforting arms, your own winding around his midsection in a tight hold.

“Takashi! What in blue blazes are you doing here? How did you even - “ you shook your head then took a step back, grinning at him with honest joy splashed over your face, “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“Thought I’d travel a bit, check in on you. I have to say, you picked a nice place to hide.”

You scoffed at the situational convenience of it all, knowing damn well he used some resource to seek you out. But he wasn’t wrong. This was a nice place to recover and, although you will never fully heal from the scars that the war left behind, you could say your body felt...better. Your mind, however, was a different thing altogether.

“It's a humble life, y’know. Fishing, selling, adapting to a new place. How about you? Where have you been living at now?”

“The Galaxy Garrison called me a year ago and I’ve been working on becoming a space explorer,” he saw the way your eyes lit up at that, “And sometimes I go to local schools to inspire young minds.”

“A space explorer, hm? What do you think you’ll find out there?”

“Honestly? I don't know. Guess I’ll find it when I go up there.”

You two chuckled at that, the familiar conversation refreshing you like time itself hadn’t even passed since the war. He was still Shiro, and you were still...you were still you. He had a good thing going for him and hearing the excitement in his voice when he spoke about it, well, it left you feeling elated for your friend.

“It really is good to see you again, Takashi. How long are you in town? No friend of mine is going to stay in a hotel when he can stay with me in my straw hut.”

Shiro would love nothing more than to stay and catch up on the recovering years. Share thoughts, share pains, share funny stories that happened while both of you were away from each other. But the twinge in his right hand, the tingling feeling in his fingertips, reminded him of the real reason why he was here.

“I’ll take you up on that hut for a few days. I’ve got to head back by the end of the week,” he explained before his expression slowly became solemn, “There’s...there’s something else, too.”

“Something else?” you asked, now your brows were knit in confusion, in wariness, “Something...good, I hope?”

Shiro sighed before pulling his right hand out of his pocket. At first, you saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, a twitch, followed shortly by a few uneven shakes, like he was shivering. That was all you needed to see before your wide eyes shot up to stare at him dead in the face. He couldn't possibly -

“I knew you’d hate me if I never told you - ” Shiro took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, “ - I’m sick. It’s...incurable.”

You dabbed a cloth over Zethrid’s eye to stop the bleeding and, to your surprise, she didn't even flinch. Her gaze was stuck on Ezor, her stump bandaged and her breathing stable, but she couldn’t bring herself to find a smidgen of relief. Even with you tending to her wounds, there were internal pains that you could not heal. That was out of your skill range. To comfort a victim of survivor’s guilt.

You grabbed a different cloth and soaked it in a blue liquid, squeezing out the excess medicine, “Keep this over your eye. I can’t save your sight, but this will soothe it and prevent infection until you are fully healed.”

Zethrid obeyed. Still numb, still in shock that you had actually managed to save Ezor. Deciding to leave the room so they could have a moment of silence, you saw Acxa follow you into the hallway. The crew that were still alive were tossed into holding cells and the only people controlling the ship were the three women before you. Acxa watched the way you dried your hands on a towel before you stuffed it back into your pocket.

“Who sent you?” she asked, straightforward and still hesitant on why you were helping them.

You don’t blame her. You would be just as suspicious.

“Haggar. She has sent fleets out in search of Emperor Lotor. I can only assume she wants him back so she can have another puppet to control on the throne.”

And you were not going to let that happen, but there was a sign of confusion flickering behind Acxa’s eyes at your statement. A bit of disbelief, as well. Though, she understands that if she and her generals returned to Haggar, things will not end up well for them. They would be tortured for days on end, or worse, killed. Not a fate she would allow to fall on Ezor and Zethrid.

“Lotor is dead and so is Voltron. Both of them disappeared into the Rift and have not returned after all this time. There is no Emperor anymore.”

“That’s...impossible. Both of them?” you repeated just to make sure the reality of the situation wasn't a lie, “Are you sure? How could you be sure?”

Both of the universe’s defenders were gone? No...no, no, this was worse. This was going to end terribly, not just for you, but for everyone. A thousand scenarios flashed through your head, already thinking about what will happen now. Not just after five years, but the entire future that would be left in ruins.

“We were stranded for a year with no sight of them. They aren’t coming back,” her eyes focused intensely on you, “And I’m not risking our lives by returning to Haggar.”

Ah. The thinly veiled threat.

“We have to find both of them. If not them, then Lotor. Only he could restore the Empire - “

“It is over. Lotor swore to wipe out the entire Galra Empire. All three of us heard it with our own ears,” her expression hardened in betrayal, “Even if he did return by some small miracle, I would not ally with him again. You’re on the wrong side here.”

You ran a hand through your hair, “And what side are you on?”

“Whatever side protects my crew.”

And now, what side were you on?

Part of you argued that there was no happy ending if you returned to Haggar empty handed. Part of you argued that your continued search would be fruitless now that Acxa explained both Lotor and Voltron were finished. And another part...another part of you argued to find another way. Don’t run, there has to be another way, there’s always another way. And if not? You MAKE your own way.

“Acxa,” you interrupted her thoughts, “Do you know where the Alteans are?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “You still look to bring him back? He isn’t right for the Empire.”

“Do you or do you not know?”

Silence. After a scrutinizing minute, a single nod.

And that small bit of hope was enough for you to keep trying to find the rightful ruler of the Galra Empire.

“Take me there. Do this, then we can part ways and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Then, Acxa added, “And you never tell Lotor about our survival, if you find him.”

“There was an interesting kid I met today,” Shiro spoke after swallowing his spoonful of cafeteria food.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He stole my car.”

Shiro always had a weird sense of humor, but it was humor nonetheless. You slowly raised a brow at him, of course expecting him to expand a bit on his story now that he had you hooked. Maybe you should have joined him today, just to get a breath of fresh air and see some new, young faces.

“Well?”

“Hm?” he asked, knowing damn well what you were asking.

“Takashi, you wouldn’t even let me drive that thing. It’s your ‘baby’ and you let an actual baby steal it from underneath your nose?”

Now, he laughed out loud, “Listen, I’m impressed he didn’t crash and injure himself.”

“What’s the little thief’s name?”

“Keith. Keith Kogane,” another scoop of food, “If he joins, I’m going to be his guardian.”

A guardian, huh? Fitting, you suppose, for someone like him. Shiro seemed proud, encouraged even, and a little bit of his light shined on you. Even with his illness, he had more moments of happiness than impending doom. You respected that about him. Part of you wondered if you, too, would one day be rid of your own personal grief.

The Galra ship landed on the docking station, kicking up dust and debris from all around. Acxa’s code given to enter the base went through, but you knew that Lotor was one to have at least two means of security. You knew he wouldn’t put all his trust in one person. He always had a back up plan somewhere, somehow, and years of living as an exiled Prince no doubt ingrained that in him.

Three. There were three Alteans who approached you and Acxa when crossing to the entrance of the mountain. Each of them were equipped with a shield much like your own and a broadsword, one you recall Lotor training with long ago. Shields up, weapons prepared, it put Acxa on edge. It put you on edge, so much so that you summoned your own shield for protection.

“Who are you?”

“How did you find this place?” “Where is Lotor?”

You studied each of them, taking in their marks, their hair, their skin. Warriors, defenders. These were the protectors of the base. It...it was a true sight to behold. Lotor succeeded. He achieved in saving Alteans from extinction, something everyone doubted was even possible considering Zarkon’s wickedness. He saved a part of his history, his culture, when no one else could have. 

He succeeded where the Princess failed.

“We do not wish to fight,” you announced, hoping they obeyed the diplomacy first rule, “I - We need your help. Lotor needs your help.”

At Lotor’s name, they immediately lowered their guard as a grave expression fell upon their faces.

“You have news of Lotor’s disappearance?” one of the men asked as he stepped forward, “Where is our leader? Has...Has he been captured?”

The other two murmured under their breath, dreading the worst. Of course they knew about the Galra Empire. Of course they knew of Zarkon. Of course they knew of the exiled Prince. And of course they knew the danger he was in, they all were in. If their leader was caught, then they would do what they must to ensure his survival. They were not idiots sitting around with twiddling thumbs. 

They know damn well about the war.

Now, your lowered the shield completely, your own face grim at the news you were about to share, “Lotor is missing. I need your help finding him.”

“Captain, how do we know they are not spies? I’ve never seen that one with Lotor before,” the other soldier asked, hinting at Acxa.

“We are not spies. I am a medic that aided in healing Lotor and she is - “ you paused, unsure of the actual relationship between Acxa and Lotor, “She was part of his...crew. What can I do to prove it to you?”

The leader of the trio’s stare bore into your shield. The shape of it was the same and the stance you held was similar to their own. Their battle culture was once lost to time, generations of hiding and fleeing reduced their numbers, and the knowledge was wiped out. Lotor was the one who retaught it to them. Only Lotor knew about them.

“If you aren’t a spy, then you will need to prove it through combat.”

There was a soft knock at your door, followed by a “Hey, it’s me.”

“Me” being Shiro. Of course you let him in your room. It was impeccably clean and equally as bland save for one memento. A picture: old, wrinkled, the edges torn and frayed—showing how long it has stood against the test of time. It was you and Shiro in your old military outfits. Typical soldier uniform for him and a white medic coat for you. Dirtied cheeks and tired eyes, but both of you were smiling. Hopeful for the future.

“Ready for tomorrow’s launch?”

“Are you?”

“Waited all my life for this moment,” he sat on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees and hands entwined with each other, “I wanted to thank you...again. For coming with us. For all this.”

“You know, the more I thought about it, the more I’m surprised I am even...here. It’s hard to believe, actually. I’m a pilot. I’m back to being a medic. I’m healing and I think...I think that’s what my father would’ve wanted for me in life.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear you even mention your father after all these years of avoiding the topic. He was careful to talk about your deceased dad, even more so when your mother was involved. You never told him about her and he never pushed to know. To hear you open up, well, it...shocked him. He always hoped to be a good influence to you, a good partner, a good friend.

“I should be the one thanking you, Takashi.”

Oh, he was humbled. You gave him a honest smile, one full of fondness and appreciation. Grateful that he stuck around and helped you start walking again, step by step. Where would you be without him? Fishing, living a humble life, never returning to heal the wounded. Takashi showed you that there was something better out there for you. All you had to do was see it.

“What do you think will be up there?” you gazed out the window, night stars twinkling promises of a new future for you.

“I don’t know - ” Shiro’s eyes reflected the midnight sky, “but it’s going to be amazing.”

[teruthecreator]

💘 for macknerva!!

anon, you are a genius. you’ve basically just sent the magical question that has now unlocked for the world: macknerva origin story (bc honestly i realized i just start posting abt it without rlly explaining it??? and someone people are loving it??? so thank yall for being my ultimate favs but u deserve this origin) 

also this is several days late (thank u Depression) and also super long (thank u Dumb Brain) so i hope you can forgive me for both of these things   

💘: who developed a crush on the other first? 

it’s time we take it back....Back To The Start.  

so since this is my magical world of My Own Personal Canon (since i stole griffin mcelroys rights), minerva ends up in Kepler in a completely unnamed and not talked abt manner (bc im too tired to explain my general alternate theory hgkgldlgbfhke but busically she just got on a ship to earth to avoid dying) and is staying with duck until further notice. she doesn’t mind laying low at duck’s apartment until they’re able to figure out Everything and get her set up w a place of her own (spoiler alert: that never happens, but duck won’t admit he just misses having a roommate so they let it slide). 

after about a month (which feels like eons in minerva’s mind), she starts to get antsy. she’s already been introduced to the pine guard and amnesty lodge, by this point, so she’s constantly trying to hang out with someone so she isn’t stuck in duck’s apartment all hours of the day. 

which is how minerva ends up in the cryptonomica the day kirby has to run into his job at the theatre for a good portion of the day. it’s pretty empty in the shop--i mean museum, so it’s not like ned minds (plus him and mack have already struck up an agreement, which i explained in a previous post abt ned and macks friendship) especially when minerva’s around to willingly pick up the slack. 

but this second job has minerva curious: 

minerva: I assumed your assistant, Kirby, had only the singular position at your museum?  ned, from behind the counter: Oh, for a while he did, but then the theatre opened up and his services were needed elsewhere. And who am I, Ned “Theatrical” Chicane, to deny such a marvelous establishment of the skills and technical prowess Kirby possesses?”  minerva: Oh? A theatre, you say? 

here comes some random personal hc: on her homeworld, minerva was involved in her planet’s form of theatre (which i’ve always pictured to be very greek-esque, thus explaining her naturally booming voice) and absolutely adored it as a hobby. she, obviously, understands there will be a difference between Earthen theatre and the theatre she once performed; but there is no denying that that thought barely crossed her mind as she proceeded to pester ned about the theatre until he suggested she get a part-time job there. 

(ned knows mack’s struggles with keeping hires at the theatre, which is why he is quick to suggest minerva get a job there. that, and ned knows enough abt mack at this point to pretty accurately guess her Type. so let’s just say ned was doing this for both macks gain, but also for his gain to be able to harass her abt her hot new employee that he totally inflicted on her on purpose) 

ned probably brings it up later that night, or the next day. just really casually drops that he has someone interested in a position at the theatre:

mack: Holy fuck--yes, Ned! Tell them they’re hired!!! What can they do?   ned: Hmmmmm, well she’s quite fit, and has no qualms with getting her hands dirty.  mack: Oh, perfect! I need some more set builders! Thanks a whole lot, Ned. I knew you’d always have my back.  ned, knowing full well what he’s just wrought: Oh, of course, dear Mackerel. Anything for a friend! 

cue the next day: mack is just going about the theatre, business as usual, staying sort of close to the house doors so she can be Right There when ned comes in with the new hire. she’s faced away from the doors, checking something on her phone (probably her texts with ned, to see if he’s arrived yet) when she hears the doors open and shut. mack turns around to witness the Hottest Woman She Has Ever Seen In Her Goddamn Life. 

she’s tall--holy shit is she tall--with beautiful dark skin painted with these almost glowing blue tattoos that travel all the way across powerful arms and a prominent collarbone. but the tattoos don’t stop there, of course they don’t. they go all the way up to this woman’s bald head, perfectly framing her beautiful face. high cheekbones, strong chin, a wonderful nose (mack doesn’t have much of a preference for noses but this one is perfect she just knows it), masterfully-carved eyebrows that look like they were chiseled out of stone, and those enchanting, bright, beautiful bright blue eyes.  

mack’s brain basically short-circuits once minerva smiles at her (with those pearly white teeth and a grin so inviting it feels like her whole heart is melting), so she’s barely able to process the smug ned beside minerva. 

@goforduck drew this scene for me a while back and imma show it to u all bc i love him, his art, and the hot takes he gives my special lil ship: 

needless to say, mack Is Attracted, but i wouldn’t necessarily consider it a crush. meanwhile, minerva’s pov, she’s so damn excited for this job that she’s practically vibrating on the way in. and then, like romantic poetic would have it, all of that energy halts as time stands still and minerva locks eyes with....mack.  

mack definitely looks a little disheveled, but it’s like every fly-away hair crowns her head like a halo as those gemstones-for-eyes lock w minerva. she’s never seen someone she has felt so immediately attracted to in her life. but, that being said, she still does not Have A Crush. 

so after all the awkward blustering (AKA mack tripping over every eighth word as minerva turns on the Charm to keep that blush on mack’s freckled face) mack starts to get minerva accustomed to the work environment and the tasks she’d need to do. eventually, she hands minnie off to kirby bc shes got work to do, and the rest of the day goes by uneventfully. 

now minerva works at the theatre, and she’s Delighted w it. the job is easy but entertaining, she’s making friends, her knowledge of the world is expanding, and she now has a target for some very playful flirting and obvious showing-off of her muscles. because, listen....she has Eyes. she Knows mack always blusters whenever she’s around. and she knows herself, too. mack is cute and minerva likes making her blush. but there hasn’t been that moment where things are taken seriously.  

until about a month in, when minerva walks into something she maybe shouldn’t have but also definitely should have. 

you see, mack has a very important ritual in the morning. she arrives at the theatre at the absolute ass crack of dawn so she can get her yoga/stretching/vocal warmups in (since she is still a performer at heart and this has been her routine since college) and then sit by herself on the stage just sorta soaking it all in before kirby comes in with her coffee (which she needs in order to get up from her seated position on the stage bc she is that much of a coffee addict). just about every employee on staff knows not to even bother coming in this early bc 1. this ritual is very Private and Sacred to mack and 2. ur not even gonna be able to speak to her unless ur kirby w her coffee. 

“just about” encompasses every employee except for minerva, who decides to show up before kirby to bring mack her coffee (that she memorized after cornering kirby for the specifics one day) 

so she comes in the back entrance and is sort of at a loss as to where mack may be bc she doesn’t know mack’s routine. and she’s just kinda wandering aimlessly through all the shops and little rooms until she reaches the wings, where she hears the gentle strumming of a guitar. 

she approaches, with all the caution of a woman who has spent years mastering the art of stealth along w her combat studies, and comes upon the following scene: 

mack is seated in the exact center of the stage, eyes shut peacefully as her body sways to the tempo of the song she’s strumming on the guitar she’s playing (which minerva recognizes as the guitar that some idiot pit member left here about two weeks ago). she’s singing (the song is Dream A Little Dream of Me), and her voice is so soft yet so resonate that minerva feels as if she could stand right next to her or be 1000 feet away and hear the exact same thing. and she sounds so good, so completely in the song she’s performing and in her contentedness that it eases some subconscious unease minerva was holding. in the time minerva’s known mack, it’s the most natural she’s ever heard or seen her, just playing for an invisible audience in the dim lights of a theatre not yet awakened. 

minerva doesn’t realize she’s drifting closer to mack until she steps on an uneven plank, and the noise snaps mack out of her little world as she turns to the noise. needless to say, she’s a little surprised that minerva’s here this early, but then minerva wordlessly hands her her coffee and so mack could care less. she accepts the drink w a smile and then decides to go to her office to get started on some business emails. 

it isn’t until mack has already left the stage, and minerva is still stuck in the same position she was when she handed mack her coffee--heart racing a million miles a minute, face hot, and stomach feeling as if an entire colony of butterflies suddenly took refuge there--that minerva realizes that she is Endlessly, Hopelessly Fucked In Love. 

So yeah, TLDR; Minerva was first. 

[thorbruceweek-blog]

Alphabet Magnets (Two Boyfriends for the Price of One)

Day 2: Height Difference

5 times Thor loves their height difference and one time Thor REALLY loves their height difference.

There wasn’t much to it in the beginning, really. Thor just started noticing these little moments that wouldn’t have any deeper meaning for anyone else, but of course, Thor was able to connect the dots quickly. Everything was always quick for him when it came to Bruce.

i

The first time Thor noticed it, they were at Peter’s graduation ceremony. (Tony had decided to reserve a whole row of seats for the Avengers, reasoning that it would be fun to stick it to all the assholes who spent four years terrorizing his protege. He refused to admit - though everyone knew - that he was really just doing whatever he could to make Peter smile brighter than the sun as he walked up on stage.) They were sitting next to each other, silently enjoying one another’s presence as students walked up to receive their diplomas. The L’s had just started, and everyone smiled when Peter’s friend Ned was called up and Peter cheered enthusiastically.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man who was at least six-foot-four ran into the seating area in a panic and settled into the chair directly in front of Bruce.

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?” Bruce muttered under his breath.

Of course, Thor heard him and was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong,” he asked, turning his full attention to Bruce, honestly and truly expecting the worst possible situation.

“It’s nothing, hun, I’m fine. I just can’t see now that this giant is sitting right in front of me. Even as a grown man, I still have this problem…”

Thor’s face brightened immediately and he gave Bruce a small smile. “Is that it? Come on, you can have my seat.” With this, Thor simply stood up and motioned for Bruce to move over to the newly vacated chair. Once he caught on - bless his heart; the poor guy was still figuring out how to respond to the many genuine acts of service he received from Thor - Bruce slid over, all the while staring directly at Thor’s magnanimous smile. Thor sat back down next to Bruce, looping a comforting arm around his shoulder in the process. “Better now?”

Without even turning his head away from Thor’s face to reassess his field of vision, Bruce just nodded. “Yeah, uh. Thanks.”

Tony interjected a sarcastic “Why don’t you just sit on his lap?” which made Bruce blush, and that was that.

ii

Thor found Bruce in his office one night, clearly exhausted and obviously stumped beyond measure. He frowned a little (because his boyfriend should never be in that state), walked over to Bruce, and greeted him by brushing his hands along his shoulders, kneading into the muscles near his neck. Bruce honest-to-god moaned, like something out of a porno, which went directly to Thor’s dick, and he scrambled for something to think about to stop the rush of blood to his groin - evil sea monsters? an old lady in a robe? Korg?

Thankfully, Bruce interrupted Thor’s destructive imagination by complaining, “This data is just impossible to understand. I’ve run every kind of analysis I can think of, and it still doesn’t make any sense.” He groaned, crossing his arms on his desk and dropping his head onto them. “I know there has to be a pattern to it, but I just don’t understand what that could be.”

Thor reached to run his fingers through Bruce’s unruly hair; brushed back a lock that was hanging over his face. “May I suggest you take a break for the night?” he asked, knowing there was a 98 percent chance Bruce would decline.

Bruce groaned painfully - a sound that broke Thor’s heart a little - and responded, “No, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep without figuring it out, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Thor deliberated for a moment. “How about a hug?”

“A what?”

“A hug! You always tell me I give spectacular hugs.”

Bruce spun around in his chair at that, looking into Thor’s eyes to see if he was messing around. He clearly found the answer he needed, and shrugged with a sheepish look on his face. “I guess it couldn’t hurt?”

“Perfect,” Thor responded, as he promptly grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and hauled him up to his feet, crushing him into Thor’s own chest.

Bruce stood still for a few seconds, apparently overwhelmed at how fast Thor had managed to do that, before he resigned himself to reaching his arms up around Thor’s neck and resting his forehead against his chest. Thor moved his arms to Bruce’s torso, pulling his beloved even tighter against his body. Their position allowed for Bruce’s head to be directly under Thor’s chin, and the very much taller man revelled in the feeling of Bruce’s nose pushed against Thor’s shirt, his breath coming out in slow, hot bursts, his curls tickling Thor’s jaw.

When Bruce yawned loudly and openly, Thor held back a cheer before wordlessly tugging a grumbling scientist to bed.

iii

The third time it happened, Thor knew he had a problem.

It was a thursday morning. He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper - an activity for which he had developed a liking simply because it made him feel like a real human - when Bruce trudged in from their bedroom, burnt out from the previous day’s mission and still not quite reacclimated to his human body. He beelined straight for the Keurig once he cleared the hall, a movement which had Thor smiling and setting the paper down in favor of greeting Bruce for the day.

He came up behind Bruce where he’d rested against the counter - simply placing his gigantic hands on Bruce’s shoulders and letting out a “Good morning, my beloved,” his go-to greeting as of the last few weeks.

Bruce whined and then reluctantly gave Thor a “Good morning” in return. Thor just chuckled at his crabby genius and gave him a kiss on the head before turning to return to his seat.

He made it almost all the way before he heard Bruce - very angrily, and to no one in particular - ask, “Where is my mug?”

Thor frowned and his eyebrow probably crinkled as he responded, “Well, the last time I saw it, Strange was putting the dishes away - not so much manually, but through magic. It actually looked quite magnificent, like something out of that movie we watched the other night… What was it…”

“Beauty and the Beast?” Bruce helpfully supplied, though he was still clearly annoyed.

“Yes, exactly! Anyway, I believe Stark asked him to put one of them on the highest shelf, and I have no clue why, but-” Thor trailed off once he saw Bruce’s face and realized he understood exactly why Tony might make such a request - like, just perhaps, to piss off one Doctor Bruce Banner. “Oh.”

The veins on Bruce’s neck started to turn green as he looked up to the top shelf of the mug cabinet and, sure enough, saw his mug sitting there, right on the edge.

Thor mentally freaked out for only a moment before he rushed back over to crowd Bruce against the counter - oh boy - and reach around him, grabbing the mug and setting it on the counter in front of him in one fluid motion. When he again put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and could feel the pulse thrumming beneath the skin, he realized how much of an impact this height thing might have had upon both of them. And, yeah, when he peeked around to look at Bruce’s face, he realized it was definitely very red rather than green.

iv

The fourth time was simple but nonetheless overwhelming, and it definitely added to Thor’s feeling of well-and-truly-fucked-ness.

They were lying on the couch late at night, and Thor couldn’t actually tell whether or not Bruce was asleep, but they were both breathing evenly, and Thor’s hand was running along Bruce’s back, and they were both very much at peace.

He felt Bruce stir, accommodating for the movement while guiding Bruce’s head, and successfully managed to rest his chin directly on top of the matted curls that created a halo atop Bruce’s angelic face. Thor once again revelled in this sensation, loving how Bruce completely came apart within his grasp, the way only he was able to hold Bruce like this; to love him and protect him.

He had no clue how much time went by as he simply wrapped himself around Bruce and enjoyed their proximity, but it was long enough for him to fall into a deep sleep, never once letting go of the man he loved so much.

In the morning, they were both greeted by a printed photo of them stuck to the refrigerator with three colored alphabet magnets that spelled gay.

v

Thor had decided to stop pretending his problem wasn’t really a problem. He had accepted it. It felt truly freeing to admit to himself that he had quite a strong fixation, and he decided not to let himself feel shameful over it - because it was nothing to be ashamed about! It was a perfectly normal, healthy obsession with the difference between his height and Bruce’s! Not that weird! Everyone has gotten a little light-headed and a little too turned on when they noticed their partner’s lesser stature at some point or another! It’s simply human nature! And Thor definitely knew enough about human behavior to know this!

So, yeah. He had decided the time of hiding was over. The next time he saw Bruce, he was going to confront this issue rather than concealing it, and that would give him the opportunity to overcome it. He was sure of this.

That’s how he found himself ambushing Bruce as he turned a corner, pushing him up against a bare wall - certainly confronting the Height Difference Thing.

“Oh my god, Thor, what are you doing?” Bruce whisper-shouted, a behavior that often presented itself when Thor was being inappropriate.

“I’ve noticed the difference in our heights many times recently, and I have come to understand that I enjoy it… Quite a lot.”

That left Bruce nearly speechless; he went bright red immediately and simply said, “Oh.”

“Furthermore,” Thor continued, trying his best to sound Reasonable and Smart, “I believe that you may also enjoy it.” At this, he started mouthing along down Bruce’s neck, inciting a whimper from the smaller man. “I think this is worth exploring, don’t you?”

Bruce was almost completely unable to respond to this, but somehow, he was able to squeak out a “Yeah.”

They were against that wall for quite a while. And then in the bedroom. And then the shower.

vi

The other time it happened, Thor was not expecting it at all. It was a completely different feeling. It truly blindsided him, and at the same time, it was the best moment of them all.

They had just finished taking down (read: completely obliterating) a clandestine Hydra base, and just as they were double checking the rubble to make sure nothing of use had remained, Thor felt himself lifted off the ground, completely swept off of his feet and tossed into the air like a hacky sack. Before he could properly register what it was that did this to him, he landed in the largest, greenest, most comfortable arms he had ever seen.

He looked up and saw Hulk smirking down at him, and just like that, he had developed a whole new Height Difference Thing.

Also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539616

[kisuminight]

Steel in my soul. There must be, to resist that screeching song. If she didn’t hold out, hold on until—the floor dragged down in relentless quagmire, and her heart was ripped from her chest, and how could she have forgotten that even the hardest of metals could brittle and snap?

No. This was wrong, this lure was wrong, and steel was steel, sharded or not. And there were people who needed her, children sheltering under refuge she provided. If it touched her this badly, what would it do to untrained minds?

This Threshold is mine. You will not cross.

She could see them; the threads appeared as dark fire even before they tangled each other reaching for the open door, snagging the door frame in the dance to find a way in without brushing against the protective boundary. Sparks, an arc of lightning as the malicious spirit tread too close and lost one of those feelers in the backlash. Along with the burning corrosion came choked whimpers, and dry sobs that had long-ago run out of tears.

Steel. She must. But, come quickly Rubii, Jeid, before my powers give out entirely. Maybe a human could hold this type of barrier with a twist of will alone, but she was so very tired….

It wasn’t going to make a difference anyway. Her friends would never arrive in time, and even that word stood as an inadequate descriptor of the only two people to have earned the label. She should just give in, because it wasn’t as though they were any different—

Wrong. That’s wrong. Be steel. Protect her people. Jeid had given an order, set forth a task, and he never asked the impossible. He knew no one else could achieve it, so she was merely assigned the improbable, and only because he cared. Easy, no, but steel was possible.

Silly girl, with far too much faith for one so often betrayed. Steel broke, had broken, and it was a fool’s belief that there was any expectation for her other than failure—

“Get out of my head.” Startled movement on two fronts: those cowering behind as they remembered what protected them from whom, mirrored by the reflexive flinch as mental doors of stone slammed down on grasping finger tips.

“Get out of my head.” Repeated for the vindictive pleasure of threads cringing away. Repeated, to make it real against the confusing onslaught of ideas that weren’t her own, that buffeted and battered; none could be trusted, not when she wasn’t alone in her own thoughts. Anything so freely given was inherently suspect, and to allow an opinion courted death.

Be steel. No! Jeid was not the same. Had never been the same; Jeid cared.

And I don’t?

Keep the Threshold. The barrier must stay intact. Fight the invader, save the children, rescue a civilization. Just like the story books and bedtime tales, good triumphing over evil. So very simple.

But who is the good one here? “Monster.” She hadn’t said that, so who-? No, it didn’t matter what the demon thought, when-? …That voice had come from behind her.

Too late, she saw the black-fire strands in her peripheral vision, saw the dull gleam of light off the kitchen knife rising steadily in the too-small hands of the already-damned seven-year-old. Red markings bled from eyes, mouths, wrists, and the unseen heart; a cursed death for an innocent soul, a doomed eternity. All her fault.

“So sorry, Jeid.” She didn’t have grand technical abilities and unmatchable genius, or the unparalleled defense that could switch imperceptibly to a devastating offense. No, she’d always been the one running, and she’d never been caught. It was so easy to dance to the side, add a little push to increase momentum and send the charging body out the open portal and into the nest of threads.

It hurt worse than the stinging needles of frostbite. I promised to protect them. Surveying those crouched figures, she saw no more possessions. But did it already have him, or had it been a slip of concentration? I didn’t even know his name.

Well, that just made it all the harder for it to get itself invited back in. Disinviting is also problematic, without a Name. That was Rubii-logic, never content in ignorance.

Where are they? They promised to come!

In some religions, despair was a sin. She didn’t quite know what to think when the topic of gods came up. Trusting another to control her life, the existence of Fate… those weren’t things she assigned to higher power. Still, her head bent in prayer: it wouldn’t hurt their chances.

A fist sent ripples out across mirrored light. Arrive soon. Please.

 “We need to hurry.” Not that this wasn’t a reasonable pace, but who could fault Rubii for wanting to push it a bit? Her instincts weren’t screaming yet, but there was a yet.

“I trust that she can handle herself.” A flick of crystalline claws waved the worry aside. “It’s hardly something she’s incapable of. Pushing boundaries allows us to become stronger.” A rolling, in-step shrug, “You worry too much.”

“Not when there’s a difference between exploring limits and drowning in the deep end. How can you tell she’s not in over her head?” Even asking, Rubii felt tired, and almost caustically hoped Jeid would misstep so she could snap back at him, yell and shout, because how dare he act like this when their was a very real possibility that their friend was dying, and she’d always been far too conscientious even before learning that wish was a problem.

The gates boomed shut, yet Rubii’s migraine didn’t abate. Which meant “Jeid, be more careful about what you project.”

Tromping boots stopped, and Rubii met his confused blink before the practiced motion of adjusting glasses wiped it away. “I’m not. Why do you think so?” A quick check, not reaching needed… he wasn’t.

“I’m still reading.” What was she reading. Hunger, blood-on-walls, black hair a saint’s corrupted halo as the protector was ripped apart by—

Horrified, she snapped the connection, calling up Mystic Sight. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. How far could it be when the barest echoes had influenced Rubii even beyond the town’s barrier? And the description….

Blues eyes, bloody tears, mine to play with and toy with and—

No! “We’re running.” A gasp to send air whooshing into paralyzed lungs, not even trying to keep the accusing tone manageable. “Now.” Wind to out backs and wings to out feet, let us make it in time.

 She couldn’t tell how much time had passed. This building, built to stand against the howling rage of the winter thundersnows could not be collapsed to destroy the Threshold. At the same time, the only light provided came from candles already burning low; several guttered, casting twisted shadows across huddled figures.

I should put that out. There was still air flowing in, enough to breathe… for now. A light of hope was wonderful, and it would certainly help the civilians, but it wouldn’t be so difficult to shut doors, to seal the room, if there was a physical presence behind the magic.

Another impact flashed sparks into the darkened stairwell, and she shivered with the force of it. Right, that was why. It was an unnerving situation even on the brightest of noons; the semi-darkness that congealed in the corners and people’s faces was almost too much. In utter blackness… the people would break, just as surely as if she’d let the monster in. And it’s my job to protect them.

The thought burned in her mind, a brilliant flame to combat the creeping darkness that numbed her, even now. It wasn’t enough. First there’d been pain, but now there was nothing, nothing where her hands and feet had been, and the feeling was creeping upward with the tenacity of poison ivy.

It’ll be fine. They’re coming. A certainty, not a want strong enough to shade to desire, she didn’t want to hurt Rubii, cause her to leave, to run… I’m selfish. Jeid was a shooting star of a genius, and Rubii a passing comet, already out of reach. In trying to keep up with hem, she was simply dragging them down. There was no hope of ever catching up with them, no possibility of standing on equal footing, no choice left, save to—

“Out, I told you!” The newly rekindled fury lashed out, the Threshold crackling with restrained power as it lit up, a visible barrier between the two worlds, mortal and supernatural. “Light must stay in light, dark must return to dark. These people are mine to guard, and so I will. Get ye gone, beast!”

White fire blazed, a corona of gold light slashing out, reducing every taint within ten paces of the Threshold.

“Oh,” she murmured, swaying under the rush of light-headedness. Black spots danced before her eyes, bits of void in already too-dark surroundings.

“…Did you mean it?” Came the quiet, desperate question. “That you will… p-protect us?” Well, yes. Why wouldn’t she? Jeid had given her this task, after all.

“Only because he told you to?” Oh, had she said that aloud? And of course she was here because Jeid said—if she hadn’t been told to stay, she’d have gone travelling with he and Rubii. …But then the village would’ve been slaughtered.

“Exactly! So why would a Living Saint follow in the blighted footsteps of a Darkened Lord?” Jeid wasn’t evil! She wasn’t any kind of Holy One, though Rubii might be—she was nice like that. But Jeid had never been anything but kind to her. How could such a nice person be considered a monster?

“You glowed,” was the accusation. “Like a star. And you weaponized a defensive barrier.” The girl-child was standing now, a scowl painted across her face. She regarded her face with confusion, unaware of where this was going.

Crack!

Sparks danced about the doorway, and the force of the blow drove her to her knees. Screams rang out among the huddled forms, and the upstart speaker dropped back among them. Black-fire threads impacted again, and she bared her teeth in a feral grin as she rolled with the blows, ripples flowing over the Threshold’s surface.

Steel in my soul. You will never get them. The dark spots were back and growing into a void which would soon consume her entire field of vision. “I promised Jeid.” Never.

Bell chimes, as a silver blade wreathed in clouds as air rushed around the super-cooled metal. Sparks blazed into caged lightning, crashing back along searching tendrils. That... wasn’t me.

“Saffere!” Night crashed down.

 He wondered what impression the villagers received, as he knelt beside his foolish… companion. The girl was too brave by half, and it seemed that even exposure via their far-reaching travels had yet to allow some worldly experience to leak into that stubborn head.

“Rubii,” he called a reminder to their current defender. She normally knew well enough not to cross that final line, but this was an exceptional situation. Saffere had never been stupid enough to get hurt before, after all.

Drawing back up to his feet, Jeid carded his fingers through the air, gathering residual magic to form a crackling javelin of darkness. Turning on his heel, he advanced towards the little problem. Anxiously, Rubii fell back; it was only as he lashed out with his fury that she finally did the smart thing and went to attend Saffere—maybe she’d also make herself useful and calm the tittering “victims.”

A sweep of power shattered encroaching tendrils, and he sneered at the thing. “Go.” The stab caught the main body where it hid, so cowardly that the working was carried out over a distance, obscured by layers of protection spells, as if that would save it. Disgustingly weak, even Saffere could’ve dealt with it if she hadn’t been shackled to mewling, useless idiots.

“You would steal the Saint from her people? Her destiny?” Oh, not that drivel again. It’d better not be contagious, because if Saffere lost what little advantage she had over these peons, he might be driven to drastic measures.

“Saint?” Jeid sneered, “More like slave. I’m not going to let your little religion steal another person from me.” Biting and sharp, the magic came to his call, black lightning rolling thunder off the copper decorations, dazzling the occupants with reflected blades of light. “You shouldn’t test my patience.”

“Saffere will recover better closer to a node,” Rubii informed the room at large with a faintly disapproving air. The pain would’ve been unseen to the villagers, but Jeid had trained to see every nuanced detail of living expression, for all that most of it still made no sense.

Fools, the lost of them. If they wanted his good graces, they should stop acting as unrelenting tormentors. “Of course. You know the way to the Aerie.” No one will blame you if you leave, Rubii. Well, no one important. And I’ll thank you for removing Saffere from the line of fire.

Not that anyone here had their weapons, or even any magical skill. Still, words would be impossible to avoid, and Saffere was soft enough to care about such things. If she woke up, that is.

“Don’t get too excited.” Jeid sneered. “Get above yourself, and you’ll regret it. If she dies….” Well, they were aware enough of what might happen if he got too distraught. Going near the Aerie was already forbidden to them, and they wouldn’t break that rule. They weren’t brave enough (not like poor, innocent, dying—)

He’d have to keep Saffere close, later. When she woke up. At least until the religious fervor died down.

 I failed. Mind blanketed by soft down, Saffere slept. And dreamed. Failed. I failed Jeid. After he’d already done so much to protect her, to save her from the horrors brought on by other people.

And then she’d gone and failed even that task. After all, if she’d been assigned to protect them, surely the people couldn’t be that bad. After all, that was the village Jeid had been born in.

“Don’t be a fool, I broke my ties to that place long ago,” a hand brushed Saffere’s forehead, gloriously cool as it played with her bangs. Sharp, ice green eyes met her own, studiously indifferent. Jeid’s face looked carefully blank, and Saffere almost worried that he really was mad, no matter what he’d said.

What happened? But it came out as a pitiful wheeze that croaked a miserable death in her throat. Fingers tried to clench, but instead felt stiff and clumsy; the mere attempt to move sent pain racing across and through everything.

Ow.

“Of course it hurts,” Jeid murmured softly. “What were you thinking, idiot?” Oh. He really was mad. Would he stop being her friend now? What if he banished her from the Aerie? Well no, that was a given at this point. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want—no. Rubii. She needed to control herself, or she’d hurt Rubii, and then Jeid would be worse than mad.

“What do you think I could do if you had died?” Jeid was demanding of Saffere now, and what? That made no sense, not Jeid sounding hurt-and-worried-and-protective. “I can’t reverse death, Saffere, no matter what you may have heard on the matter.”

The hand moved to stroking down her hair, gentle and rhythmic. This was… nice. It’d never happened before, and Saffere couldn’t help but feel muzzily dismayed. Jeid wouldn’t act like this if she got injured deliberately or otherwise messed up; in fact, Jeid would be unhappy, to say the least.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Jeid told her. “Go back to sleep.” Saffere hummed at him softly. Jeid was right (as always!), she felt exhausted. But what happened? The scrambled memories of lashing fire, ringing silver, and hysterical screams shadowed her waking mind and it was easy enough to recognize (from the way it loomed and tangled with her thoughts, the way it struck and reinvented itself into new horrors every time her focus strayed) how they would change and morph into a haunting that shredded dreams and stole rest.

Except Jeid wouldn’t be here if there was still danger, would he? No, that’s a stupid thought. The entire world was dangerous as a default. It was survival of the fittest, and Saffere wasn’t particularly fit at the moment. But Jeid was here. Nothing would cross Jeid; he even scared way the physical nightmares of the world, so why would the simple dreams be any different?

Greatly comforted, Saffere slept.

 “I suppose you really don’t need a cat,” Rubii mused as she touched down on the balcony. Clearly she was feeling better if she was bothering to attempt teasing him, even if he didn’t understand the reference chosen. “No ‘welcome back’ for me?”

“Welcome back,” Jeid parroted sardonically; it wasn’t as if there was anything urgent needing his attention, now was there?

“You’re not doing it right!” Rubii cried dramatically. “Oh, stop making that face! You’re supposed to ask how I am, if it went well… you know, normal, human reactions?” Jeid’s face didn’t look any different from normal, he was sure.

“If it had gone badly, you’d be unhappy.” Not that she was pleased, exactly, but it was more of a residual anger that a flare-up from some moron from the village demanding that Saffere be handed over to be brutalized until she fell in line and sacrificed herself like a good little martyr.

“Not badly, no,” Rubii admitted. “But they’ve gone and convinced themselves you’re evil.” Again. Not that he could see why that worried her. After all,

“They’ve always though that. It’s just easier to forget I exist when we stay at the Aerie. It’s not as though they can actually do anything.” None of them were that good with weapons, and he’d been the only one with any magic to ever come out of the place.

“And when they start summoning the Church to deal with you?” Please, as if nobody had tried that before. It’d be easy to deal with, as it always was. Certainly, he shouldn’t get cocky, but that would require actual innovation on their parts, and the very system the Church preached denied that on the most basic of levels. Rubii knew how impressed he was by them, and the fact that she’d bothered to bring it up at all…

“See, this is why they think you’re and Evil God-Sorcerer,” Rubii snapped, before dropping her shoulders into a liquid slouch the Church would call insolent. “You need more exposure, Jeid. People go crazy from isolation. Legitimately crazy, not whatever you have fun with every time you have to interact with somebody.”

“Exposure to what? Other humans? Other humans are criminally stupid, with the inanest thoughts. Excepting Saffere.” Jeid caught that smirk and frowned. Time to nip whatever she was plotting at the bud, before she got any ideas, “and if Saffere was exposed to others before she was settled, they’d infect her too. As it is, she’s only got a marginal advantage above everybody else in that she didn’t allow her curiosity to get stamped out, but she’s unfortunately reckless.”

“What you call reckless, I call bravery. Without it, she wouldn’t have come searching for you.” A toss of silvery hair, expression indulgent. “And how do you think Saffere would like you, ah, dealing with whoever they send after you this time?”

“Considering how much training she’ll need to learn to improve herself, given how she handled the incident, I should think she’ll be too busy studying to take much notice, and I’m sure I can explain anything she does notice in a satisfactory manner.” Jeid did not like the look Rubii was sporting, not at all.

“Jeid. She held a Threshold against and Abyssal Demon for close to thirty-six hours.” What now? He knew that information already; there was no need for Rubii to be so incredulous.

“And she was nearly killed by it. Clearly we haven’t been pushing her hard enough.” The dismissive motion he waved to Rubii took his hand from Saffere, and she cried out slightly at the loss. Logically, there was no way Rubii and Saffere could be collaborating. Still….

With an aggrieved sigh, Jeid caught the reaching hand with his own, and used the other to go back to stroking. “I hope you realize that this only reinforces my decisions.”

“Yes, yes,” Rubii agreed, laughter in her voice. She finally made her way inside, wings sweeping back absently. “That’s why I mentioned the cat, you know. It’s considered stereotypical for masterminds to stroke a cat to show how utterly unconcerned they are with their plans’ success.”

“What a foolish idea.” Then again, “I hardly need a cat when I’ve got you.” Affectionate, curious, knowledge of being a deity; Jeid thought the description fit rather well.

“Mean,” Rubii admonished, not really angry. She knelt by Saffeere, pressing a hand to cheek, red eyes glowing slightly with restrained power. Rubii’s level of control was fascinating; the amount of power she used, proportional to the total well she could harness was staggering. Like pulling a single needle out of a mountain of metal.

Her blessing wouldn’t hurt Saffere.

[team-skull-admin]

My favorite 40 games of all-time

Made an arbitrary list of my favorite games of all-time cause I wanted to figure out where Breath of the Wild is on it. It’s, uh, pretty high. Assload of text below the break.

40: Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow I'm not the world's biggest Symphony of the Night fan (outside of the incredible soundtrack) and I think this is where Iga's seamless platformers found their footing.

39: Call of Juarez: Gunslinger I love goofy, experimental games like this and Far Cry: Blood Dragon, but I think the schtick in this (an unreliable narrator bragging about their heroic exploits) works better than Blood Dragon's dorky 80s nostalgia.

38: Rayman Origins A beautiful platformer with incredible level design. The music for the diabolical secret level is seared into my memory.

37: Cibele A short, story-centric indie game that captures the essence of playing MMOs in the mid-2000s and long-distance relationships. The awkward conversations in this game made me think about my WoW years for an entire weekend.

36: Mario Kart Wii It's not technically the "best" Mario Kart, but I actually enjoyed the motorcycles and I have fond memories of crushing my brother while we downed beers and talked shit.

35: Guild of Dungeoneering I'm usually not super into "We made X game, but added CARDS!" even though I love card games, but they nailed the loop here. I vaguely remember one of the decks being super busted, though.

34: Tropico 4 Adding a political slant to Sim City by making you the leader of a banana republic was just the slant to that formula I was looking for, and I lost a weekend circa New Year's '13 just delving into this hard.

33: Gran Turismo 2 My brother bought a PS1 off a friend when they upgraded to a PS2, and I grabbed a copy of this cheaply at the local EB Games. Once I wrapped my mind around the simulation, upgrading cars and havin fun with them here might have more to do with me being somewhat of a car person than anything else.

32: Metal Gear Solid 4 I should really put the whole series on here, but MGS4 deserves special note for making the core stealth actually fun and somehow tying all the loose ends of the insane plot together while dialing up the insanity even further.

31: Sim City 2000 I figured out how to make a 50,000 person city when I was like, 8. I still have no fucking idea how I did this. It took me till my 20s to crack 100k.

30: Pokemon Black/White People are torn on this game, but the contentious design decision to hide the old Pokemon in the postgame made every new encounter incredibly exciting in a way the series hadn't been since the orignals. The writing also shows signs of the maturity that Sun/Moon would follow through with.

29: Dragon Warrior Monsters 2 I think most would deride this series as a soulless Pokemon cash-grab on the surface, but they're actually roguelikes with a crazy monster breeding system and the most rote of stories to get you into the core loop of exploring new keys to breed ever crazier monsters.

28: Diablo 3: Reaper of Souls Diablo 3 vanilla's reliance on the auction house created design issues that were hard to look past, but Blizzard abandoning it for the expansion made the game into an incredible dungeon crawler. I never laddered, but had fun for hundreds of hours chasing loot with friends.

27: Fallout 3 I'll never forget the feeling of walking out of the vault for the first time, and feeling like I could go anywhere. I also think this is the only Bethesda game that regularly pays off when exploring - weird shit like the Republic of Dave or the man stuck in the tree are fantastic rewards for poking at the less inhabited edges of the map.

26: Bassin's Black Bass featuring Hank Parker I'm honestly wondering if the rest of the world has picked up on this game's low-key genius since I saw it for 15 bucks at a retro game store recently, but this game's arcadey fishing is incredibly satisfying and snappy. It has some major, obvious, irritating mechanical issues, but the core gameplay loop is so good I don't care.

25: Middle Earth: Shadow of Mordor I still remember my nemesis. This motherfucker was right at the beginning of the game, inside the first quest area, and was like level 5 or 6, but had a defensive ability that made it harder for me to gank him easily. So he killed me. Twice. And leveled up each time, becoming a level 12 badass who could literally sniff me out when I hid. But he was weak to fire, and I lured him to a campfire and set him ablaze, getting my revenge.

24: Super Metroid I feel like most people would have this game higher on the list, but I think the controls are floaty and Meridia is overly confusing. The rest of the game is incredible and I can't believe they pulled it off on a Super Nintendo.

23: Pokemon Sun/Moon After XY and ORAS were disapointments I was cool on Pokemon, but Sun/Moon challenged a ton of series conventions and got a lot right in the process. I can't believe how deftly this game handles dysfunctional families.

22: A Link Between Worlds This was Nintendo's hit at what was to come with Zelda - a smart, experimental take on the franchise that's easily its best 2d outing.

21: Muramasa: The Demon Blade Vanillaware's magnum opus, a gorgeous Metroidvania where everything is hand-painted. The combat's loop of mixing launchers with sword management is also incredibly fun, if not particularly deep. But fuck I loved looking at it so much and it felt good.

20: The Walking Dead Only time a video game made me cry.

19: Banjo-Kazooie The only 3d collect-a-thon platformer from that era that still holds up, it combines cheeky humor and an incredible soundtrack to craft a world that's always surprising.

18: Borderlands 2 is better crafted, but I enjoyed the dry wit and more grounded guns of the first. I've replayed this like 4 times and I'm not entirely sure why, but I have a blast each time.

17: Doom (2016) Apparently the secret to making this license work in a modern context is to give Halo combat arenas a healthy dose of cocaine and play Meshuggah riffs over it. It so fucking works.

16: Saints Row: The Third I think the writing in GTA is usually sophomoric at best and its attempts at commentary are eye-roll worthy, but having a game say "FUCK IT" and just Mel Brooks that experience is such a wonderful idea. It's also hard to pull off, and SR3 totally sticks the landing (unlike the sequel).

15: Super Mario World The best traditional Mario game. I replayed it recently, and it struck me how much secret exits add to the level design versus 3, and how freed Koji Kondo is by the new hardware. The castle music's classical overture sticks out.

14: Monster Hunter 4 I liked Monster Hunter 3's various iterations but I hated swimming. Taking out swimming and replacing it  with mounting was enough for me to sink hundreds of hours. I actively avoided getting Generations because I knew it would interfere with school.

13: Mario Golf (GBC) The perfect portable game. Golf works well on the platform, and adding basic RPG hooks was enough to make a rote story totally engaging.

12: Super Mario Maker I think the real triumph of Mario Maker isn't the levels (which are usually terrible), it's how Nintendo imparted the feeling of being creative in such an easily digestible and satisfying way. It's an achievement that ascends past Mario design (which still works here) into something greater and more profound.

11: Hearthstone I fucking hate this game and I keep playing it because the Arena is like literal fucking crack and every time I have an opponent at 1 life and they beat me they can eat fucking dicks.

10: Super Mario RPG Clever writing and a strange world grabbed me way harder than Intelligent System's later Paper Mario games. It's too easy and doesn't look as slick now, but the writing still holds up.

09: Mass Effect Trilogy You can't really separate these, as the experience that makes Mass Effect great was carrying your Shepard and their decisions from one game to the next. Everyone will remember Garrus, Wrex, and co. Shame about the ending.

08: Tetris I am weirdly good at Tetris. I know what a T-Spin is. I sank hundreds of hours into it on Facebook. I don't regret it.

07: Persona 4 Describe a game to me as a mix of a J-RPG and a slice-of-life anime and I'll run to the hills, so the fact this game's sharp, mature writing and "just one more day" calendar mechanic combined into one of my favorite games of all-time is a shock. They also put in Pokemon with fucking demons, how cool is that shit?

06: Ocarina of Time I can't believe this game came out in 1998. The world is still fun to traverse, and the dungeon design (especially as an adult) still holds up at the top of action-adventure puzzle design.

05: Magic: the Gathering I wish it was less expensive otherwise it'd be higher.

04: Breath of the Wild I can't believe Nintendo reinvented the wheel so well that I'm putting the game so high on the list. Every design decision in this game is carefully considered to make exploring this iteration of Hyrule that much more satisfying. And its incredibly clever chemistry engine, where every object in the game has chemical properties that can be manipulated as well as physics, creates a ton of emergent gameplay scenarios where you're constantly asking "Can I do that?" and the game almost never lets you down.

03: World of Warcraft Sometimes I regret the 4000 hours I spent in Azeroth, but I'd have a hard time giving up the friends I made there. I could probably shred and like, speak another language though.

02: Pokemon Red I was the perfect age for Pokemon mania, and the fact that the core game was literally designed to appeal to me didn't help. I still love collecting the things and min/maxing ways to beat the Elite 4 with minimal grinding.

01: Mega Man X I think this is literally the perfect platformer. Moving X feels incredible. There's nothing in any of the levels I think is out of place. The soundtrack is a masterpiece. And the game's hidden secret is so insane you'd probably call bullshit on any kid who told it to you at recess. I'm really glad the rest of the world picked up on it after Arin Hanson did a Sequelitis about it, because I've been beating this drum for decades.

[captainignatiuspigheart]

Oosh, where has the time gone? It’s hard to figure out whether it’s the weeks or the weekends that go by faster. Either way, they’re going nuts and I’m waaaay behind on my weekly updates. I’ve noted this for the last couple of weeks, sighed, and discovered that it’s now Thursday or something equally ridiculous. And of course, the longer this goes on, the more I have to write and the more impossible it becomes. I guess I’ll have to draw a line under it… This week you’ll only be seeing the things I gave a damn about from the last couple of weeks because otherwise I’ll never finish!

A Rare Moment of Self-Reflection

What I should do is to think a little about why I’m now struggling to do this. In part it’s because this exercise was great at the beginning of lockdown, and gave me a focus. Now, of course, I have a fucktonne of work to do and things are sort of ramping up in other areas of life, like occasionally seeing people in the flesh and stuff. A number of things have helped me keep it together for the last 129 days (I think) of working at home: work, obviously, is my primary routine and aiming to go for a cycle ride beforehand really frames my day. Every Thursday for ages (forever? Who knows) I’ve been hosting a virtual pub for our MissImp weekly regulars (and folks from further afield too, which has been amazing) which has filled my regular evening out slot nicely. Then there’s been the fortnightly We Are What We Overcome webcasts, and the quick chats we have on the off weeks. That handful of regular activity has been great.

I try to keep these posts going because of something we talked about in one of our podcasts: if I’m depressed, I can’t remember any good things I’ve ever done, and if I’m all perky and up then I don’t care about remembering what I’ve been doing. Right now I’m mostly pretty chipper, largely a consequence of being busy and having acquired lots of LEGO recently, so this doesn’t feel important in the same way it did a few months ago. That’s a tricky place for me to be in, because despite occasional dips into glum days, I think I’ve been upbeat for a while now. The longer I’m upbeat, the less likely it feels that I’ll go down, or that I’ll worry about crashing. And that’s actually a decent indicator that I’m going to have a bit of a crash. Keeping track is the whole damn point! Must make more time. 

Anyway… what have I been up to? Well, we’ve seen real live humans on both the last Saturdays, partly in attempt to normalise the new normal, or whatever the pre-second wave era is called, and partly because it turns out that folk want to see us, which is very nice and reassuring. Messing about with my sister and nieces at Highfields Park was a rather fun afternoon, as was eating and drinking at Dovecote Lane park last weekend. That bandstand is perfect, other than it’s brutish tarmac flooring. As I have alluded to earlier, I’m also quite busy at work as we race for the print deadlines for October titles, commission more and more artwork and do general bookstuff. It’s ace really, but is certainly filling my days tightly. We’re not likely to see the office for another month, and that’s OK with me.

I’ve been a rather busy LEGO person too, albeit more “busy” in the sense of “buying” than making much. I did join a LUG though, the Brick Central LEGO User Group. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last couple of years, and though I’m not sure how much time I could feasibly put into big displays and conventions, I’m interested in finding out. Also I got neat printed bricks and bits and pieces when I signed up, so I’m happy with that. I took advantage of the LEGO double VIP points last week to pick up a “few” things, from cute little LEGO Dots and baby dinosaurs to the massive Pirates of Barracuda Bay set. It is all very exciting! I’ve got some random builds I need to take some decent photos of and share them too.  

Big Stuff

Little Stuff

Big Stuff

Watching: The Order, season 2

I can’t deny that this is a low-rent Teen Wolf crossed with the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, themselves low-rent versions of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and so many more.  I remembered nothing of the previous season, even when we saw the “last time on this thing”, and would have sworn I’d never seen it at all. Nonetheless, this proved to be effective brain chewing entertainment while eating, in the sense of it noticeably degrading one’s braincells. Daft witch academy with neighboring anti-magic werewolves (who turn out to have previously been the witches’ bodyguard or something), but the wolves have all been tricked into being witches, or something. It doesn’t really matter – the entire show is redeemed by the delightful relationship between the four werewolves, which feels very much like how I felt about my university housemates: loving, occasionally fighty and laced with sarcasm and alcohol. Shame the lady werewolf ended up in hell this season. I’m sure I won’t remember this next time either, but if I can be persuaded to watch season 3 I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. 

Reading: The Kingdom Beyond the Waves by Stephen Hunt

Continuing the really quite wacky steampunk series set in a far-future with multiple species of human (Craynarbians are splendid shelled folk, for example), steammen, and wild action adventure. I have insufficient time to summarise this one, but it covers an Atlantis-alike ancient city in the sky, infernal plots of genius industrialists to take over government, a frightening Borg-like jungle species, savage feral robots, submarine journeys, and so much more. The whole series is an absolute blast and I’m enjoying re-reading them enormously. Get on it.  

Building: LEGO Overwatch Watchpoint: Gibraltar #75975

While I still have almost no idea what Overwatch is (yeah, yeah, I know it’s a game, and my friend Sam has a nice summary on Overwatch here), but I adore the LEGO sets. I’ve had my eye on this one solely because it features a gorilla in a spacesuit. Now that it’s reaching the end of its shelf-life “Watchpoint: Gibraltar” has become more affordable, and on a midnight whim (always the best time to buy LEGO) I ordered…

The minifigs are an utter delight! Check out Pharah (in blue) with that gorgeous gold visor, and Mercy (admittedly with the usual pink-printed-on-black face which never really works that well) with a lovely hair/hat element and lovely printed torso and legs, plus the rather ominous Reaper. I’m guessing he’s the bad guy. The gorilla is apparently named “Winston”. I hadn’t noticed that he’s wearing glasses, but he’s rather charming either way.

The build is pretty straightforward: you make a spaceship, which has a couple of separating sections, and the cool but not very exciting gantry/rocket leaning post thing. The spaceship itself is a satisfyingly sleek affair, with cleverly connected sections and very neat work on making the hatch fit flush. Building it felt like a wonderful flashback to my childhood, making largely flat spaceships that feel a little like this, but much less good.

The whole thing looks very pretty, but is inconveniently tall for anywhere I want to put it…

Watching: Derry Girls, season 2

Just marvelous. I can’t recommend this show enough, and I’m thrilled that there’s a third season on the way. Set in, um, Derry, in the 90s, this teenage sitcom is pretty much perfect. In keeping with non-American TV shows about teenagers, this lot actually look like real teenagers – the scowl game is extraordinary. The relationships and dialogue are brilliant, and you can’t help but love them all a little bit. The parents are savage and equally funny (finding Bill Clinton is a particular joy). The costumes are bang-on 90s-hideous and the soundtrack makes me unusually nostalgic.  My only complaint is that there aren’t enough episodes. Not even close. Apparently Netflix screwed up and released this early, so it’s not available any more. Sorry folks!

Building: LEGO Jurassic World Dr Wu’s Lab: Baby Dinosaur Breakout #75939

Jesus Christ, baby dinosaurs! How was I ever supposed to resist? Reader, I did not. Clearly. 

Like many of the licensed sets, especially the Jurassic World theme, there isn’t a lot to this. That said, the build is drawn out by the usual agony of applying stickers to transparent elements, and my desire to get them mostly straight had me turning on extra lights and teasing them into place with a scalpel. The egg turning machine is pleasing, and although I was complaining about applying the stickers, this is a set where they really do shine. The details in them are lovely, from the laptop screen to all the heads up displays, they’re adorable, and I’ll have to find more uses for them.

The figures are reliably cool, and I really like the LEGO Friends elements such as the baby feeding bottle sneaking into the mainstream LEGO sets.  Dr Wu has the most cunning expression, just like in the movies! But none of this matters – all shall be recycled for parts except for the ADORABLE baby triceratops and even babier ankylosaur. Just so goddamn cute. I couldn’t be happier. 

Watching: What We Do in the Shadows, season 2

A show that completely revels in its own stupidity with enormous commitment, we caned this in a single sitting too. Colin, the energy vampire, continues to be my personal favourite, but they’re all pretty great idiots. I’m delighted that the main storyline has turned out to be Guillermo’s, as he learns of his vampire-hunting past and wonders about his future, killing vampires while still being a dedicated familiar. Wonderful nonsense.

Doing: We Are What We Overcome – Fortnightly Mental Health Check-In

We reflected a little on how life has changed with a whole fortnight of being allowed to go to the pub… And here’s the link for next week’s chat.

Watching: Warrior Nun

This is dreadful. OK, that’s not entirely fair, but it’s definitely mostly fair. This is the story of a bunch of nuns who are warriors (duh), fighting demons and stuff. One of the nuns always has an angel’s halo embedded in their back, which makes them a sin-fighting superhero. When a mission goes badly tits up, the warrior nuns rip the halo out of their dead leader and stick it in a recently dead girl… She comes back to life, no longer paraplegic, but certainly perplexed about why she’s alive, why she has superpowers (kinda), and why she should give a shit about the Catholic church. Sounds fun, right. The trailer looks pretty fun too, and there are about 25 minutes of great stuff spread across the entire show, with some fun fights, laughable CGI demons, the one good character (Shotgun Mary) who appears to be in another, much better, show. But the rest of it is bogged down by impossibly tedious exposition where characters literally open books and read endless passages from them, or an agonisingly dull romance, in which the most exciting bits are them sitting on a ferry. The show almost redeems itself with a final heist episode but by that point it’s so laden with cack that I couldn’t bring myself to care. You may enjoy it though.

Doing: MissImp’s Virtual Drop-In – Roberto Lewis

More great and splendid video content right here, on one of my favourite topics — coming in with nothing! (I mean, favourite because I cannot plan…)

Last Week: The Order, The Kingdom Above the Waves, Warrior Nun, Derry Girls, LEGO Overwatch and Jurassic World, We Are What We Overcome and more… I’m quite behind. #books #tv #LEGO #stuff https://wp.me/pbprdx-8GV Oosh, where has the time gone? It’s hard to figure out whether it’s the weeks or the weekends that go by faster.

[kaitlinmcandrews]

Wow, finally, the time has come! Strap yourself in, this is going to be a long one. I have to cut it into two halves or else it would be like a novel. Now, it’s just have a novel. A short story, if you will.

In August, Patrick’s parents and family friend came to Japan for about a month. Pat’s brother didn’t make it this time, but there was still five of us again. This trip went a lot smoother, in my opinion, than their trip to Korea. To be fair, Japan is a bit more foreigner friendly (the food and culture is not as crazy-different as Korea was) .

Also, I’m not sure how to really explain this… but… uh… I guess since we weren’t going to an island that I know I would never visit again, I felt more okay with being flexible. So, perhaps it was because last time they visited us, we didn’t know how to be tour guides. It could have also been because we knew that we would probably NEVER go to Jeju ever again. Or, it could have been  because Jeju was actually much more different from mainland Korea than we thought it would be.

What I’m getting at is that when Pat’s family came to see us in Korea, we had an awesome time, but we also had some hiccups along the way. This time, however, it seemed that our excursions went fairly smoothly?

So, if you can remember, we were working for an Eikaiwa (a Japanese private school) and had limited time off. Actually, during this time, we were preparing to move for our new job in Yokohama. Wow, I’m distracted. Do you care about our schedule? Probably not…. Oh well, sucks to be you, I’m going to talk about it anyway….So, I shall continue. We worked until the day that Pat’s parents came to Japan. We figured that this would be perfect! Actually, we were pretty clever with our yearly vacation days and were able to use them at the tail end of our work period. In other words, we only physically worked for one extra week, but we got paid for an additional 10 days of work. We got basically half of our August pay!

Annoyingly, though, this made things so much more difficult. We had to deal with working and preparing for class for one more week, try to pack for our big move, clean the apartment, and plan our expected activities. Oh well, we had some extra money, and we were able to help the school for a bit longer.

Oh, were you waiting for me to talk about what we did?

Ah.

Sorry.

Ok, well it was awhile ago, so my memory is incredibly fuzzy….. I’ll try my best!

Day 1 – Arrival in Kyoto

So, the McAndrews met us at Kyoto Station. I misunderstood where they were waiting and did a lot of wandering. Kyoto Station is pretty big so it is easy to get lost. Once we met up with them, we walked with them to their hostel. Unfortunately for them, they came in a bit of a busy season (who am I kidding, every day of the year is busy season in Kyoto…) so they had a hard time finding hotels. Luckily, Pat’s mom seems to be a hostel-finding genius haha.

The hostels that they were in for most of their trip were Japanese-style, which essentially means the bedding situation is different that any North American would be used to. In Japan, many people sleep on a futon. BUT! A futon in Japan is not what we call a futon in Canada. In Canada, if you hear futon, you are probably thinking of a fold-down bed. In Japan, a futon is a thin down/cotton mattress on the floor. At home, this is what Pat and I use every night, so we are used to it.

Since we met up with them fairly late, after they checked in, we went out for supper right away. Now, this time, I made a conscious effort not to dictate our food choices or to argue. So, I let them lead the way with their food choices (actually, to be honest, I don’t like Japanese food as much as I like Korean food, so I felt less of a desire to have them try specific foods. In Korea, I was so passionate about their amazing food that I wanted them to try everything…. ). They decided on an Italian place. It was obviously marketed towards foreigners, which is fine, but means the price will be higher. It was. It was quite expensive…. The portion sized were also quite small. The food was good though!

I really can’t remember, but I don’t think we did anything after that…. Maybe we went to a small Irish Pub at Kyoto Station… I don’t remember what day that was. But, I think it was that day. The Olympics were on the TV so of course Pat’s dad had to get updated! They got to see the Japanese side of the Olympics, which, I’m sure is a bit of a different point of view.

Day 2 – Fushimi Inari

Our first official day off from work! Yay~

They had to check out of their hostel and check into a different one, so I think they had a bit of a hectic morning. Gosh, I really can’t remember. Oh well. Well whatever the details were, we ended up at Fushimi Inari eventually haha.

Now, you may know this already, but Fushimi is my favourite place in Kyoto. I love it. It is an easy hike and somehow I never get sick of the tori gates. Never.

August in Japan is so freaking hot, by the way, so although this is an easy hike, we were all sweating like crazy. There are vending machines along the way (weird right?), but the drinks were way over priced. Well, even though I had an entire post dedicated to this place, here are some more photos!

I think I restrained myself this time haha, just because I already have so many photos. The view at the top was quite nice and clear.

Did you miss pictures of Pat and his Dad’s backs?

It was a nice day. It was hot like it was in Jeju, but we didn’t do as much unnecessary walking like we had to in Jeju…

So once we reached the “top”, Pat’s family friend stayed at the covered shelter while the rest of us continued up the mountain a bit. There is a trail that loops around from that spot and back. There isn’t a view or anything, so continuing from that point on isn’t really necessary. The loop doesn’t take too long so when we came back I think it was a good amount of break time for the family friend.

Pat taking in the view~

If you ever go to Kyoto, I really recommend going here. It is just so interesting. It is a fairly easy hike and doesn’t take too long. It is like the perfect way to spend the day.

I made a schedule for our trip, but I don’t think we followed it very closely so I don’t remember what we did after this. I put on my schedule to check out downtown. So… maybe we went downtown? Ugh, I don’t know.

Day 3 – Fireworks festival in Shiga

The next day, we got to go to an annual Fireworks festival in Shiga, Japan. Shiga is right next to Kyoto. It is an area (I don’t think it’s a prefecture, but it definitely isn’t a city… It’s like a region? I suppose) that surrounds Lake Biwa. Biwa Lake is the largest lake in Japan. The fireworks were over the lake so I knew it would be beautiful.

Well, after talking with my Japanese coworkers, I learned that this is an event that most Japanese people will be wearing yukata. I was soooo excited.

But

I’m an idiot….

A few days earlier (after our last day of work), we dropped off our company uniforms at the dry cleaners. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, I also brought some dresses and my yukata as well. Since this was my first time going to a dry cleaner”s (yeah, I’m a terrific adult…), I really had no idea how long it took to have clothes dry cleaned…. Well, it didn’t take a day like I thought haha. So, I suddenly didn’t have my yukata for the festival. NOoooOoOO~

I decided to buy a cheap one from Uniqlo. The original one I bought was much more expensive and obviously of a higher quality.

Oh well.

I had Pat meet up with them earlier than me as I got ready. I knew that with the hair, makeup and yukata putting-on-ing, that I would take a while. Well, I underestimated how long it would take. Yukata’s are so frustrating to put on and look nice.

Also, short side story:

About a month prior to this time, I got my first haircut in Kyoto. I bleached my hair and trimmed it myself up to that point, but decided it was time for a professional trim. Well, it was a huuuuuge mistake. My hair was like shoulder length and a bit damaged. As I have done many times in the past, I said “I’m not picky about style. Just get rid of the dead ends and give any style.”…. well…. USUALLY, the hair dresser picks a style that suits my face type. I also am 100% okay with short hair, so I told him to cut off as much as he thinks is necessary. Well…. what I’m not okay with is a haircut that is unflattering, difficult to style, or required a lot of work to look proper. That was exactly what he gave me. He cut off a lot, and I was sad, but like, understanding? I knew it was going to be short. I mentally prepared myself for that and let him do what he was doing. In the end, he gave me what is know as a halo haircut. Please, take a break from this post and google it. It is awful. I looked so so so bad. Even now, I am stilll trying to grow this mess of a hairstyle out. The front layers are so incredibly short. I essentially had a mushroom cut mixed with a mullet.

Okay, back to the festival.

My hair was so difficult to style. I could not get it to look flattering. (In my last post at the Gion Festival, I had the same issue). My makeup was okay, but due to my airline incident, I really didn’t own much makeup. My new yukata had an obi (belt) that I had to tie myself, unlike my expensive one that had an easy style obi.

I was so frustrated. It took so long.

I knew the trains were going to be packed and the venue would be so busy. I wanted to leave waaaay earlier than we did.

Well, everyone was very patient with me. We got to the train station and holy moly was I right. The trains were packed! I suppose it was interesting that the McAndrews got to experience the stereotype that Japanese trains are wall-to-wall with people and how people are basically pushed onto the train to fit. Not that that is a good experience, but kind of neat I guess..

Sorry everyone in this pic. You are now famous.

This was at the festival train stop. So many people! Notice that the going up side is completely empty. Not as many yukatas as I had expected, but still quite few.

Once we piled out of the station we followed the crowds to where the viewing areas were. I had brought a cooler bag along so we were also on the lookout for a place to get some drinks to fill the bag with. Everything was crowded. It was pretty difficult to do anything haha. We split up momentarily. The boys got some drinks and the girls went to scout out places. It was already so busy at this time..

It was like an organized chaos. Japan, unlike Canada, really knows how to handle large crowds AND large crowds know how to handle themselves. Nobody was being crazy, nobody was jumping or climbing over the rails, and nobody was on the opposite side of traffic. People walk together as a group and seem to peacefully find a place to view the fireworks without being rude or pushy.

Me and Pat’s mom found a place to sit on the pavement (on a mat thing…). Pat, his dad, and the family friend didn’t want to sit on the pavement and totally ditched us! I was actually pretty annoyed at Pat since I was so excited for this event and really wanted to spend it with him. Oh well. I suuupoooose his comfort is important…

There were around 10,000 fireworks supposedly. It was the best fireworks display I had ever seen in my life. I can’t even describe how stunning they were. I tried my best to take photos of them, but it’s much easier said than done for a non-photographer like myself.

The fireworks were stunning, so here is a whole bunch of photos:

oooh, planets

smiley faces!

teddy bears!

I don’t know!

“falling” type

So many colours. I snapped this one like 1 sec too late…

Probably my favourite photo

I had a lot of fun, despite sitting away from Pat. I’m pretty sure I had teary eyes. It was so overwhelming. The fireworks were so impressive. They had a ‘program’ for the fireworks so it was easy to predict when the big shows would start. In Japanese style, they were on time for every segment. Like, to the minute. This made it easy to follow along and have an idea of what was going on.

The fireworks finished quite late, but we were a bit hungry. Since it is a festival, there is always street food around. But, because it’s Japan, everything closes pretty early. We had to get the last servings from some food stalls. We each got a draft beer (which are served at the street food tents) and drank them on our way back to the train station.

The line for the train was MASSIVE! We had to wait quite a while in line and there were even security guards ushering people inside the station. They must know how many people can fit in the train at a time since they seemed to be counting the number of people entering at a time.

It started to get a bit worrying since the trains don’t really run that late and we don’t live in Shiga. If we missed the train, we would have a pretty expensive taxi ride. Luckily, we did make it. It was a lot of fun. If you are ever in the Kyoto area around the beginning of August, I highly recommend checking out the fireworks festival on the lake.

Day 4 – Osaka (baseball)

Before I talk about the day itself, I have to tell you about buying the tickets. We bought the tickets a week or so before they came. Although the stereotype about Japan is that it is super high-tech, in many ways, it is a bit archaic. It’s like they try to be high-tech, but somehow make it more difficult than it needs to be.

So, buying tickets (or like anything) online is either non-existent or for Japanese citizens only. Sometimes, you can get something online, print out the order, bring it to the convenient store, and then pay at the convenient store. WHY? Why make it so complicated?? Why add so many steps?! ahem. sorry.

In this case, it wasn’t quite that easy. So, to order sporting or concert tickets, you need to go to the convenient store and order them there. There will be a machine (in Japanese only….) where you will find and order your ticket. For people that are fluent in Japanese, this probably is quite convenient. For people like me, who suck at learning languages and definitely don’t know the terms needed to buy tickets, it can be quite a headache. To make things worse, it seems that certain tickets need to be bought at certain stores.

We went to Family Mart to get our baseball tickets. We were basically buddies with the employee that worked there and he tried his hardest to help us. We both had our Google translate out and were basically communicating with the apps. After a long time doing this, we figured out that we couldn’t buy what we wanted at that convenient store. He told us to try Lawson.

We headed to Lawson. We fiddled with the machine there and couldn’t find anything…. We headed to 7-11. We headed to the copying/fax/buying ticket machine. We started to have some luck. It was still all in Japanese so we had to use Google translate throughout the process. We were able to find the games, categorized by teams, and get the tickets. We then had to bring the tickets to the cashier to pay for them (because paying at the ticket machine would make too much sense right?). This was like a good hour out of our day, but we did it!

Okay, fast forward to the actual event.

I decided to take a detour from the family and go to the Pokemon Center for Pat’s mom. She wanted to buy a gift for her niece so I decided to go for her. It is a bit out of the was from downtown Osaka. I was hoping that they would go to Osaka Castle while I was buying this, but as always, they didn’t have enough time. It’s too bad, I think they would have really liked it.

We planned to meet in Osaka once I was finished. But, there was a problem…. My phone was dying. Not just that, but the game was going to start soon. I was in a panic. Finding a place to plug in is really difficult. I got scolded when I plugged into the wall at the train station…. so embarrassing.

My other task for the day was to find a bank and take out cash. Have I ever told you how frustrating it can be to take out cash from a Canadian bank card? It seems that some people (okay, probably most people) can easily take out cash from the atm at 7-11 or at a JP Post atm. For some reason, the ONLY bank that has ever accepted our Canadian card was Citibank. So, as I was dealing with trying to meet up with Pat, carrying around a huge Pokemon Center bag, and havin a dead phone, I was also trying to find a Citibank.

Well, it no longer existed….

ugh.

By pure luck it seems, I found Pat, and we rushed to the Stadium. The game was okay. I’m not a big sports fan, so I mostly enjoyed eating and drinking haha.

I personally enjoyed watching the game in Korea so much more. For someone who doesn’t care for the actual game, the games in Korea are so much more interesting. You can get seats with tables where you can eat delicious fried chicken. You can bring in your own alcohol or food. The cheering sections were so so entertaining and it just had a really fun atmosphere.

The one thing that is note-worthy about this game was the balloons that were shot up into the air near the end (the blue balloons in the photos above). They had a very…..interesting…. shape to them. Everyone let them go at the same time, so it was like reverse rain of blue balloons. They made a whistling sound as they shot up into the air. We didn’t have any, so we felt a bit out of the loop. That would have been fun. Pat’s dad picked up a used one from the ground as a souvenir hahahaha, funny guy.

After the game, we headed to Osaka’s famous downtown area: Dotonbori. This area is really nice at night. There is a river that runs through the middle and has an iconic view.

We were pretty hungry after the game so we went to find some food. I really wanted them to try okonomiyaki as it is a famous dish of Osaka. It is sometimes referred to as a Japanese pancake. It is essentially shredded cabbage, egg and flour that is made into a thick pancake type thing. There are many options for toppings such as squid, pork, kimchi, and apparently tomato… Many places were already closed (did I mention that Japan shuts down early?), but luckily we found a place. This place specialized in a tomato-type of okonomiyaki so I was not too excited haha.

Fortunately for me, they had other special types that were so so good.

Unlike Korea, having a grill at your table doesn’t necessarily mean that you will be cooking anything. The soba and okonomiyaki come to you cooked and are simply on the grill to stay warm and add a bit of crisp if you want it. Man, I haven’t had okonomiyaki in a loooooong time…. it really is a Kansai thing. It doesn’t seem to be so popular here (I live near Yokohama, now).

After we were stuffed, we headed home. We may have gone downtown and watched some Olympics with drinks outside, but I really don’t remember what night that was haha.

Day 5 – Riverboat tour and Arashiyama

We originally planned to have a day of rest on this day seeing as we were being quite active up to this point. We shuffled the days around and decided to go hard and have the day off before our move. This would give us enough time to do the necessary things like returning uniforms to our school, packing, cleaning, and all the last minute details.

This was completely the family’s idea. I was happy that they did some research into what they wanted to see. I felt kind of bad basically dictating our activities. I don’t know what interests them so I just made a pretty generic list of things to do.Which, to be fair, are pretty good things to see in Kansai ( I think…).

So, they found a brochure at the information booth near Kyoto Station. It was for a riverboat tour. Of course it was all in Japanese, but it seemed like a nice way to relax and enjoy some beautiful scenery.

Before we get to that….

You guessed it!

Story time~

Well…. It would be me and Pat if there weren’t hiccups along the way. We actually bought these tickets the day before (of maybe two days before… I don’t remember). They were a bit pricey so we bought them using a credit card (not a common thing in Japan… surprisingly). Since this trip was almost booked, we had to get a strange auxiliary seat on the bus and got a weird special ticket. The auxiliary ticket is much cheaper, but like, not a choice? Meaning, you can’t choose the auxiliary seat to pay a low price. It is only offered to you if the bus is full. The best way of describing what this auxiliary seat is, is to think of a Greyhound style bus and then imagine the arm rest folding out into the aisle for someone to sit on. Wow, comfy….Not so important, but note that we had one weird ticket.

Well we were given a time to meet by the bus. Somehow, we weren’t late. We weren’t very early though either….

As we were about to board, we realized we were missing something. Our freakin’ tickets! Of course nobody had the receipt on them. There was definitely not enough time to go home and get them (we lived like an 8min train ride away so if we had been early, we could have been okay…). We tried talking to the info desk lady and there was really nothing they could do. Unless we had the reciept or tickets we couldn’t go on that trip.

Well, we didn’t really want to abandon our plan at this point. The lady’s only solution was to buy the tickets again and then bring our tickets later to get refunded. What a pain. Well, that’s what we did. Now perhaps someone cancelled last minute, I don’t know, but we had to pay the full price. We didn’t have an auxiliary seat anymore.They also didn’t have ‘real’ tickets for us so we just got on the bus haha…

Okay, so we made it. We got on the bus. It took us to a quaint little train station in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. We then got to go on a ‘scenic’ train. It was really cute.

I apparently didn’t take a picture of the train itself. Trust me, it was cute. The pictures I took from the train were obviously not great…. Oh well, in real life, it was quite nice. On the train, you could pay a person to take your photo with a Polaroid camera in the train. Why? what would the backround be? the old train? Why? Especially when every single person on that train had their very own expensive DSLR camera….. I kind of wanted one…

After our scenic train trip, we arrived at the riverboat station. We were put into groups and shown our boats. Pat’s mom and I were lucky and got front row seats! (I felt bad for the family friend as she is a much better photographer and got stuck behind a pole on the boat…. ). Pat and his dad were somewhere in the back haha.

I can’t even imagine the amount of work these guys that were rowing the boat were doing. They were dripping sweat. Yet, somehow, they were like cracking jokes (I assume since everyone was laughing, but who knows, I didn’t understand a thing. Maybe I was the butt of his jokes, who knows? He could have been like “look at this white girl in the front. Her skin is hurting my eyes it’s so pale!” but I have no idea. I am pretty sure I fake-laughed along to whatever he was talking about. Anyway, point is, he seemed like a funny guy), was telling stories and pointing out interesting things to look at on the way.

I guess I don’t have much to say really… It was a hot day. The slight breeze and being on the water felt nice.

At one point in  the journey, there was an opportunity to try rowing for yourself. Pat’s mom is not one to pass up an opportunity so she gave it a shot. Not only that, but she surprised the heck out of the guy since she is pretty strong. It seemed like the technique was quite different from a canoe, a kayak or even a rowboat!

The handles had large grooves in them from being rubbed in the same spot many times over. They had to be constantly made wet to ensure they would glide rather than stick. It was interesting.Okay, here are some more photos!

As we got closer to the end, we went buy a market boat. It was selling some packaged goods and some hot things-on-sticks as well. I got mochi (pounded rice cake) and I really enjoyed it. It’s not for everyone, but I like it ^^~.

We eventually got to our end destination; Arashiyama. This was still part of that package we paid for so we were given a free pass into a temple and the gardens. We pulled up to the shore and were given a time and place to meet for the ride home so we had a bit of free time to explore as we wanted to.

Everyone seemed to have a different pace. Pat and his dad like to basically jog everywhere. How they can appreciate anything they see I’ll never know. Pat’s mom and I are in the middle, snapping photos here and there. The family friend is taking her time to get the perfect shots (she can actually take nice photos haha). We eventually split up so she could take her time and not feel rushed. Pat and his dad were forced to slow down a bit.

Here are some photos!

So interesting…

I always feel a bit weird taking photos of tombstones or statues… I dunno, just feel weird for the deceased that I know nothing about and are reduced to a hunk of stone…

So, we made it to the temple. Oh wait. We don’t actually have any tickets to show! I’m pretty sure we had to whip out a receipt or something. The lady didn’t seem to want to deal with us and let us through. She was probably informed of the tour group and knew what was going on.

Hey cicada buddy…. can you like… shut up for a minute??!!

The gardens were, as always, stunning. The main attraction at Arashiyama isn’t the temple or gardens though. It’s the bamboo forest. It is world famous. It is actually so freaking cool! This was my first time going in the daylight. It can make beautiful photos if you are super lucky to find a time when it isn’t crowded.

We were not so lucky. It was so so busy. I’m pretty sure you need to go early early in the morning to get any good shots. Oh well. It is really cool to see though. I recommend it.

After adventuring around on growling tummies, we found some street food. Pat and I got some really good fish cakes. Pat’s mom told us a story of the worst food she has ever eaten, being a slimy and chewy fishcake, so we urged her to try ours. I think she wasn’t a fan still, but at least her image of fishcakes wasn’t ruined forever. No one else was really interested in the streetfood so we set out to find some real food. We found a small cafe and had some pasta. It was pretty good and it felt nice to sit under some air conditioning.

When our time limit was almost up, we headed towards the bus and checked out the gift shop. After a long day in the heat, we finally got back to Kyoto Station. We were pretty pooped.

We got refunded our tickets later that day. Pat had to move fast to get to our house, grab the tickets and go back to the info place before it closed. We couldn’t go on other days because we had our plans all set out and we had to leave before the place opened and wouldn’t return until after it closed. It was kinda stressful haha.

…To be cont.

Japan with the Inlaws – Part 1 Wow, finally, the time has come! Strap yourself in, this is going to be a long one.

[justincudahy]

The Sound and Music of the Last of Us

             I’m an Xbox fanboy. What does that mean? It means that I’m biased and ignorant when it comes to gaming. I only purchase and play Xbox products, and hold a grudge on other gaming systems such as PlayStation, Nintendo and PC. It’s not a good attitude to have, and we should probably be celebrating the gaming industry instead of starting console wars on forums comparing every single aspect there is to each respective gaming system. Despite my narrow-minded views, I still like to give credit where credit is due. For example, I believe PC gaming is the best system in terms of visual achievement. PCs can hit 60 FPS, 4k graphics, meanwhile the majority of Xbox One games can only hit 1080p, 30 FPS if lucky. I think the Nintendo Wii was genius, since it revolutionized what has now become motion free gaming, which Xbox and PlayStation have finally adapted to. Unfortunately, the Kinect for Xbox and Move for PlayStation ultimately failed, and could never replicate what Nintendo could achieve. So, where am I getting at here? Well, I’ve complimented all the popular gaming systems except the PlayStation. PlayStation is the only system outside of Xbox that I mildly respect, and for good reason. Both consoles are basically the same exact thing. Same controller layout, same graphic capabilities, interfaces, etc. However, where they differ is their exclusives. Basically, both companies strike deals with game publishers to release games only for their console, making it exclusive. For example, some of the exclusives for Xbox include Gears of War, The Halo Series, and The Forza Series. Meanwhile, PlayStation has games such as Little Big Planet, Bloodborne, Uncharted, etc. PlayStation also has The Last of Us, as an exclusive, and that breaks my heart being an Xbox owner. Since its release back in 2013, The Last of Us has earned the reputation of being one of the greatest games of all time. It’s won over 120 awards, including Game of the Year honors and currently maintains a score of 95 out of 100 on Metacritic. It has sold 3.4 million copies in its first three weeks of release, becoming one of the best-selling PlayStation 3 games of all-time. Can you see why I’m upset now?

           Yes, The Last of Us is a great game. Seriously, there were times where I considered buying a PlayStation just to play The Last of Us. Unfortunately, I can only rely on Let’s Plays to get a piece of the experience, which I suppose will suffice. Why has it become so reputable over the last four years? What does a game have to do to be crowned “Game of the Year”? It needs an interesting and well-told plot, smooth and addicting gameplay, graphics, content, AI that work… the list goes on. Another critical aspect is the sound design and music, which The Last of Us executed perfectly. So much so, out of the 120+ awards, 10 of them were in the category of “Best SFX/Score”, which means something.

           How important is sound design and effects? According to Jonathan Lanier, Senior Audio Programmer for the game believes that, “So much of the experience is sold through audio”, and he’s right. When it comes to establishing a certain emotion, or feeling, maybe things help evoke that feeling. The dialogue, atmosphere, characters, and sounds. Sound effects are often overlooked and underappreciated in video games, because it is easy to miss, but can have a large impact. For example, one of the variants of infected in The Last of Us is an enemy type called “Clickers”. When you first hear that rapid clicking layered with the sounds of moaning, it confuses the player. It’s peculiar, but also unsettling. The origin of how that sound came to be was explained in the video, and was very interesting. The audio team was sitting around in a room trying to think of what kind of noises they can use so that players could hear it in the game and automatically associate it with a certain enemy. After playing around with their throats trying to produce the best sound they can create, they were able to record the perfect one. To replicate the sound, they had use the back of their throat, making a sound almost like a creaky gate or door. Add a few short clicks and there you have it. Now that you have this weird and annoying sound, how can this be put in as a means of scaring the player? Lannier tells us in the video that the way to do so is to first introduce the soundscape as a way of allowing players to know what certain enemies sound like. Later in the game, you reintroduce that sound, but this time from behind a doorway or somewhere you can’t see. When this is done, the brain automatically triggers a response throughout the rest of the body, creating fear. The same can be done for other different genres as well. “It’s Hitchcock-ian, it’s more about psychology, about what’s happening in the audioscape rather than what you are seeing.” When I first heard Lannier explain this process, my mind automatically reminded me of the game Fallout 4. The game is set in the future, in post-war Boston. Landscapes are littered with rust and decay, people and animals have transformed due to radiation, and it feels like humanity has been sucked dry. Let me bring back those people that I mentioned before. Due to the high radiation in the environment, these “people” evolved into enemies called “super mutants” who are extremely aggressive and will attack anyone on site. Of these mutants, there are variants of this enemy that differ from one another based on size, weapon, etc. One of these variants is called “super mutant suiciders”, which you can probably guess by the name, will try and take you out by also taking themselves out. They wield a bomb, that beeps, and the closer it gets to you, the quicker that beeping gets before it finally detonates. So, you can imagine what my reaction is like when I’m wandering around the wasteland minding my business, and then all of a sudden I hear a beep off-screen that is getting louder and faster. You panic, and look all around trying to figure out where it’s coming from so that you can confront it from a distance and survive. Fallout, like The Last of Us, uses this kind of sound design to its advantage, but evoking certain emotions to the extreme, whether it’s fear, laughter, sadness, etc.

           Apart from sound design and effects, another important part of The Last of Us is its music. It’s what drives the emotion in a game, and without it, there is no effect. Academy Award winner Gustavo Santaolalla composed the game’s soundtrack, which won numerous awards, and for good reason. The theme for The Last of Us keeps to the basics, utilizing only guitar for the melody and is accompanied by a subtle, yet powerful timpani that helps build it up throughout. It’s mesmerizing to listen to, and extremely effective. While creating this theme and rest of the soundtrack, Santaolalla asked himself “What is the minimal that you need so that you can pull of what you are trying to achieve…less is more, it’s not about the dialogue and exposition inside a scene, sometimes it’s the look in a character’s eye. Same with audio. Strip it all away, then when it hits, it is impactful.” The soundtrack fits perfectly with the game’s theme and environment, which only adds to the experience. Once again, this same technique applies to all games, with some being able to pull it off better than others. I will use The Fallout Series this time as another example as to how they could make their audio so effective for players. One of the coolest aspects of the game is the environment. As I mentioned earlier, it takes place in a post-apocalyptic future, where technology has advanced, but media and culture hasn’t. As a result, the game’s soundtrack consists of oldies dating back to the 1950s and ‘60s. After toggling to the game’s radio station on the menu, you are immediately welcomed by music from The Ink Spots, Dean Martin, Billie Holiday, Nat King Cole, and many more. Yes, the series also creates their own score for its games, which are just as powerful, but in this case, the soundtrack is the clear winner. It is evident that each one of the songs was chosen by developers for a specific reason, because of how well it fits into the games environment and atmosphere. “The Wanderer” by Dion & The Belmonts is about a person who “Roams from town to town // Go(es) through life without a care”, basically describing the core plot to Fallout, which is extraordinary when you think about it. I can still remember playing Fallout 4 for the first time, exploring the vast wasteland with the character that I created and being overwhelmed with it all. All of a sudden, Skeeter Davis’ “The End of the World” came on the radio, and I listened to the lyrics, I can’t help but feel a certain dread come over me. It was such a weird feeling, because I’ve never felt an emotion that strong before while playing video games. This just goes to show what kind of an effect music can have in video games.

           After watching this video and writing this response, I feel like I’ve become more tolerant and less narrow minded with the whole “console war” debate. When it comes to gaming, people should focus less on what system is more superior than the other, and instead celebrate the achievements that have been made across the industry.