#artwork versus where i am now

[oneatlatime]

City of Walls and Secrets

I am also once again saving the commentary for a rewatch.

I still think rock trains are neat but their inefficiencies hurt my brain. The friction! They should at least install dynamic braking.

That's big. This show has really confined itself to the hinterlands so far, so this is really novel. I had no clue anything this big existed in the Avatar universe.

Complete nitpick time! Given that earthbending is a thing that exists, why bother making things out of stone with individual tiles like this?

Single most threatening musical sting of the whole show so far goes to an overly smiley tour guide.

Wow! I hate this lady already!

"Oh, Ba Sing Se has many walls! There are the ones outside, protecting us, and the ones inside, protecting us from smelly poors!"

"In case someone brings home a lady friend!" Do you know your nephew AT ALL?

Both Iroh and Zuko are right. Life does happen everywhere and without your permission. But, the city is also remarkably prison-like.

He got them jobs in an afternoon. AN AFTERNOON. Stop it Iroh, you're making me feel inadequate.

Once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy. This particular leopard can't change his spots, no matter how he tries to dress up his actions in a new law-abiding veneer. I feel sorry for Smellerbee. Her faith in her leader isn't exactly being rewarded.

So... is there a law on the books that makes being a firebender illegal in Ba Sing Se? Because the head-in-the-sand vibe I'm getting from Judy makes me think that the average citizen doesn't even know there's a reason to dislike the Fire Nation. Iroh and Zuko could probably bend as openly as a waterbender or an earthbender could here.

This whole being handled thing must be dredging up some pretty nasty feelings for Toph. This is specifically what she left behind.

Speaking of precisely targeted torture, Judy is engineered to be as irritating to Sokka as possible. Man of action versus Lady of script.

What a productive use of time! What an exemplary case of turning over a new leaf!

Iroh buddy I have news for you regarding the ingredients of tea.

That's like the nicest thing a member of the Fire Nation royal family has said all year.

How to get Iroh's ass in gear: Step 1: Make insulting tea. Step 2: There is no step 2.

I thought that little thingy in the background was one of those electricity things.

The attention to detail in this show is stupid. There's a moving reflection of the carriage in the water as it goes past.

Hi forbidden city!

Ba Sing Se has a morality police?

I've already run out of patience with the city and I'm 7 minutes in. I haven't even made it to a commercial break yet!

Their house is cute but the veranda is so substantial that it's probably really dark inside. Also there's a pumpkin hood ornament on the roof.

I don't think you can stop there for a month. Have you guys forgotten the now-doubled ticking clock? Eclipse and comet?

Oh ok we're doing 1984 now. Damn. This show goes places.

I stand corrected. Everyone knows about the war and would be appropriately non-welcoming to firebending. But not openly. This could be like one of those Bugs Bunny bits where he traps someone in societal rules. If someone told a firebender not to bend, all they would have to do to get the guy off their case would be to ask why they aren't supposed to be firebending. What's the guy going to say, because there's a war on?

Shout out to Pong for doing the Gaang a solid and providing the only useful info since they've arrived.

There is something very Gollum-like about Jet, crouched in laundry on a roof in the dark, talking to his stolen spark rocks.

Sokka. Feet off the artwork.

Time for Toph to weaponise her oppressive upbringing and out-fancy the fancies in the name of ending the war.

Aang can master an element in a couple of months but a qualified expert declared manners to be beyond him.

I just realised that Sokka and Katara don't have a last name.

Sneaking into a Bear's (JUST Bear's) birthday party may be the single least violent infiltration attempt in the show so far.

Smellerbee is very articulate, and it's rare that this show spells out its themes so obviously. No metaphors, just "you're obsessed. It's not healthy." And Jet still doesn't get it. Maybe Smellerbee should have tried metaphors.

Normally glowy green stuff is bad news, but all of Ba Sing Se's green lighting is surprisingly cozy.

Sometimes, rarely but sometimes, Zuko has to put up with a lot of nonsense.

A raise? Did I miss a timeskip?

Busting in to a local business, yelling about the enemy, pulling out a lethal weapon: How to Look Sane, A Guide by Jet.

Customers, amirite?

I guess the Bei Fongs are too minor as nobles?

"You don't know what I had to do to get seats this near the bear!" but I want to.

I know this guy's voice from something.

Momo ghost plan. I want it.

Pretty funny that the busboys plan works better than the fancy ladies plan. Goes to show you should always play to your strengths.

Get de-wheated punk.

I'm not sure I've rooted for Zuko this wholeheartedly since The Storm.

Jet be like.

Judy is not good at her job. Like really not good. Her insistence on getting out of there before they cause a scene caused the scene. Nice going!

The music slowing down when Judy's face falls is really effective.

You ever get the feeling that it should be Aang who ran away to the circus rather than Ty Lee?

Actually a travelling circus would be a great way to be, and remain, an incognito airbender. Aang should have done that rather than frozen himself. Ok I'm not sure how much say he had in that, but you know what I mean.

For the first time in his life, Zuko has people take his side. It's too bad that it's based on a lie, but it must feel nice.

I would have preferred if Zuko had a clean win against Jet - they're both great with swords, but I thought Zuko was better - but an assist from the funky hat police works too.

I'm getting some funky vibes from the funky hat police.

Bye! I won't miss you!

The face on the guy on the left is the funniest part of this episode.

Now these are some funky hats.

I know this scene is supposed to be scary and tense and action-packed, but I can't get over the fact that the king just did a drive by. They carried him in one side and out the other. This concludes the King's presence at his Bear's birthday party. He's a very busy man, you see.

Long Fang's title keeps getting fancier.

Brain washing crops up quite a lot in kids' cartoons. This is not the first time I've seen this plot beat.

Forget the Fire Lord. Forget the Fire Nation. Long Fang just threatened Appa. Long Fang has to die now.

The Judys are replaceable. Given everything else this city seems ok with, they're probably disposable too. Yikes!

Final Thoughts

This episode was probably the most expository I've seen this season. Maybe even the whole show. It was a big infodump with barely any humour. Actually that's wrong; there was humour, but not to my taste.

Jet is infuriating as usual. I think the writers are going for the villainous decay trope, because smooth-talking season one Jet hasn't reappeared once.

I feel really sorry for Smellerbee and the archer guy. I wonder if they even wanted to go to Ba Sing Se in the first place.

Once again, for the third episode in a row, Zuko is one of, if not the, most reasonable character. Season one shouty Zuko is gone. Is this what I think it is? Has Zuko really turned a corner? If so, I'm liking (rather, disliking less) this new Zuko. This is good. I'm also surprised, because in my experience, if you want to domesticate someone, you don't put them in a customer-facing role. That will have the opposite effect and make them turn feral.

Iroh is having too much fun. It's good for him to have something of his own going on. I think he's been in Zuko wrangling mode 24/7 for the last two? three? years, so he definitely deserves to pursue his own interests for a bit. But I can't see Zuko being a tea boy for long before he's back to needing wrangling.

What's the long term plan though? Are Zuko and Iroh going to live the rest of their lives in Ba Sing Se? Are they waiting for something? Are Iroh and Zuko functionally dead, with Lee and Mushi taking their place?

I will give the show credit for finally coming up with and antagonistic force that Aang & company can't just bend or talk into submission. Bureaucratic tomfoolery covering for authoritarian censorship and information suppression and re-education was not something I'd ever have expected in this show, because it's a little too much like the real world, if you know what I mean.

I don't like seeing our heroes unable to triumph, so this episode was kind of uncomfortable to watch. It felt off the whole way through, which I credit to that creepy music box tune that played throughout. The soundtrack of this episode was a cut above what I usually hear in this show. I noticed it more than I usually do, and I mean that in a good way.

As someone who'd be lucky to pass as a busboy, upper class intrigue and social games stuff doesn't do it for me, so this wasn't an episode I was going to enjoy anyway. I preferred the B plot with Zuko and Iroh, for the sheer absurdity of the concept. Imagine you're in 1950s London, having barely survived the Blitz, and you come across Himmler working in a pub. It's so odd that it almost wraps back around to normal again.

I didn't find this episode very enjoyable. I don't like the forced inactivity that's been imposed on the Gaang. The humour was not to my taste. The worldbuilding was substantial, but - probably thanks to Joo Dee, whose name I've definitely been misspelling - it felt inorganic, like a lecture. Which the writers do lampshade by making Joo Dee sound like one of those audio guide things you rent from tourist attractions. But lampshading a fault does not make a fault go away.

Thanks to what happens to Jet, I know that the people of Ba Sing Se don't dare even think about the war, for their own safety. But after spending more than half a season being shown every type of refugee and victim of war in other parts of the Earth Kingdom, I could not bring myself to give a flying fuck over Pong's concern for keeping his house. The city is frustrating, the officials are frustrating, their priorities are beyond frustrating. Zuko was right when he said he didn't want to make a life there, although I did find the lower ring where Zuko and Iroh are to be far more comfortable than the high ring where the gaang is.

This episode makes me want to bite something.

And still no Appa.

[virtsketch2]

Virtual Sketchbook 2

1 Journaling

#1 Unity and Variety In Art

This is an example of unity and variety in art. Unity is oneness of something while variety is the opposite. This piece of art has unity in the way that the swirling shapes seem to be one, while it also has variety because the colors are different.

#2 Balance In Art

Balance is the achievement of something equal. This photo is a good example of balance because of the symmetry it displays.

#3 Emphasis and Subordination In Art

Emphasis is used to draw attention to one area of a photo or artwork. Subordination is a way that someone can dull out the background of an artwork to further emphasize a piece of art. In this photo, the colored tips of the pencils produce emphasis while the rest of the pencils are gray due to subordination.

#4 Directional Forces In Art

A directional force is used to point the viewer to look in a certain direction. In this painting, our gazes are drawn to where the shard like objects are pointing making this an excellent example of directional forces.

#5 Repetition and Rhythm In Art

Repetition is the repeating of a visual aspect of an artwork. Rythm is an ordered repetition of an aspect of art. This artwork has repetition because of the recurrences of colors and shapes. It also has rhythm because of the way the shapes and colors recur.

#6 Scale and Proportion In Art

Scale is the size of something to another thing. Proportion is size of somethings compared to the whole the viewer sees. In this artwork, the scale of the chick is hilariously sized up. Its proportions is way different than the proportions of the farmer and the tractor.

2 Writing and Looking

This is Winslow Homer's Boys Wading, 1873, watercolor and gouache, 9 and 3/4 x 13 and 3/4.

This artwork has unity through its use of grays, blues, and browns throughout the painting. Subordination is also used because the background behind the boats is brown and dulled out compared to the rest of the painting. A directional force is also implied because the two boys in the water have their bodies bent so that the audience looked toward them and then towards the boat they are pointed at.

3. Color In My Life

Color had a change on my life in an odd way. I was struggling to find out what I wanted to go to college for, but colors had always been my point of focus. I have always loved how things looked, then one day I watched a music video that was so beautiful and saturated with color that I found out I wanted to learn to create beautiful scenes by camera. Now I am studying to be a cinematographer. I think the color scheme of my life would just be saturated colors full of life because I love fresh and bright scenes in movies and music videos.

4. Art Project

I painted this because I love colors. I wanted to try to paint something with delicate colors and, of course, a cute little moon.

5. Photo Design

I chose two cars photographed in different styles to show the differences of a black and white photo versus a colored photo.  I think that the photographer was motivated to photograph the former picture in black and white because it is an antique. Photographing the antique in black and white makes the car seem stunning and it enhances the feel of the antique. The other car was taken in color to show off the red and to give it more of a sports car feel. It is also taken in color because the photographer wanted to show off a newer model of a luxury sports car. The choice of using black and white for the first antique car versus color for the second sports car is effective because it effects the viewer to see the cars in a different way. 

[mimsyaf]

Our CK fandom, season 4, and love

At some point I’ll collect my thoughts enough to write about Season 4 more thoroughly. I haven’t even watched it all yet, am up to episode 7. To me Season 4 feels slight, and off-kilter, and slapdash, and loving, with some great moments, and some really bafflingly wrongheaded choices.

It doesn’t feel wrongheaded in a slick, soulless Marvel way, it actually feels deeply personal to the 3 main writers. I just happen to disagree with them about some… stuff. Daniel. Most of Daniel’s arc. And other stuff too. And also they tried to cram waaaay much too much in. Someone wrote that it feels hollow, and I agree.

Then there are some wondrous surprises, like just how great Terry Silver is in every moment, Tory’s storyline so far, and the fact that I have come to be very interested in Robby as a character, and care about him deeply.

But I’m not really writing about Season 4 here. I do have major problems with it (that will be very fun to write about! both critically and in terms of fic-it fics!) but I also feel the love the writers have for the characters (even if I really disagree with them on characterization!) and for the fandom, including the queer parts of fandom. It means a lot to me, that affection, those nods to us. YMMV and that’s totally fine.

The main thing I wanted to write about was YOU. My beloved fandom. Our little corner of fandom, the one that treats even KK3 as a sacred text, mines it for nuance and meaning!! This Tumblr Speakers Corner where we get on soapboxes and yell about toxic versus restorative masculinity (and occasionally Ralph Macchio’s delicate wrists and Billy Zabka’s amazing CENSORED).

I don’t need Season 4 to be that good. Because I know YOU will spin old straw into gold for me. You’ll pull out nuanced moments in beautifully colored gifsets. You’ll write fic or meta that will have me staring at my phone with my mouth open, tears springing up in my eyes, awestruck. Or giggling wildly to myself. You’ll draw the artwork that will set me to dreaming.

In season 4 they wrote a scene for Laura Lawrence that was so generic, unexamined, and shallow that I wanted to yell at my tv. Meanwhile, YOU’VE given me words about Laura that have changed forever how I view motherhood. One of you wrote words for Laura to say to Johnny upon him coming out to her that went far towards healing my mother’s rejection of my queerness. Your fic did that.

Everything about Sid has always struck me as either a misguided inside joke or inwardly directed antisemitism. And then one of you wrote an exploration of him as a character, his Jewishness, his relationship to Johnny, the country club, LA society, that was more thoughtful and thought-provoking and surprising and moving than most short stories I’ve read in the New Yorker.

Through this slog of year 2 of the pandemic, you’ve spun the most incredible castles in the air, made me think about girlhood, about queerness, about being trans or NB, bodies in sports, bodies in violence, fathers- teachers- wounds-, MEN (sooooo much about men), love between men (all kinds of love between men), martial arts, kink as a way of processing trauma, kink as an awesome fun thing to do, cars, the US’s shameful history of imperialism and oppression of Asian populations at home and abroad, Coor’s Banquet, soldiers, road trips, class in America (where we pretend it doesn’t exist), how Bobby Brown Can Get It, terminal illness, cultural appropriation, chokeholds, neurodiversity, ghosts, Elderly Homicidal Veterans Should Kiss, binary brothers, OG Cobras, stigmas around homelessness, and expired orange juice.

You took some mostly good, somewhat flawed. source material, and you’ve transformed it into a dreamscape. And I love you for it. My eyes are closing on their own right now, so I don’t have time to say that you for sharing this ride on the CK rollercoaster.

Man I hope this makes any sense at all.

[bafflecks]

okay i think i’ve seen batman v superman a hundred times now so here are some of my favourite things/quotes from it because that movie blows my mind and makes me go absolutely feral:

the way batman hangs there up in the corner of that old house in silence like some huge demon-bat

when senator finch says “take a bucket of piss and call it granny’s peach tea, i’m not gonna drink it” and then in the courtroom she sees the glass with the label ‘granny’s peach tea’ and we all just immediately Know™

literally every time senator finch and lex luthor interact with each other

lex pointing at the paradise lost painting and saying “that should be upside down; we know better now, don’t we? devils don’t come from hell beneath us, no, they come from the sky,” and at the end we see the painting upside down; because he obviously talks about clark, but the real devils (darkseid and steppenwolf) really do come from the skies — from the stars

the way the world engine’s sound can be heard throughout bruce’s (k)nightmares

robin’s costume in that glass cage, like some kind of morbid exhibition, always reminding bruce of his failure — and the wayne manor is basically exactly the same thing

just. lex’s whole speech in the library, when he’s like “books are knowledge and knowledge is power, and i am… no. um, no… what am i? what was i saying? the bittersweet pain among men is having knowledge with no power because… because that is [angrily] PARADOXICAL! , and, um… thank you for coming,” and then just walks off

night and day by richard cheese playing in the background while clark and bruce talk for the first time (not knowing who’s the other) — because they are, of course, the night and the day

when lex shakes clark’s hand and says, “ow! wow, that is a good grip! you should not pick a fight with this person,” like HELLO????? THATS LITERALLY— I— DHFJFKJRKRKF OMG

the whole “must there be a superman?” sequence: the quotes, especially “is it really surprising that the most powerful man in the world should be a figure of controversy?,” and “we have always created icons in our image; what we’ve done is we project ourselves onto him. the fact is, maybe he’s not some sort of devil or jesus character, maybe he’s just a guy trying to do the right thing,” and the images of clark refering to artworks, like jesus carrying the cross or atlas with the world on his shoulders

oh just the Symbolism™ through the whole movie oh my god, and the way it’s full of shots that are references to paintings

like: napoléon bonaparte by benjamin robert haydon

and the descent from the cross by peter paul rubens

and the archangel michael defeating satan by guido reni

and the lamentation of christ by jan lievens

and clark going up on the mountain and talking with his dead father vs bruce going into the old wayne manor and talking about his dead father in the very next scene

and the parallel between bruce letting wayne manor slowly crumbling to the ground and lex keeping everything the same in his dad’s old room

lex on the helipad with the little blue ball in his hand, which is the world; so he holds the world in his hand

the whole lex luthor speech on the helipad, especially: “i figured out way back: if god is all-powerful, he cannot be all-good. and if he’s all-good, then he cannot be all-powerful,” and “the greatest gladiator match in the history of the world: god versus man, day versus night, son of krypton versus bat of gotham,” and “close, but i am not talking about lois. no, every boy’s special lady is his mother,” and “there we go. there we go. and now god bends to my will”

clark as a saviour god vs the vengeful god of bruce in the storm:

just the fact that the name martha is the thing that finally stops bruce, as he realizes that clark has a mother, he’s as much of a son as bruce is, and being human isn’t just about being born here etc.

bruce saying “i’ll make you a promise: martha won’t die tonight,” not like that other martha on that other night — and he goes and saves this martha instead of the one he couldn’t........ idk it always makes me tear up

the whole warehouse fight obviously

lex saying “no man in the sky intervened when i was a boy to deliver me from daddy’s fist and abominations,” and then later clark, the man in the sky, intervenes when the fist of an abomination is about to hit him

that scene where doomsday is looking up at the sculpture, then down at the real superman, so we have this image of the symbol of the man, the reality of the man, and this monster between them; i can’t really explain what it is about this image but it hits me hard every time

the gunshots and falling shells at the beginning with bruce’s parents being murdered vs at the end during the funeral

‘if you seek his monument, look around you’

and i’m forgetting a lot of other scenes and things of course,,, i just love this movie very much

[hnnny]

Hey hnnny!!! Do you have any advice for doing lineart?

Ooh this is a great question that I can definitely give a lot of advice for! (I wrote this at the beginning when I thought I might only have three paragraphs of advice for this, and here I am after writing this, and well, see for yourself!)

Firstly, get to know what lineart you like! Do you like really textured and jagged line art, or smooth, almost perfectly consistent lineart? Go on Pinterest or YouTube or Instagram or even Tumblr and just take notes of the artists or artworks that really inspire you. Find what you feel like you want your art to have. I do want to point out that that doesn't mean you should limit yourself to only that style for the rest of your life, no. If there is anything that you take away from this, I hope it's to always experiment and study and grow. If something in your art isn't clicking for you, then experiment with something different!

Um anyway, back to the lineart advice haha

Depending on your medium and expertise as an artist, lineart has quite a few different qualities to it to consider. For instance, traditional versus digital lineart have very different aspects you have to experiment with.

For traditional, make sure you have a clear understanding for what your medium for your lineart (inks, sharpie, pencil, etc.) does when it interacts with your coloring medium, paper, or even the sketch. Often times, it's just a matter of whether or not your lineart is water soluble or not, so you don't risk bleeding or blending where you don't want it.

Now for digital art, since you have layers, the risk of blending mediums is all in your control with the addition of layers and the blending tool, (although some brushes have their own programmed properties that make them have textures or blending properties, so make sure to look out for that). The real worry with lineart here is how to control how your brush works. Get to know the hotbar for the brush tool, how to toggle the opacity, the flow, the smoothing tool, whatever your program offers. This will help you get the line quality you want.

Now comes the fun part...actually doing the lineart.

This is where my lesson becomes primarily digital art focused since that's my main medium. However, I'm sure much of this advice could still be somewhat applicable for traditional artists as well.

You know that constant complaint that "oh my gosh the sketch is soooo much better than the lineart"? Well, there's a few reasons for that I feel I've finally figured out. First off, you guys have probably all heard this, but you should lower the opacity of your sketch underneath by a considerable amount (or erase lightly on your sketch for my traditional artists). Then, when you do the lineart, you can see what you are actually working on way easier and can spot mistakes or empty spaces way easier.

The main thing that I find ruins my lineart if I'm not careful is if my sketching brush is smaller or bigger than my lineart brush. Always try to sketch in a similar sized "pencil" to your lineart "brush". Think about it; if the sketching brush is much wider than your line art brush you're going to end up having to guess if the outside or the inside of the line is what you need to trace over, possibly resulting in some lines that are very out of place with the rest of the piece. If you have a sketching pencil that is too thin then when you end up lining your piece, you may run out of space for a key detail of the lineart and it will feel cramped. I hope that all makes sense.

The other problem I constantly see with digital artists (and even traditional artists) is zooming in (or looking too closely) at the specific spot you're working on. When you neglect the other parts of the piece, you lack the proper context to make it all fit together in a cohesive way. So, constantly zoom out your piece and make sure everything looks good together.

To make your lineart visually interesting, (which is honestly why I was asked this question and not for the rest of my ramblings, but you're getting the full package anyway haha), there are a few things you can do.

I'm going to reiterate that you should experiment with the brushes in your digital library or in your traditional supplies. Find something new so you can find what you enjoy working with. I personally enjoy working with a chisel brush so I can have some interesting angles in my lineart, which leads me to my next point: Experiment with the line width! You can make the lineart slightly thicker in places where the lines intersect or where the shadows are really dark, whatever way you want to do it. I myself love to do really thick line art for major elements, and then go in with a smaller sized version of the same brush and do tiny or smaller details, like faces or metal carvings. This is another spot where you could experiment with line tapering. For my beginner artists, please beware that this means some of your lineart is not going to connect in some places without you going over the spot a second time. Rely on your eraser, I call it my second lineart brush because it helps smooth things down when I need to correct a line. Varying your line width is a great way to enhance the style of your lineart.

A really small piece of advice I have for you is to rotate your canvas or paper or whatever you're drawing on if the line doesn't come natural to you. Make it easier for yourself, not harder. Your art will thank you for it.

I'm going to leave you guys with one last piece of advice, and this one is the hardest to implement. It will take time and effort if you are just getting started, but it will help you with sketching too. It's gonna sound really silly when you see it, but I'm being 100% serious. You ready?

Be confident. Have faith that your hand knows what it's doing and start making long strokes with your pen. Try not to scratch small lines at a time, instead learn to control your hand and by extension your arm and shoulder. Confidence is key and it takes a long time to build up. So, to practice it, do what's called line exercises. Practice controlling your hand by making really quick marks with your pen or pencil. Try a bunch of straight lines in varying directions, right next to each other, or try to quickly draw circles one after the other. Try varying your thickness in an intentional way, making a gradient from thin to thick. Line exercises are a great way to loosen up and gain confidence. So, be confident!

If you read all the way through, good job! Now go out there and take it one step at a time! I threw a bunch of information out into the air because everyone is on their own path in art and has their own challenges to face, so don't feel like you need to apply everything I've listed here at once, just try one thing at a time. If I had to pick, I would experiment now so you can get to know what you enjoy sooner.

Have fun arting everyone!

[enviedear]

secrets that you keep → peter parker

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in a consolation trip back to europe, the kids of midtown high are eager to have a normal vacation, finally. but you on the other hand are on a mission. something weird is going on with peter parker, and you’re going to figure it out.

PAIRING ⌙ peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 2.4k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“-smaller group than before, but we’ll still have fun guys. the tour company has made precautions for you kids. there will not be a repeat of last year.” mr. harrington babbles.

you sink lower into the bus seat. you did not want to be back in europe. truthfully you want to be anywhere but here. wherever, here, was. no one knew. cell service went out about five miles back and the bus driver didn’t speak english. 

“yeah guys, don’t worry. this trip is going to be ten times worse than the last. it’s already started bad since we don't know where we ARE!” flash yells, running a hand down his face.

mr. harrington tries to calm him and the rest of the bus down, to no avail.

you block out the commotion and stare out of the bus window. grass, farm, cattle, shack, more grass, more farm. and not one single cell tower in sight. this is it, you think, this is how it ends, stranded in a foreign country with the most annoying people you’ve ever known.

“guys, GUYS! my service is back,” betty yelps. “it says we’re in wiveliscombe, and that it’s going to be three hours until we reach london.”

her words are met with groans.

“at least we have cell service now.” jokes peter parker, who’s sat in the seat across the aisle from you. he’s cute and nice, but weird. last year’s trip he had about a thousand excuses as to why he’d leave the group and if it happened this year, you were gonna figure out why. no matter what it took.

“mhm, and since we have access to the endless possibilities of the internet again, we don’t have to talk..” you huff.

“i.. sorry. i didn’t-” you cut him off by placing your earbuds back into your ears and turning the volume up. 

something about peter irked your nerves in a way you couldn’t understand. maybe it was the way he knew fucking everything. maybe it was the way his body became incomprehensibly fit in such a short period of time. you really couldn’t understand that. even went as far as to do research on steroids, but found there was no way he could be using those. most probably it was the nonsense of his idiotic excuses. he might be able to fool everyone else, but not you. you knew there had to be something going on.

he and his stupid cute little brown curls, button nose, and six pack were under your firm watch.

by the time the bus reached the hotel the sun was beginning to set. jet lagged and in need of a long shower, you’re one of the first to fly into the hotel.

“It's me and you for the next week.” mj smiles, holding out a room key for you. truthfully, you really liked mj. she was cool and liked a lot of the same things as you. but she had one fatal flaw in your eyes, she used to date peter parker.

it was a short lived relationship, almost everyone saw it as a fling. peter and mj were just… too different. but they remain close friends.

it’s not like you were jealous... just, a tad bit jealous. besides, that ship had sailed and your goal wasn’t to end up like mj on the last trip to europe. no, you had other plans.

“cool. we can watch murder mysteries tonight and grab some snack from the convenience store down the street.” you grin.

the rooming situation for everyone else took entirely too long. it started with flash being upset that his room requirements weren’t being met. he wanted nothing to do with a roommate. this, caused his previous roommate, zander, to object to rooming with someone so, ‘coddled’.

took a full twenty minutes to resolve the issue. 

“mj, you still wanna visit the national gallery tomorrow?” asks the one and only peter parker.

“uh, yeah. y/n, wanna join?” she questions.

you were ready to object, finding it far more intriguing to stay in and sleep but then you remembered your little mission. if you wanted to figure out what peter parker’s deal was, you’d have to be around him. 

“sure. nothing better to do.” you shrug, peering straight into peter’s eyes. 

“i, uh- i thought we’d get an early start to the day. ned wants to go on the jack the ripper tour, so that gives us until one to look through the museum.” peter rambles.

“alright, me and y/n will meet you two down here around ten thirty.” mj clarifies.

“see you then. night mj,” he looks to you. “goodnight y/n.”

you narrow your eyes at him, “sleep tight parker. busy day tomorrow.”

with that you and mj enter your room, ready to sleep off the jet lag. and soon enough, sleep carries you into her open arms, preparing you for the day ahead.

the next morning consists of peter and ned rushing in and out of their room. the duo forgetting nearly everything they needed for the day. it was extremely annoying. but you’d take watching the two ninnies scramble about over this tour you’re forcing yourself to get through right now.

the national gallery was proving to be a bore. maybe it was you. or maybe it was the dull ass tour guide. either way, you’re finding it hard to focus on any of these artworks around you.

“this is the arnolfini portrait. it’s the work of jan van eyck and it is believed to depict an italian merchant named giovanni di nicolao arnolfini. this painting has remained in the national gallery since 1843.” the tour guide drones.

you peer up at the art, searching for anything to interest you about it. you try to focus of the dark green of the woman’s dress, then the small dog, but nothing about this art is appealing to you. instead, you find the whispered conversation going on behind you to be much more intriguing.

“ned how am i going to make it all the way to japan and back here before the ripper tour?” peter grumbles.

japan?

“i don’t know, but i really don’t want to go on a tour of the most infamous and creepy serial killers of all time without my best friend.” ned whispers.

“but mj will be there, and.. y/n.” peter assures.

“great. they both creep me out. that’s like, two extra loads of creepy added onto the already creepy tour.” ned huffs.

“dude, i have to go… mr. stark is waiting on me.” peter pleads.

you hear ned give an annoyed, “fine.”

you wait a few seconds before turning around to face peter’s friend.

“where did peter run off to?” you ask, as innocently as you can.

“uhhhh- the bathroom. the uh, hotel bathroom. yeah, must have been those tomatoes he ate with his breakfast today.” ned gulps.

“mhm. well i think i’ll meet up with him. he shouldn’t walk all the way back alone.” you smirk, shoving past ned and running the direction peter went.

it took a good minute to find him outside, the boy running into a bakery. but once your eyes find him, you rush straight in, right behind him. eyes narrowed and full of questions. 

the brown haired boy quickly enters a bathroom and you grin. 

no escaping now, parker.

you wait outside the bathroom eagerly. only for minutes to pass. no sound escapes the room and you furrow your brows.

you knock on the door, no answer. annoyed you open the door, only to be met with an empty bathroom. 

an empty bathroom with an opened window.

what the fuck?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“we’ve been upgraded!” mr. harrington gleams, looking down at our tired faces.

“last time we were upgraded we almost died.” betty sighs.

“ah- what did i say, we’re not going to repeat last year,” harrington retorts. “now...how do you guys feel about paris?”

well those words certainly livened up the breakfast table. train tickets are soon passed around, and you study yours, spoonful of yogurt still in your mouth.

“hey y/n, mj and i are gonna go to the louvre when we get there,” ned grins. “wanna come with?”

you chuckle, “another museum? nah, i’m good.”

mj quirks a brow at you, “this museum is home to the mona lisa. it’s not just any museum.”

“and the mona lisa is not just any painting… it’s an ugly one.” you huff.

ned guffaws at you.

“honestly, i might skip out too.” peter says.

you turn to face him, “great. you and i can explore paris while mj and ned explore another museum.”

he shifts in his seat, “i dunno i was thinking of-”

mj cuts him off, “i think that’s a great idea y/n. don’t you, peter? you remember what harrington said.. no repeat of last year.”

her eyes are cold as she awaits his answer and he fidgets more in his seat.

“i just think it might be best for me to stay here… ya know in case mr. stark needs anything.”

you roll your eyes, “dude, you’re just an intern. what could he possibly need that his other ten thousand interns can’t do.”

“technically he only has like six other… interns.” peter mumbles.

“but uh.. they can handle whatever mr. stark needs from you. i mean they’ve been av- uh, interns, for a while.” ned says, eyes pleading with his friend.

peter sighs before smiling at you, “alright, me and you versus paris.”

no peter parker, me and myself versus your dirty little secret.

somehow you got to sit next to peter in an empty train car for the ride to paris. and holy shit.. could he talk.

his eyes did have a way of lighting a fire inside you as he talked but, that, was not the point.

it was between an empty car with peter or full car sat between flash and harrington.

peter is always better than the latter.

“-anyways, how’d you convince your parents to let you go back to europe?” he asks.

“i didn’t. they made me.” you say simply.

peter slumps into his seat a little, “uh, why?”

“because when they were younger they traveled the world. i dunno, i guess they expect me to want to as well.” 

“oh. well, are you enjoying it so far.” he asks.

i’d enjoy it more if i could figure out your damned secret, parker.

“sure.”

and then, finally, peter is quiet. 

but not for long, as the train comes to a screeching halt.

over the train speakers comes a booming voice, “veuillez rester calme. le train s'est arrêté en raison d'un dysfonctionnement du moteur.”

your body tenses and you look at peter, “please tell me you understand french?”

“a little.. i dont think we need to worry. they said it’s just an engine malfunction.” he nods, looking around the train car.

you try to breathe. 

everything is okay. there’s no evil robots coming to destroy a train car with two innocent teenagers. that’s so pre civil war. just breathe. 

suddenly a loud bang is heard from the car behind you. not just any bang… a gunshot.

“holy shit.” you whisper, stiff as a board.

peter on the other hand is rummaging through his bag.

“parker! what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss.

“i.. just trust me okay? when i tell you to run… run.”

you look at him with a scowl, “i’m not going to be the sacrificial pig for slaughter, asswipe.”

he rolls his eyes, “i’m going to run with you. we’re going to find an empty car and then… wait for spiderman.” 

you blink. the kid’s gone insane.

“peter. listen, i know coping with your own inevitable death can be hard but, spiderman.. really?” you groan.

another loud bang comes from the car behind you. 

peter looks at you, taking your hand in his. 

the door to your car bursts open.

“run!” peter yelps, rushing into the next car, the gunmen not far enough behind.

“holy shit i’m gonna die.” you scream.

peter throws something at the gunmen when the two of you enter the next car, separating the two of you from the monsters.

but the kid didn’t throw just anything at them. motherfucker threw a damn door. a metal train door.

by the time you process the information, peter is pulling you into a cramped bathroom.

“i don’t have much time but basically, hi, i’m spiderman. those guys back there are people tony stark pissed off really bad and i need you to hide in here until i fix this issue.”

with that he pulls his jacket off revealing the spiderman suit you’re so used to seeing on the news.

“that’s your secret? this entire time i’ve been hanging around you trying to figure it out, and it turns out you’re spiderman. i would have thought anything before fucking spiderman.” you dwell, eyes wide.

he slips his mask on, “wait, you only hung out with me because you thought i had a secret? i mean.. i did but-”

another loud bang interrupts him, “nevermind. we’ll talk about this later. stay here and don’t tell anyone what i just told you.”

you nod, and watch him exit the bathroom.

so much for “not a repeat of last time.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“at least it wasn’t witches this time.” mr. dell sighs.

your entire fourth period groans. 

“what! our world is infested with witches now. i don’t even know why i’m teaching science. i’m gonna turn around one day and suddenly i’ll be teaching witchcraft.”

your eyes return back to your desk, staring a hole into the old wood. your trance is broken by a crumpled piece of paper. you roll your eyes and turn your attention to peter, who after europe has been watching you like a hawk.

you open the paper to see, ‘listen, mr. stark said i need to get written evidence that you won’t spill the beans. please sign below.’

you grimace but sign at the bottom of the paper and hand it back to your new ninny friend.

that’s right. friend. despite being one of the most annoying people on the planet, with the weirdest secret ever.. peter was nice. he was really nice. he liked almost everything you did and listened intently to whatever you had to say.

“earth to y/n.” his voice calls from beside you.

“oh? is class over?” you ask.

he nods and holds his arm out to you. you take it and give him a half smile.

you may find peter parker to be the weirdest dude ever, but you can’t deny that the secret superhero is starting to flood your mind. you never thought you’d be the one to say it, but peter parker is the coolest weirdo you’ve ever met.

and besides, your mission was a success. you figured out his secret and obtained a friend along with it.

well, friend, until you could complete your newest mission.

telling him you like him. like, a lot.

[dothwrites]

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius. 

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention. 

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance? 

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side. 

“You can touch it if you want.” 

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously. Go ahead.” 

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.” 

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas. 

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.” 

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius. 

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar. 

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him. 

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds. 

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester. 

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter. 

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt. 

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.” 

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?” 

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.” 

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.” 

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option. 

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise. 

“Dean. What are you doing here?” 

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.” 

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.” 

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio. 

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room. 

“Would there be good?” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps. 

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres. 

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional. 

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.” 

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him. 

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.” 

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him. 

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.” 

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page. 

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works? 

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself. 

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space. 

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips. 

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?” 

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s. 

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his. 

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner. 

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not. 

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?” 

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.” 

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.” 

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground. 

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.” 

[smokeybrand]

Lost Art

The abrupt decline of Bengus’ art is something that hurts my soul. It was his art which defined the golden age of Capcom. Street Fighter 2 and all of it’s iterations. The Darkstalkers/Vampire series. Alpha. Versus. Justice Gakuen and it’s sequel. Power Stone. Plasma Sword. From the Nineties to well into the Aughts, Bengus absolutely brought those Capcom characters to life. And then he was gone. He’d occasionally drop some art here or there but his grand return to Capcom was with Street Fighter V and, let me say, Father Time is undefeated.

This new style is woefully inferior to his old. Don’t get me wrong, it definitely has it’s charm. This new-new is far more kinetic than Bengus’ older stuff. It ;ends itself to animation. Even as stills, there is a palpable energy of movement in every piece. That said, i absolutely prefer the Aughts take on Bengus’ style. That sweet spot where he was delivering to us masterpieces like his work on Darkstalkers and the stuff he did for the Versus games. I am, of course, a fan or his early work, i still hold that first promo of Cammy close to my heart, but i can’t argue with how dope those Rival Schools characters turned out. Old school Bengus was a god with pencil in hand. Current Bengus? Not so much.

I don’t hate this new style. Like i said, it has it’s charm. But, considering the in-game models are very blatantly based on his old style design, it’s hard to reconcile the new take in those cut scenes and promo art. Bengus has earned his place among gaming legends, like Amano, Toriyama, or Nomura, but it’s still hard to reconcile all of that classic fire, came from the same artist. It feels like Capcom came to him and asked to get these artworks done, and Bengus just slapped it together but that’s not the case at all. This is his new style He even did a spread for Devil May Cry V like this and it’s so out of place, especially considering the focus on realism in that title. This is just how Bengus Benguses now and it kind of breaks my heart. We lost something very special and i mourn.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And the aftermath of the first battle. Featuring more OFA talk!

[No. 34 - Victory or Defeat]

The cover art for this chapter is actually pretty gorgeous. Like, wow, that HAIR. It looks so damn soft I can’t even.

Getting into the chapter itself, we get just shy of a page of flashback to Shinsou’s middle school. Several students are talking about how cool Shinsou’s quirk is, how they’ve never heard of a quirk like it, how jealous they are. One student comments on how he could make all kinds of trouble with it, while another adds on that it’d be without getting his hands dirty. She then asks Shinsou not to go around controlling them. 

Past Shinsou just laughs it off and notes how everyone says that, with his internal narrative thinking about how he’d also expect bad things from someone with his ability. That person would probably turn into a criminal - a villain, even. So he’s used to everyone implying that about him. That’s just how the world works.

Back in the present, we see Shinsou gritting his teeth, while Izuku is standing over him, a bit bloody and beaten, but still victorious. Present Mic again confirms Izuku is going to the second round. Up in the stands, Kaminari nudges Katsuki’s shoulder with his own, noting how Izuku had also gotten him with that shoulder toss. Katsuki looks a bit put out, I guess? Or just distracted. He calls Kaminari dunce face, which gets a fantastic face out of Kaminari.

Artwork. 

There’s a bit here about Izuku using a baiting tactic that I’m not sure whether is from Katsuki or Aizawa, since Aizawa’s thought process continues in the next panel. In either case, I am certain it’s Aizawa noting how Izuku was concentrating his quirk in just his finger, like the strength test and the throw in battle training. Izuku’s been learning from those experiences - or rather, said experiences have forced him to adapt. 

As Shinsou and Izuku bow (or at least Izuku does), Present Mic comments on how the event is off to an uneventful start, before encouraging the crowds to put their hands together for their fierce competitors. As the crowds do so, Izuku is thinking about Shinsou’s words, being ‘naturally blessed’ and ‘getting to follow his dreams.’ Eventually, Izuku asks why Shinsou wants to be a hero. Shinsou turns away to start leaving the platform while replying that ‘we don’t get to choose the things we naturally admire.’

Izuku vibes deeply with this, thinking about how those feelings are just like how Izuku was before he got One For All. But as he is now, what does he say to that?

Shinsou gets his own surprise, however, when his classmates start shouting their praises from the stands above the entryway. One says how awesome Shinsou had been out there, another on how he’d had them on the edge of their seats, a third on Shinsou being the shining star of the general studies guys, and a fourth on how he’d done just as well as the guy who’d gotten third in the obstacle course (Katsuki). Shinsou looks like he has no idea how to process this. And if that’s not enough, the heroes in the crowds are also talking about him and his quirk with no small amount of admiration.

...oh man, wait, do I spy Miss Joke there with the crowds?

Why, yes it is! I don’t know if her character was fully planned or background developed at this point, but I suppose Hori must have elevated hr to more than a one-off appearance at some point. Perhaps liked her relatively simple design?

But yeah, we shift back to Shinsou and the other gen ed students as the latter point it out, and repeat how awesome he is. Shinsou says nothing for a moment, hesitating at the entrance, before speaking to Izuku. UA will consider transfers to the hero course depending on the results here. Remember that. Maybe he failed here, but he’s not giving up. He’ll show UA he’s got what it takes to make the hero course, and he’ll become a greater hero than all of the other students. 

Izuku accepts this driven challenge, only to get caught in Shinsou’s quirk again. Izuku’s confused, because the match is already over. Shinsou comments on how people who respond to him tend to stiffen up like that, and how it’d be easy to mess everything up for Izuku just now. But instead he just demands a promise as he lets Izuku loose from his quirk - don’t lose in a sorry way out there. Izuku agrees again, only to again be temporarily caught in Shinsou’s quirk.

Also, it's a teeny thing here, but I know there's been people (not necessarily in here, but in general) who've questioned how shinsou's quirk works, and from here in the sports festival, what I can at least determine is this:

-his quirk can affect multiple people at once

-people don't remember what they were doing under the quirk's effect (barring Izuku for Reasons)

-his quirk takes effect when he chooses after someone responds verbally to him (sign language or writing don't work)

-it can be a statement or question someone responds to!

-general non-word noises, or non-directed sounds (ie izuku's growls of exertion) don't work as targets for shinsou's quirk

Anywho, with that, we transfer over to Recovery Girl’s temporary office, where Izuku is getting himself healed up while Toshinori hovers nearby nervously. Izuku admits that he couldn’t smile at all, and Toshinori considers that and figures this must have been a tough battle for him, given what Shinsou was saying. Izuku replies that that doesn’t make it okay for him to lose; when you’re aiming for the top, that’s just how it is, right?

Recovery Girl is not impressed with the ‘life lessons’ Toshinori is passing on to Izuku, spinning around to wallop Toshinori on his non-injury side. Toshinori tries to reply that it’s all necessary, only to be interrupted by said wallop and yelp in pain. While Toshinori is nursing his poor abused ribs, Izuku brings up the vision he had. 

He saw eight or nine shadows - not sure on that - when his mind was lulled from the brainwashing, the vision appeared and snapped him out of it. In that instant, he was just barely able to move his fingertip. One of them had Toshinori’s hairstyle… so could it have been the souls of the people who have inherited One For All?

Now, a few things I have to say to this: 

First off, holy SHIT did Izuku already pretty much hit the nail on the head for what’s happening here. We obviously don’t really get more about this for, what, a hundred and fifty or so chapters? I dunno when the JTA is in the manga exactly, so I’m probably off, but even before then, there’s only a few hints here and there about the whole ‘ghost’ thing happening - and yet, Izuku already is kinda sus of what’s happening after just one vision. 

Secondly, while it’s way more likely that it’s Izuku being scared and confused that has him questioning the number of shadows he saw there, I also really love how it’s a perfect set-up for something Fishy if Hori so wants, while also allowing an out if he doesn’t want. It’s like, does the number mean something, or is it just a scared schoolkid struggling to remember details he only glimpsed for a moment?

In any case, we move on to Toshinori’s response to this strange vision. Mostly in that he finds it kinda scary. Izuku is confused, because he was sure Toshinori would know. Toshinori admits that he did see them once when he was young, and that it’s a clear sign Izuku is getting used to One For All. 

At Izuku’s visible confusion, Toshinori continues - the shadows are traces of the quirk’s past bearers. But whatever they are, they can’t directly interfere or influence Izuku. Nor can Izuku affect them. In other words, that vision wasn’t what undid the brainwashing. Rather, it was Izuku’s protagonist powers strong will that allowed him to see those faces - and as far as Shinsou’s brainwashing, Izuku overcame it! Just for an instant! He managed to move that fingertip all on his own.

Izuku isn’t convinced, but Toshinori chastises him, telling him not to dwell on it, and shouldn’t he be worrying about his next opponent instead? Izuku agrees, and thanks both him and Recovery Girl before heading out. Only once Izuku is gone does Recovery Girl note that Toshinori’s shadow had been there too. Toshinori replies how that’s not a bad thing.

My take on this whole scene?

But yeah, it definitely is interesting how early Hori outright told us what was happening with One For All, only for it to be dismissed by Toshinori and a good chunk of the audience. I mean, I don’t know if Hori was planning everything with the vestiges and the other quirks at this point, but he sure laid the groundwork here, and I kind of love it. 

Anywho, moving on from that, we shift over to Shouto making his way towards the arena for his own fight, only to run into the last person he wants to see - Endeavor. Shouto tells Endeavor to get out of his way, but Endeavor ignores him, instead calling Shouto a disgrace to him. He harps on about how Shouto could have crushed the obstacle course and the cavalry battle if he’d used his left side. Shouto says nothing as he marches himself past his father. 

Endeavor tells Shouto to grow up, and stop rebelling like some petulant child. His duty is to surpass All Might. He’s different from his siblings - Endeavor’s greatest creation! Shouto asks if that’s all Endeavor has to say, then states how he’ll win this with his mom’s power alone. He’ll never use Endeavor’s power in battle. Endeavor states how that might be good enough while he’s a schoolkid, but he’ll reach his limit soon enough. 

Shouto is… not in a good headspace. As we’ll see momentarily. 

Izuku joins Ochako and Tenya in the stands while Present Mic starts to announce the participants of the next match. Sero Hanta, the cream of the crop, and yet somehow still as plain as they come! Versus Todoroki Shouto, the best of the best, strongest of the strong! 

The match starts as Sero finishes stretching himself out, stating how he doesn’t really feel much like winning. His arms then snap forward, the tape rushing out to wrap around Shouto. Sero tugs back, yoinking Shouto into position to be swung out of the arena. Present Mic hypes up the surprise attack maneuver, and how it’s probably the best strategy for him, overall complementing how Sero’s giving it his all. Shouto, still somewhat mad-eyed, apologizes, and then-

...yikes. How Sero (or any audience members in the way) didn’t die here is a show of Shouto’s astounding control here, even if it doesn’t seem like it. The entire stadium is dead silent as Sero calls the move a bit overkill. Midnight, half-frozen as well, tentatively asks Sero if he can move. Sero asks if she’s kidding, before the frostbite starts getting to him and he starts biting back pained hisses. Midnight announces Sero’s loss, and the crowds are… pretty sympathetic, calling out good tries to him. 

Shouto steps forward to start defrosting Sero, apologizing for overdoing it, stating that he’d just been annoyed. Up in the stands, Izuku watches on, with his future narration noting that, lost amid the cheers that arose from the audience, he saw Shouto defrost his own frozen self with his left hand. And to Izuku… something about Shouto seemed really sad. 

Shouto is announced to be moving on to the second round, and the chapter closes.

Holy shit. This chapter is actually really something, and not just because of One For All. But still, it really is fascinating to see what groundwork laid early on in the series ended up being used way down the line by Hori as he got more comfortable with the direction he wanted his story to go in. 

Anywho, see you next time for the last chapter of volume four! Which means the next bonus material post is upcoming. And I can just say there’s some interesting stuff in that as well…

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: 

Warnings: cursing, discussion of sexual activities

Word Count: 3,911

~~~~

You’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before you had eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken by the Denver sunrise spilling through the window. Groaning softly you made a mental note for the shopping trip...curtains...Cale definitely needed curtains. Laying on the couch, you played on your phone for a few minutes before the need to use the bathroom finally took over. 

After knocking quietly on Cale’s door with no response, you cracked it open hoping to sneak through to the bathroom without disturbing him. As you tiptoed across his bedroom floor, you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on him. As expected, he was shirtless, blankets falling only midway up his exposed chest. His hair was a mess, and a relaxed expression covered his face. Quietly closing the bathroom door behind you, you chastised yourself for the heat that flooded through you. You were just friends and despite his now single status, that was all this was ever going to be. 

Relieving yourself, you then quickly brushed your teeth before quietly moving back to the living room, easing his door shut behind you. His parents were going to be here in about an hour and after starting a pot of coffee you examined the contents of Cale’s fridge and cabinets. Finding bacon, eggs, and pancake mix you decided to make everyone breakfast. It was as you were moving around the kitchen that Cale finally appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“You’re making breakfast?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head. 

“I am…” You smiled, checking on the bacon in the oven as you scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove. Cale poured himself a cup of coffee and you felt his eyes on you once more. 

“Anything I can do?” He questioned after a moment. 

“Get some plates?” You requested. “How do you want your eggs?” The clatter of plates filled your ears for a moment as Cale set plates beside you. 

“However you’re making them is perfect.” He insisted, sharing a warm grin now that he was a little bit more awake. Nodding you took one of the plates and scooped a hefty portion of eggs onto it before pulling the bacon from the oven and the pancakes from where they were keeping warm in the microwave and piling those onto the plate as well. 

“Eat up.” You grinned, turning to place the plate in front of one of the bar stools at the island. Doing another batch of eggs quickly you set everything aside to keep warm before serving yourself a much smaller portion. Taking a seat beside him, you shook your head as you watched Cale continue to dig into his breakfast. The moment felt a little too domestic and natural so you were thankful when there was a knock at the door that signaled that Laura and Gary had arrived. 

It wasn’t long after that before you were quickly getting ready and heading out with Laura to go shopping for things for Cale’s apartment. The first place you stopped was Starbucks and then you were off to a local shopping center to do some damage. 

“You seem more relaxed…” Laura mentioned as she sat waiting for the light to turn green. 

“Yeah uh...we talked after dinner last night. We’re good.” You shrugged. Yes you were close with Laura, but you really didn’t want to tell her the details of your friendship with her son. She seemed to accept that because she nodded and smiled. 

“Good. I’m glad.” Her response ended the subject and instead she focused on the task ahead. “So you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Cale’s apartment...what does he still need other than what he mentioned to me?” 

“Well curtains would be good. Waking up to the sun isn’t always ideal.” You said, a yawn slipping from your throat. “He could also use a throw blanket for the couch.” You added, pondering over what comforts Cale’s apartment seemed to be missing that would make it feel more like a home. 

Wandering through aisles, Laura did most of the shopping, occasionally asking for your thoughts on something before either tossing it into the cart or putting it back on the shelf. As you walked through the aisle containing photo frames you paused. 

“What do you think about surprising him with some pictures?” You suggested. He had a couple pieces of ‘artwork’ but there really weren’t any family photos to be found as far as you could see. 

“Why don’t you take the reins on that?” Laura replied, a soft look you couldn’t place filling her eyes as she handed you her phone. “Text yourself anything from my camera roll.” As she looked through possible throw pillows, you quickly scanned through the pictures, texting yourself a half dozen that would be perfect. Agreeing to meet up in about fifteen minutes, you headed back to the instant photo machine, plugging your phone in to print the pictures from Laura’s gallery as well as a couple from your own. Satisfied with what you had, you moved back to the frames, picking out one for each photo before moving to find some command strips to hang them with. 

On the car ride back to Cale’s place, you worked to get each photo into a frame. By the time Laura pulled back into the garage you were finished and you helped her carry all of the shopping bags inside. Cale had given his mom the spare key in case the two of you were done before he got back and after letting yourselves inside, you went to work on making Cale’s apartment feel just a little cozier. Together you hung curtains up in his living room, tossing pillows and the sherpa throw onto the couch. Then Laura helped you with hanging photos on his bedroom wall while a few of them were placed stationary on a side table in his living room. Laura unpacked the rest of the things Cale had asked her to buy and then the two of you settled onto the couch to watch tv until the guys arrived. 

Gary and Cale had picked up lunch on the way home, so the four of you sat down to eat. When you finished, Cale handed you a gift bag and though you had a feeling you knew what it was, you were still anxious to open it. Navy fabric accented with maroon and white spilled around your fingers and you gently ran your fingers over the number 8 and lettering of the nameplate. 

“Can’t have you come to the game tonight without proper apparel.” Cale murmured and you jumped up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. 

“It’s perfect.” You agreed. You’d packed the Makar home jersey that you’d bought yourself at the beginning of the season, but you had to admit the thirds were your favorite jersey and getting the jersey from Cale meant just a little bit more than buying one for yourself. 

As you cleaned up lunch, Cale started to settle in, getting ready to take his pregame nap. He had acknowledged the curtains, blanket, pillows and other things his mom had gotten him but it wasn’t until he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment that his eyes must have caught the photos. He’d only been gone maybe 30 seconds when he returned, pulling his mom into a huge hug, his eyes soft. 

“You framed pictures for me?” He muttered softly. 

“That idea was all Y/N.” Laura quickly clarified and immediately Cale turned to you, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly. 

“That’s incredible. Thank you.” He whispered into your ear, and when he pulled back his hands lingered on your hips for a moment more. 

Soon you were grabbing everything you’d need for the game because you were headed with Laura and Gary to play tourist while Cale napped and then headed to the rink. Laura and Gary had already headed downstairs while you debated on a shirt to wear and you didn’t even notice Cale come up beside you as you dug through your bag. 

“Wear that one.” He instructed, pointing to a wine red long-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse. “We’re going out after the game if we win.” He clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. You were already wearing your favorite pair of jeans and had thrown on a cute pair of tennis shoes for running around. You weren’t exactly a club type of person but going out with Cale and his teammates did seem fun. 

“Okay.” You agreed, disappearing into his bathroom to change tops before returning. “Have a good nap. And kick some ass tonight.” You teased, grabbing your makeup bag because you’d barely put any on to go shopping and if you were going out tonight you were going to need to rethink your current makeup. With everything you needed, you snuck a kiss to Cale’s cheek before disappearing out the door to meet Gary and Laura down at the car. 

____

The last time you saw Cale play live was versus Calgary during the playoffs. So sitting in the stands of the Pepsi Center watching him warm up was an entirely different experience. You’d watched him on tv many times but in person it was clear to see just how much his game was growing every day. He was almost mesmerizing to watch and tucked in next to Laura, wrapped in his jersey, you felt at peace. Well, at least until the puck dropped for real. 

During a commercial break in the first period, the Avs announced a promo game. After the participant was introduced and the game was explained, a baby picture popped up on the screen. In it, a little boy, no more than 9 or 10 months old, sat between the legs of a little girl around the age of five who had a book in her hands. Immediately your own cheeks flushed as you recognized the picture, it was one of your favorites from when you and Cale were super little. The fan playing got one guess of who it was with no options to win an autographed jersey, but they were way off and guessed Nate for some reason. Then multiple choice popped up with Cale’s name, JT’s, and Gabe for a chance at an autographed puck. You didn’t even pay attention to the guess beyond hearing the boos signaling they got it wrong, but instead your gaze landed on Cale who was looking up at the screen, hiding a smile as he took some ribbing by his teammates. Eventually his eyes drifted up to where you were seated and he sent a little wink that you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him. From beside you Laura just smiled and bumped your shoulder, signaling without words just how strong your friendship with Cale really was. 

The Avs played a solid all around game and you cheered with each goal scored. Cale had two assists on the night and with the team coming out with the win you knew he was going to be in a good mood. Heading down to the locker room, you listened as Gary rambled on about the game as hockey dads do while sharing looks with Laura that made you burst into laughter. 

When Cale finally stepped out of the locker room he hugged his parents before lifting you up and spinning you around. 

“You ready to go have some fun?” He inquired, boyish smile on his face. 

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Laura warned, though her expression wasn’t all that serious. 

“As if I’d let him.” You joked. For years Cale’s family had the running joke of you being the more responsible one keeping Cale in line. It wasn’t always true obviously, but for the most part the point stood. Still after the past few weeks Cale had had, you were willing to let him go just a little bit crazy tonight, knowing that you would be there as his safety net. 

“We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Gary grinned. “Go relax and have a good time.” Cale’s arm drifted around your waist as he tugged you to his car. Once there, you stripped off the jersey leaving you in just the blouse and as he pulled out of the garage you mussed up your hair just a little bit. Using the mirror, you carefully added a little more eyeliner before throwing on a dark lipstick, tossing both cylinders into the cupholder beside you. 

By the time you stepped out of the car at the club you felt ready for a night out and as you watched Cale shed his jacket, you felt his eyes on you once more. 

Waiting for him to be ready to head inside, you watched as a tall redhead approached, beautiful woman tucked into his side. 

“Y/N...this is JT and his girlfriend Lauren.” Cale introduced and you reached a hand out to shake theirs before tucking your hand back into your pocket. 

“So this is the best friend.” JT said, smirking. “Bout time Cale finally brought you around, he’s been talking about you for forever.” 

“Really?” You teased, ready to throw out a semi-embarrassing tidbit until Cale grabbed you by the waist, his finger falling to your lips to shush you as he guided you inside. 

“Can you at least let me get a drink or two in me before you start spilling the embarrassing stories?” He pleaded jokingly. 

“I suppose.” You conceded, smiling as he guided you up to the VIP lounge and over to the bar. Settling for a glass of wine, you watched him order a beer for himself before leading you over to one of the many couches. It wasn’t long before you were being introduced to all of Cale’s teammates.  

Gabe was boisterous and funny and the way that he looked at his wife Mel made you smile brightly. Josty was a character, he had you laughing almost immediately as he told stories about all of the media events he’d done with Cale and what he’d learned from residing in the same building. He was definitely giving you ammo to use later. Then again they all were, chirps had been flying left and right all night. 

You’d been nursing the same glass of wine for about an hour, watching as Cale downed another 2-3 beers as well as a shot that Burky handed him. It was nice to see Cale out with people that clearly cared about him and you knew this was probably the first time he had really been able to let go of all of the stress since the pregnancy scare. 

Eventually Mel and Lauren dragged you out onto the dance floor with the other better halves and even though you’d barely had anything to drink, the beat of the music had you relaxing, enjoying the time you had getting to know the people who were part of Cale’s other family. 

“You know his eyes haven’t left you all night.” Mel eventually declared, her voice barely audible over the loud music. 

“He’s always been a little protective…” You simply shrugged. The look Mel and Lauren shared suggested that they weren’t buying that logic but they didn’t push things. After a few more songs, you left the dance floor to head to the bar for a bottle of water. While there a tall….like really tall, dark haired man who looked like he should star in the next hollywood vampire blockbuster, slipped up beside you, his arm brushing against yours lightly. As you placed him as Cale’s d-partner you smiled up at him before looking back at where the bartender was rushing back and forth. 

“You know none of us have ever seen him like this before…” Ryan murmured. “He comes out but he never really lets loose. Now I don’t know whether that’s because it’s the first time we’ve been out since everything happened or if it’s because you’re here but I suspect it’s more to do with the latter.” You didn’t really know what to say to that so you shrugged. “And I’m not saying that in the manner of he feels like you’re the babysitter who will take care of him, I’m saying that he feels comfortable because you’re here in a way he was never comfortable either by himself or with Sara.” Ryan finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and he ordered your water along with whatever he was drinking before continuing. “And I’m sure Cale never said anything and neither did anyone else but...you should know everyone really likes you. And I can’t say the same for Sara.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Ryan had walked off and you glanced over at Cale to see his eyes planted firmly on you, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. 

Water in hand, you moved to Cale’s side, his arm wrapping around you immediately. The redness in his eyes told you he’d had a little bit more to drink than he probably should have and you pushed your water his way, not wanting him to be completely impossible to drag home. The grin on his face was lazy as he took the bottle, showing how completely relaxed and at ease he was. 

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a long sip of the water and you tilted your head to observe him, tie gone and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers slipped just under the edge of your shirt along your hip and you took your own sip from the bottle of water trying to hide the flush that filled your body at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. Passing the water back to him, it was soon gone and once the bottle was empty you stood, looking over your shoulder. 

“Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come dance with me?” You inquired, your tongue running against your bottom lip. Stumbling just slightly, Cale slipped out of the booth and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he guided you over to where his teammates and their significant others were dancing. 

With Cale’s chest pressed against your back, his hands fell to your hips once more and the pads of his fingers wandered over every inch of skin they could reach. His touch had never affected you like this before, he’d never been this brazen before, but you chalked both of those factors up to the alcohol. Though you’d only had two glasses of wine since you arrived, wine had always made you far warmer than any other form of alcohol so the heat in your skin was definitely just from that. 

“So I have a question…” Cale’s breath fanned over your ear as he leaned down to whisper yell at you, allowing you to hear him over the rap song that was playing. 

“Yes Cale?” You replied, tilting your body back against his so that you could see his face. It was even rosier than before and his soft smile was replaced by a serious and focused look causing your eyebrow to quirk at the sight. 

“Women like having oral sex performed on them right?” For a split second you were certain that it was only Cale’s hold on you that kept you from falling right over. Choking on your own saliva as you tried to swallow you quickly coughed, your cheeks even more flushed than you could attribute to the wine. 

“I...I mean from what I’ve heard yeah…” You finally stumbled out an answer. “Why?” Your question was ignored as Cale’s hands tightened around your hips. 

“You’ve heard?” Cale prodded. “You don’t know?” Cursing under your breath you shivered as Cale’s thumb stroked a sensitive spot along your side. 

“Cale…” You mumbled, not drunk enough for this conversation. He poked you in the side though signaling you to continue and you groaned. “I mean...I had sex for the first time freshman year of college and we didn’t exactly know what we were doing…” You explained, softly enough that only Cale would hear you. “And I mean I’ve only had sex one other time...it was a one night stand and we were both way too drunk to do anything but fuck. So yeah...I’m just taking other people’s word on it...why are you asking Cale?” You finished, twisting in his arms so that you could look at him properly. His head ducked to press against the crook of your neck and he hissed quietly as you drug your nails along his lower back. 

“Just curious…” Cale breathed. “Sara never let me...I mean I wanted to but...she told me she wasn’t interested.” For a moment you didn’t know what to say as that little piece of you celebrated the fact that it seemed there were a lot of things he didn’t do with his ex girlfriend. 

“Oh...I mean everyone has their own likes and dislikes…” You reminded him. “But generally equal reciprocation is definitely appreciated.” 

As the song ended, Gabe called Cale’s name to go take another shot and you pushed him to go murmuring that you were going to run to the bathroom. By the time you returned, you suspected it was definitely time to get Cale home, so you sidled up to his side, slipping your hand in his front pocket for his car keys. 

“I think it’s time we get you home and to bed rockstar.” You declared. Thankfully Cale didn’t put up much of a fight, closing his tab before letting you lead him out of the club. By the time you had parked in his garage, you could see how sleepy the alcohol was making him and you moved around to help him out of the car, his body nearly dragging yours down with its weight. 

Stumbling through the door, you urged him to start to bed while you got him more water and some pain killers. Gathering both, you moved to his room after checking to ensure the front door was locked. You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in only boxer briefs and though you tried not to stare, your body couldn’t help but notice that gone was the teenage boy you once knew and in his place was a man plain and simple. Setting the water and pills on his bedside table, you urged him to take his contacts out. 

Once you were certain he was fairly settled, you turned to make your way to the couch. Instead, Cale’s hands reached out to pull you back to him and as he scooted to the far side of the bed, he drug you down with him. 

“Cale…” You mumbled in complaint but his eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to steady out, his hands keeping your body pressed tightly against his. Sighing, you managed to work yourself out of your jeans before giving in and settling in his arms. 

Between your conversation with Gravy, the looks Mel and Lauren were giving you, Cale’s inquiry, wandering hands, and this, so many lines had been blurred tonight that it was making you dizzy. 

For the second night in a row...your mind reeled as you fell into a fitful sleep. 

Blouse:

[demonfox38]

Okay. Made it through the last season of Netflix's "Castlevania" interpretation. Thoughts are below the cut.

I've often thought of this series as the exploitation version of "Castlevania," and hiring Malcom McDowell confirms that.

Although, I find it hilarious that both Malcolm McDowell and Patrick Stewart have ended up voicing the same character. I'm sure there's a "Star Trek Generations" joke to be made in there, but I'm not Mike Stoklasa.

Also, I was cracking up a bit when Varney's plot twist happened. Mostly, because it came off a bit Skeletor-esque in vocal performance.

Also, also—laughing that the final boss went the "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence" route despite barely touching on that game's plot.

Animation had its ups and downs with this season. It seemed like there were some frame issues (not enough inbetweening.) I do appreciate how they incorporated more of Alucard's SOTN animations into his fights, however.

Additionally, some of the fight scenes' pacing seemed to have issues, particularly regarding weapon recovery.

The whole bit with St. Germain was off. Like, he's a weird asshole in "Castlevania: Curse of Darkness", but he's more of a weird asshole there in the same way that casually encountering "Doctor Who"'s Doctor would also be strange. Not a straight up villainous boob. Kinda makes sense thematically to have another character who is willing to do horrible shit for their lost loved one, but the series honestly did not do a good job establishing her. Like, did she even have a voice actor? Or a name? All I'm saying is it was much easier for outsiders to get the Lisa revenge thing Dracula had going.

Also, how dare you joke about not being deaf and then have a villainous monologue, TV show.

Greta's a good girl. Well, outside of being an occasional homewrecker. Point is, she's competent and trying her best to save people in a bad situation, and anyone having issues with her is not to be trusted in the same way that you don't trust people who don't like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2."

Look at me. Do not trust people who do not like Rochelle from "Left 4 Dead 2." Yes, her writing could have been better, but she's still a viable character. Let people Thunder Child their ships on the rocks of your better self. Got me?

Also, y'all really need to embrace more polyamory. Or understand the fact that Alucard's not going to love just one person in his life. Dude lives to be at least 600 in the game's timeline. For a dude who loves humans, constricting him to just one who may live to be 100 at best is cruel.

There are some interesting philosophical dialogues going on here, but I can see where some people may lose their patience for them. Considering one of Castlevania's most popular memes is a philosophy debate, you're just gonna have to suck that up. My personal favorites included the topic of acting versus reacting, as well as having agency in one's story.

Striga's battle theme was cool, but otherwise, the music was forgettable. Yes, that is a sin. Punishable by Death? In this series, maybe!

The gore's still over the top. Which, okay, fine. There's a bit of that in game. It's just generally a bit more reserved with it or uses it in crucial boss fights.

RIP doggie.

The Targoviste plot's a bit of a wash, but it doesn't feel as useless as Trevor and Sypha's previous plot predicament. It's just nothing of a surprise, considering how many times the writing has played the "authority figures are useless" and "dark secret surprise" tropes in this series. Like, Greta being reliable is actually more surprising than anything with this plot.

I cannot emphasize enough how boring I found Carmilla's interpretation and plot arc. You guys could have had a giant, naked lesbian riding a skull and spewing magic at people while her cat-eared girlfriend jumped them for extra damage. But no. Vanilla lady with a scarlet sword for you. So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. Good night.  

Gotta say, as much of a deviation from his source character as he is, Isaac really turned out well in this series. He's definitely evidence that you don't always need to stick to source material.

His Abel is fucking sick, dude. Way to go, king.

Also, I was expecting more violence from Hector this season. Oh, well. At least he got a teeny bit of a spine.

Look. I'm not an alchemist by any means. I'm just a bit baffled by this season's emphasis of obtaining a Rebis. Like, any time the game series has talked about the Magnum Opus of Alchemy, it's more been in pursuit of making a Philosopher's Stone (or at the very least, a Crimson Stone, as seen in "Castlevania: Lament of Innocence.") Pulling a Rebis out of the aether is…well. Could have been more interesting than it was. I mean, it was a bit nightmarish, but it really didn't do much.

Sypha's really never getting back to her family, is she?

Love the idea that the cross subweapon is basically a fancy chakram.

GERGOTH. BUDDY. FRIENDO.

Really appreciating the monster variety in these last two seasons. I mean, that's a big selling point of the "Castlevania" games. Not so much vampires standing around and bickering in dick-waving contests.

Breaking out of the bullet points to hit on the big subject of this season—that is, the ending being surprisingly happy.

There's been a lot of shit that's happened over the last few years. Obviously, a pandemic. Konami's run by pricks. Then, there's the situation with the allegations of sexual coercion with Warren Ellis. Additionally, the terrible ending of "Game of Thrones" likely impacted how this season was developed, considering it seemed to be chasing its progression in construction. (I mean, look at Carmilla and Daenerys.) I don't know how many people were happy with the last season of "Castlevania," but from my POV, it double-tapped itself in the foot with the way it pushed simultaneous sex and violence in its last two episodes. My point is, there was little taste for additional darkness, considering everything that has been happening. Society is drained.

A happy ending was what people really wanted. And man, did this pull through, in that regard. But, there's a conversation to be had in if this swerved too far or if it violates some artistic integrity to give people what they want. So, let's have it.

Look. Man. Have you seen a "Castlevania" ending? When you do it right, it's crumbled castles and rainbow-colored skies. If you do it really right, it results in a pretty girl holding the main character's hand. There is happiness in these games. Hope. Forgiveness and redemption. If this is supposed to be any bit an accurate interpretation of these games, it absolutely should end in such a joyful fashion. (Okay, maybe giving Dracula and Lisa a second honeymoon at the end was a bit much, but I get where people would want that.)

Did some items need to be addressed more? Absolutely. Alucard staking people and Hector getting sexually coerced into servitude are some pretty big topics to just wave away. (Oh, shit. That second part is even worse now with what Ellis was allegedly doing, isn't it?) I suppose I'm just glad the series didn't go full Sephiroth with Alucard. And at least Hector finally took some stand in his situation, even if it wasn't the bombastic, hateful revenge I'm used to seeing from this character in other stories.

I think the creators of this series were trying to save this show from the fate of "Game of Thrones." (To some extent, perhaps the "Voltron" re-interpretation as well.) There's so much media out there anymore that if a production team doesn't nail the ending, their creation gets wiped out of the collective consciousness. To that extent, I think the creators were successful in saving their series. Did it do damage to itself in yanking out of its construction and themes? A bit. But, in doing so, it pivoted back to being more like a proper "Castlevania" product. (And of course, by proper, I mean anything ignoring "Lords of Shadows." God, people need to stop chasing other products when developing "Castlevania" stuff and just let the series be as it is.)

I am very curious as to how much of this season was part of an original draft and how much was revised in backlash to everything that has happened. It doesn't seem like Trevor was intended to survive, but to some extent, Sypha had to. (I mean, until she has a kid, anyway. See "Lords of Shadows" series for dickery regarding that.) I'm also wondering if there was more intended for the Carmilla subplot, as much as the series was banging on about her invading locations. I'm not even sure St. Germain was intended to be a villain all along. Getting into a bitchfight with Death? Sure. Doing what he did here? That's a weird arc, dude.

If you come away from my POV with anything, it should be this: GO PLAY THE GAMES.

Do it. Do it, you ghouls. Go to the Steam store and download the "Castlevania Anniversary Collection." Boot up your PS3 or 4 or 18 or whatever and get "Symphony of the Night." Throttle Nintendo's stores until "Aria of Sorrow" or "Dawn of Sorrow" or "Harmony of Dissonance" or whatever rattles out of their moldy pockets. Find a ROM. Find an ISO. Just play a game. Especially, one of the ones made before 2010.

"Castlevania" as a game series isn't about hordes of vampires dick-waving at each other or edgy swearing or being grim and dark. Some of that stuff's there, sure. But, at its core, it's what game developers created when they looked at Universal Monster Movie creations and went "That's cool. Let's fight that!" It's a series about pushing technology in MMC chips to make rich, vibrant music. It's about flourishing artwork and layers of sprites dripping particles and gore onto players. It's sober and goofy and very pro curry.

The thing is, "Castlevania" players have their own unique connection to the series. We're the weirdos you see clapping their hands when a mutilated dinosaur shows up on screen. It's not because the monster alone is cool. It's that we've fought and struggled and bodied that thing through several floors like a goddamn "X-Men: Children of the Atom" stage. It's kicked our asses. We've kicked its ass. We've got a connection to it that you just don't get from passively watching it barf lasers through a computer monitor or TV screen. Like, you know how people go, "Well, the movie wasn't as good as the book?" It's obnoxious, sure. But, those who read the source materials have to go to the effort of constructing their own sets and people to understand what's happening. In a similar fashion, game players build up their own skill set to reach that next rung.

Maybe you don't always get a payout when you invest your resources into something. But, there is a sense of accomplishment, seeing what you can do.

There's a reason this series got an adaptation. I mean, outside of Konami's head executives wanting easy money. "Castlevania" is a fantastic video game series. Has it got a few problems? Oh yeah. Especially after outsourcing and pachislot machines became all the rage. But, there's a reason Simon and Richter Belmont are playable in "Super Smash Bros. Ultimate." There's a reason I spent a significant amount of time playing these games and writing or drawing fanworks for it. These games are wonderful. Beautiful. Difficult, but inspiring. Reasons I will still bang on about them decades years down the road.

When I get exasperated by layers of angst and edge lord content this Netflix series generated, I want you to know why. The roots of this show are good games held captive under poor management. Some people on staff know this. I wish they had more scenario and writing control. But mostly, I don't want to shit on them or their work. (Well, other than perhaps the obvious target.) I just want you to see what I love in these games.

And also to watch Crashervania. Because that's legit.

[not-xpr-art]

Art Deep Dives #1 - The Value of Art ~

Hi everyone!

This is the start to another project I want to start on this account, a companion to my Art Advice tag, and each week or so I’ll be ‘deep diving’ into art history, arts & culture, society’s relationship to art, etc etc... (I basically want to make use of my history of art degree, and also because I genuinely love talking about this stuff... especially without the pressure of deadlines lol)

Side note: don’t worry about these being really ‘academic’ or ‘formal’, since neither of those things are in my vocabulary lol... this is a very casual, informal kind of ‘essay’ writing that I want to be accessible to everyone, regardless of how much you know about art! 

This first one is a kind of follow up of my Art Advice post talking about references, and I’ll be talking about the ideas of how we ‘value’ art.

(this is about 1600 words long by the way...)

The Value of Art

It’s no secret that art is highly subjective. Particularly when it comes to the question of ‘what is the most important type of art?’. It changes from person to person, country to country, and era to era. How we define ‘great art’ now is vastly different to how we defined it several hundred years ago. I mean, just look at the kinds of art in galleries in the modern era (Tracey Emin’s bed comes to mind) versus that of the 18th century (with the likes of Joshua Reynolds, JMW Turner and Thomas Gainsborough). Really, it’s clear to see that what we see as ‘the most important type of art’ is forever changing...

Or... is it?

In order to really answer whether the kinds of art we value now versus that of the past has changed, we need to first establish what ‘valued art’ even means. 

I think in today’s day and age, ‘value’ is often synonymous with ‘price’. So, a Banksy original chipped away from it’s original wall setting and having been sold at a Christies auction for £3.2million is, by this definition, what we as a society ‘value’ as art... Right? Or maybe ‘value’ is more to do with what kinds of works that are displayed in big galleries or public spaces? The Tate has an entire wing dedicated to the works of landscape/seascape painter JMW Turner, so surely that means that we today place a high ‘value’ on his work still? What about public sculpture? Architecture? Sculpture and architecture are often a lot more available for the general public, and even if most people wouldn’t be able to tell you who made the Statue of Liberty, they at least know about her and perhaps even enjoy to look at her? And surely the fame of buildings like the Eiffel Tower or the Taj Mahal mean that they, too, are ‘valued’ as pieces of art? And what of artworks from other countries and cultures? A Chinese man may find no ‘value’ in a painting by a so-called ‘Great Master’ of the Italian Renaissance, but instead will ‘value’ a piece of Imperial Ming Dynasty porcelain instead, does that mean his opinion is the ‘right’ one? Colonialism has played heavily into what arts are now called ‘valuable’ and what are not, so how do we quantify whether a work has ‘value’ without placing our own individual cultural bias on it?

Basically what I’m getting at is, what we value as art in this day and age is very complicated, in a big way because our society is complicated. But for the sake of arguments, and for my next few points, I will be defining an art’s ‘value’ predominantly by whether it has been featured in a big gallery... Which also means I’ll be focusing on painting and sculpture... And also focusing on the Western world of art, specifically Europe, which I want to clarify doesn’t mean I personally ‘value’ that art more, it’s just where I’m from and predominantly what I studied in my course... 

Art historians often declare the Renaissance (around the 14th to 16th centuries) the ‘beginning’ of what we know as art today. But for this essay, I want to instead start a little before this, in the Early Medieval period. People often know of this era as ‘the dark ages’, in Europe at least, because it was after Rome had fallen and taken all their so-called ‘genius’ with them. A particular note for why for years we’ve seen this period as ‘regressive’ is through their art. A quick Google search of ‘Medieval baby’ will come up with a plethora of results for a wide range of paintings depicting babies (usually the baby Christ) as scaled down versions of adults, complete with receding hairlines and strangely buff arms and chests. 

Now, is this because medieval babies actually looked like this? I think this is... highly unlikely... I know most things happened earlier in that era than nowadays (girls getting married and pregnant at age 14, for example), but I think it’s a bit of a stretch to think their babies had six packs... No, instead it’s more likely that rather than being direct representations of babies, these were purely symbolic. And particularly given how they often were of Christ, art historians often say that the weird adult-baby hybrids are to represent Christ’s divinity. 

Now... What’s all this got to do with art and value? Well, the thing about early medieval art is that the value was almost entirely placed upon the symbology and meaning of a piece. Later in the medieval period, paintings began to become more ‘realistic’ to some extent, but it still for the most part stayed true to this idea of symbolism over representation. 

That is, until we get to the Renaissance and all of that gets thrown out of the window because artists want to be able to paint babies that actually look like babies, thank you very much! And with the likes of Leonardo da Vinci championing for art to become a science, surely this means that the kinds of art that was valued in this era were highly accurate portraits or landscapes... Right?

Short answer? No. 

Long answer? Well, portraits and landscapes had their place in the hierarchies of art. Portraits were often commissioned by wealthy patrons, and were basically ways of the artist showing off how good their portrait skills are. And landscapes were less important, more seen as ‘nice backgrounds’ than anything else. But the art that was highly valued by most wealthy patrons and art connoisseurs of the time was... (imagine a drum roll here please) 

History painting! These are basically big biblical or mythological scenes, often with a lot of figures doing a variety of things (think Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel), often with some pretty landscape as the backdrop, and often featuring a couple of portraits in the mix (including one of the patron who commissioned it, probably being blessed by the Virgin Mary, and a cheeky one of the artist peeking out from behind a bush or something...). From the Renaissance era up until basically the mid 19th century, History paintings were seen as the most important works of art to be featured in galleries. 

And really, things only really began to change when we reached the end of the 19th century, with the development of photography. 

Photography, and film, both lead to a massive shift in not only the kinds of art that are produced in the 20th century, but also the kinds of art that are valued. For so long art had been the main form of representation of society, and the advent of photographs meant that art had almost lost that ‘purpose’. Not to mention the leading towards a more secular society which no longer had a need for symbolic or spiritual artworks. 

So, the only place art could really go was to become a form of expression instead. The likes of artists like Picasso and Braque pioneering cubism, being about new ways of representing the world. The Surrealists delving into ideas of the subconscious. Pop-Artists like Warhol looking into media and consumerist society, and the list goes on... 

Which brings us onto my most hated period in the history of art: Conceptual art. 

I’m not going to go big into this period, which is still around today (unfortunately), but all you need to know is this twat Marcel Duchamp flipped a urinal (which he didn’t even make himself) upside down and called it a ‘fountain’ and shoved it into a gallery and thus art that has no value beyond it being ‘concept based’ was born. And yes, yes I hate it a lot (I’m not even trying to be objective about this, I hate conceptual art with a burning passion... some guy put some sh*t in a box and put it in a gallery & called it art and I am SO mad about it lol...). And as much as I hate this period, what it does signify is how art began to be valued not through the craftsmanship of the work itself, but instead the ideas. 

And this idea remains today. Damien Hirst has forged his entire art identity on creating works that are based entirely on some ‘meaning’ that could be forced onto it, rather than the aesthetic or material value. And as mentioned before, Tracey Emin’s infamous bed isn’t about the work and effort gone into the piece itself, but instead about what the artists intends for the piece to ‘mean’. So, the ‘value’ of the work is what it says, and not what it is, essentially. 

(This is not to say that there are no artists who work today that get featured in galleries and are highly skilled at their craft. The one that springs to mind is Grayson Perry, who’s well known for his pottery and tapestries with some kind of social commentary bled into them.)

This ideology around art also bleeds into online spaces of art (which I see as distinctly separate from the world of art galleries and the Turner prize). I still see artists, and non-artists, talking about how much they enjoy work that is ‘original’, and oftentimes ridiculing and demoting ‘fanart’ as purely ‘derivative’ or ‘unoriginal’. 

And all this brings us back to history paintings. Because their ‘value’ wasn’t just in the immense amount of skill that went into them. A large part of their ‘value’ was that artists and non-artists alike saw them as feats of the artist’s ‘genius’ or ‘imagination’ at play. And in the same way that Early Medieval art was valued for the symbology of the piece rather than the representation, history paintings had the benefit of including both elements. In essence, they were both meaningful AND beautiful. 

In conclusion (just to remind you that this is technically an essay lol), a lot about art HAS definitely changed in the last few hundred years, particularly in what kinds of art is getting made now (and why we make art in the first place). However, what we as a collective society ‘value’ as art has remained surprisingly the same, often with a heavy preference for a work’s meaning and symbology, which can sometimes overshadow the craftsmanship of the work itself. 

I still hate that godforsaken Duchamp toilet though...

(images used:

unknown medieval painting (I just liked that he had his hand down mary’s dress lool)

mona lisa by da vinky 

detail of the creation of adam on the sistine chapel by michelangelo

a photograph by louis daguerre, often known as the father of photography

*clenches fist* ‘fountain’ by marcel duchamp

‘my bed’ by tracey emin )

I hope you enjoyed this informal essay about art, I will definitely be doing more of these in the future! If you have any thoughts on this, feel free to reply to this or message me, etc! I love having open and frank conversations about art! 

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Prologue

IT’S HEEEEEERE! For real, you guys, I canNOT express just how excited I am to share this story with you! What started as a prompt from @wellhellotragic in APRIL 2019 has grown into this, my story for @cssns 2020! Specialist of thanks to @shireness-says​, who helps me talk out my ideas even though they make no sense to her, the ladies in the discord for sprinting with me in the hour I get to myself at the end of the day, and especially to @spartanguard ​ for her INCREDIBLE artwork! I’m so excited to see what else she comes up with as more of the story gets posted!! 

Now, onto the exciting part... 

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me! 

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

Posted on AO3

“There has always been a war,” Prince David’s father always told him. In a way, he’s right. For as long as anyone can remember, as long as written history goes back, there has been the war, though what began as a magic versus non-magic fight has shifted into a power-hungry battle between two leaders — no matter who the leaders are. 

Centuries passed, generation gave way to generation, but the war has remained. New technologies have come and gone: horses gave way to trains, only to be replaced by cars and tanks; weapons have come and gone. 

But the War has remained. A few leaders have come along to try and stop the two sides from fighting, but none were strong enough to really stop the war, turning to the temptation of corruption before too long. Even the current King of the Gale, King George, started his rule as a kind and understanding ruler, but all it took to change that was the death of his wife, the King turning to dark magic in hopes of getting her back and only finding anger and corruption. 

The only thing that has spanned the ages is the War. 

The War, and the Wasteland. The two cities have grown, smaller hubs popping up where people have congregated, but the Wasteland remains, a large expanse of land that runs across the middle of the world where nothing will grow, where no people have congregated, barren of even animal life. And this has become the center for the War, home to makeshift barracks and trenches and destruction. 

Prince David dreams of a day when the world is a better place, somewhere that he’s not terrified to raise an heir, somewhere where there is more to live for than corruption and violence. But that day hasn’t come, not yet. 

-- -- -- -- 

According to some legends, there has never been a time when the Nephilim and the humans were not at war, but he’s too much of a cynic to believe that. Some part of him has to believe that there was a time, no matter how long ago, when the world was not drowning in war and hatred and destruction — because, if that’s true, then he can still believe that it’s possible for there to be a time after the war. That’s why he decided to fight for the Prince instead of the King; King George lives for war, for fighting, but his son, Prince David, helps men like Killian be sure that there is still good in the world, even when it seems impossible to find. 

Though, recently, this good has become harder and harder for him to find, and though he chose to fight for the Prince, he certainly didn’t choose to be captured by the enemy, tortured in hopes of revealing the Prince’s location. 

The rain pours down around him, pounding against his aching skin. It's cold, just shy of too cold, and Killian thinks that, maybe, if he could think straight, see straight, focus on anything beyond the sharp thrum of pain rolling through his body, it might even feel good. 

But nothing can feel good here, when everything around him is so terrible. His world is broken, his home is broken, his soul is broken, his skin is broken. In multiple places. Scars run up and down his arms, his shoulders, his torso. Gunshots, knife wounds, weirdly-healing scars from magic-users and weres and fae blades — and maybe even a few self-inflicted from his lowest moments. 

Not to mention his hand. The wound on his arm from the enemy Nephilim soldiers, the almost-unbelievably large were-shifter and the silent but sadistic fire-wielding sprite that helped torture him, was part of the worst pain he had ever felt. There was nothing he could do about the wound on his chest, the gash so close to his heart he feared they would pierce it, but the wound to his arm was another story. He’s seen a wound like that before, knows exactly the damage it would have across his body if the poison was left to spread, so he did the only thing he could think of to save himself, both from the poison and the chains that bound him and removed the rest of the limb with his own dagger. 

He raises his eyes from the ground, needing to focus on something other than the throbbing pain blurring the edges of his vision, some sort of goal that he can dedicate what is left of his quickly depleting energy to. And that's when he sees it, so bright and clear in the darkness of the stormy night that he's sure he's imagining it. But he heads towards it anyway, the bright red cross of salvation like a beacon of hope in front of him. 

By the grace of one of the higher powers — he honestly could care less about which one — no atheists in foxholes, one of his superiors used to tell them — the door to the building  is open, though the lights are low, only enough to light up the single aisle that runs between the beds that line the walls. There are only a few bodies in the beds — humans and fae of all kinds — and they all seem to be asleep, a fact that his entry to the hospital does not seem to have any effect on. But none of this changes the fact that he has no idea where he is, and — more importantly — whether he has made it out of enemy territory, which changes around these parts quicker than the tides. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a voice that sounds startlingly like his brother's, he wonders if there is still any such thing as safe territory anymore. He has enough common sense left to drag himself through the aisle between the rows of bed and through a set of double doors, and into what looks like an office off to his left, before finally crumbling on the floor, thankful for the warmth of his new shelter before he finally — finally, every bone in his body screams — succumbs to the pain and passes out. 

 TAGS: @kmomof4​ @thisonesatellite​  @teamhook​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @cocohook38​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @facesiousbutton82​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @tiguanasummertree  @angellifedeath​ @pepperpottss​ @mariakov81​ @scientificapricot​ @teamhook​ @kday426​ @xarandomdreamx​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @xhookswenchx​ @nikkiemms​ @carpedzem​ @superchocovian​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ -- want to be added or removed? let me know! 

[lucidimage2jordantane]

Dagmar Keller / Martin Wittwer

Whilst looking for inspiration for the type of images I wanted to take in everyday life, I came across a series of photographs Passengers by Dagmar Keller and Martin Wittwer who were drawn to passengers on an old bus at a bus station as they passed through Poland. 

The passengers were behind stained windows that were covered in ice. It gave the appearance of a painting. What I like about these images was that they were unplanned and not staged. What I also liked was how they explored not just the people on the bus, but the surroundings as well. This was the quality in photography that I was looking for. The playfulness and exploration.

Image Reference 

Keller, Dagmar./Wittwer, Martin. Passengers, #21. https://www.kellerwittwer.de/selected-works/passengers/

Passengers, #21 – This image to me makes me wonder what he is thinking, what emotions he is feeling and where he is going on this cold night. The black of the night makes the viewer focus on the subject directly and because there is ice on the window and the subject cannot be seen clearly, it makes the viewer use their imagination.

Image Reference

Keller, Dagmar./Wittwer, Martin. Passengers, #94. https://www.kellerwittwer.de/selected-works/passengers/

Passengers, # 94 – The photographers explored the surroundings of the bus stop. It appears to be a curtain but who knows where it is. I like the way the light hits the curtain and it may seem random in the context of all the other images, but it shows me the playful quality I am after as an influence to my own work.

Image Reference

Keller, Dagmar./Wittwer, Martin. Passengers, #8. https://www.kellerwittwer.de/selected-works/passengers/

Passengers, #8 – This image is a bit clearer and looks like a painting. There is a look of pain in her eyes. Has she just left someone and catching a bus to get away? Is she regretful? Again it is in the imagination of the viewer.

Dagmar Keller and Martin Wittwer have collaborated since 1997 and their work includes photography, film and video. Their inspiration comes from urban social stories and the hopes and dreams of the people that live there. 

References

Keller/Wittwer. “Selected works.” kellerwittwer. https://www.kellerwittwer.de/selected-works/passengers/

u-jazdowski. “Dagmar Keller & Martin Wittwer (Germany).” https://u-jazdowski.pl/en/programme/residencies/residents/archiwum-rezydentow/dagmar-keller-martin-wittwer

Rinko Kawauchi

Rinko Kawauchi was born in the early 1970’s in Japan and became interested in photography while studying graphic design. She has a very soft style of photography which she emphasises with soft colours. Her work and aesthetic is to have an almost dream like quality and will mostly shoot ordinary things.

Why her work is of interest to me is that she does not second guess herself and runs by instinct. If she feels compelled to photograph something, she will and not ask herself why. She rarely will include people in her images and is interested in images that move her rather than just look good.

She puts a lot of thought into her compositions and one of her main conventions is juxtaposition. She wants the viewer to imagine what is going on. She also commonly makes use of cropping and prefers to use natural light.

What I found interesting about Rinko is that she does not like to take multiple images and then select the best one later. She will purposely take her time and get the shot she had in mind. 

References

Andia, Lucy. “ 10 Things You Should Know About Rinko Kawauchi.” Culture trip. 10 Things You Should Know About Rinko Kawauchi (theculturetrip.com)

Artsy. “Rinko Kawauchi.” https://www.artsy.net/artist/rinko-kawauchi

Ibasho. “rinko kawauchi.” Rinko Kawauchi - Overview | IBASHO (ibashogallery.com)

Image Reference

Kawauchi, Rinko. Halo. 2017. http://rinkokawauchi.com/works/172/ 

This image follows Rinko Kawauchi’s conventions of cropping and natural light. What I like about it is that it is off centre and the lighting gives it a dream like quality. I like the rule of thirds quality and the juxtaposition quality of the light shining from below where you would think it would come from the moon itself.

Image Reference

Kawauchi, Rinko. Halo. 2017. http://rinkokawauchi.com/works/172/ 

I like this image as you would expect there ordinarily to have some other feature to concentrate on but in this case it is just the birds. It feels very serene and makes me imagine what it must be like to be one of those birds. Me imagining this just highlights one of her aims which is to make people use their imaginations.

Image Reference

Kawauchi, Rinko. Illuminance. 2011. http://rinkokawauchi.com/works/194/

The use of depth of fielld and the overexposed lighting add a strange quality of beauty to this image.

Lieko Shiga

Born in Japan in 1980, Lieko Shiga has become a rising star in Japanese photography mainly due to her going against the grain of what other Japanese photographers do and  being so expressive. What I find fascinating about her work is that she has no one particular style. She will integrate her own personal experiences and encounters into something surreal and she will do this by any conventions she can find including lighting tricks or double exposure of her images.

She is best known for her Spiral Coast project which was inspired when she was invited to become the towns photographer when she moved to a small community (Kitakama) in Japan. Her community was hit by a tsunami in 2011 and the town was flattened and over half the residents died.

Through her imagery, Shiga managed to capture not only the history of the village from before the tsunami, but also the spirit of the village. She cleverly did this by mainly shooting at night which gave the desired uncertainness. The images had a certain vagueness like it is a memory and she managed this by using a flash that does not reach the whole frame.

The deepest part of her work I find is her concept of photography itself. Shiga feels that photography is more than capturing a moment in time, Photography to her is not the past, present or future, but instead there is just space. There is no time. Shiga views herself as the camera as she bases most of her work on personal experiences. Photography therefore takes on a physical form. This is the sort of aesthetic I want to incorporate into my work. I want my camera to capture the qualities of what I see.

Image Reference

Shiga, Lieko. Blind Folded Pilot. 2012. https://www.liekoshiga.com/works/rasen-kaigan/

I love the texture of this image. You can almost image cars running up and down this beach and doing wheelies. What fun they must have had. After all, the beach is about fun. This is capture here. This would be my interpretation of this image but when you see the title Blind Folded Pilot it takes on another meaning. Now you can see someone lost and trying to find their way. Ironically this setting was staged by the photographer and she used a stick to make her patterns and lines.

Image Reference

Shiga, Lieko. Portrait of Cultivation. 2012. https://www.liekoshiga.com/works/rasen-kaigan/

One of Lieko Shiga’s conventions is to place random items next to people she is photographing and this is an example of this. This image is of the chief to her village. Behind the subjects is a massive tree root and she Lieko would never admit how she did it but it appears as though the tree root passes through the body of the chief. the red colouring of the root and over the chief is of significance as well as it would symbolise the blood.

Image Reference

Shiga, Lieko. (Installation view). n.d. Photo credit Daegan Wells 

How Lieko’s work has been exhibited in shows. I prefer the bottom image as this has visual diversity. 

References 

Artsy. “Lieko Shiga.” Lieko Shiga - 36 Artworks, Bio & Shows on Artsy

Badger, Gerry. “Lieko Shiga-RASEN KAIGAN/album (SPIRAL COAST/album).” 1000 words. https://www.1000wordsmag.com/lieko-shiga/

Maddox, Amanda. “A Japanese Photographer’s Encounters with Natural Disasters.” Aperture. https://aperture.org/editorial/lieko-shiga-amanda-maddox/

The Physics Room. “RASEN KAIGAN: THE SPIRAL SHORE.” http://www.physicsroom.org.nz/exhibitions/rasen-kaigan-the-spiral-shore

Irina Rozovsky

Irina was born in Russia in 1981 has exhibited work in galleries worldwide and now resides in Georgia, US. Her belief is that the camera is a third eye and believes a photograph can be taken anywhere and anytime. A lot of her work has been based around rootlessness, migration, diaspora and personal versus political freedom this was inspired mainly though her migrating from Russia to America when se was seven years old.

Ten years ago Irina was invited to a friend’s birthday party on the lake in Prospect park in Brooklyn. Irina had been to this park many times, but it was the first time on the lake. Looking back at the park from the boat she was on changed her perspective of the park and the people that visited it. It was as if the world stood still for her and she was compelled to begin a ten-year journey of photographing the people that frequented the park as the park covered many different areas of Brooklyn such as the wealthier side to the poor areas. There were people from all different cultures, religions, and ethnicities in different areas of the park and Irina spent the next 10 years visiting the park and taking photographs and she felt like she got something new and exciting every time she returned. 

She spent her time discussing what she was doing with the people she was photographing, and subjects seemed to fully embrace her vision. She named her project In Plain Air and this has been an inspiration to my latest work. I have always tended to stage my photographs but what I want to do during this assessment is shoot my images in their natural form. The subjects do not need to be glamorous or use props that are in theme. I will find objects that are of interest to me and look for interesting ways to photograph them and in such a way that an otherwise dull and everyday object, can become interesting and a become a piece of art.

Irina Rozovsky I have noticed shoots from different angles which can change people’s perspective on issues. Her projects can run for varying times from a few weeks to several years and she will not move on until she feels she has captured the true essence of what she is there for. This to me shows the connection she has with the project and how she can run on instinct.

Image Reference

Rozovsky, Irina. Untitled, (from Mountain Black Heart). 2015-2016. https://www.irinar.com/mountain-black-heart

There are so many things I like about this image. I like the angle she has captured this from. I like how the reflection on the sand looks like glass. I like the irony of the flowers (as a living thing) are in plastic bottles which kill so many creatures in the sea. This is a statement that I’m sure she wants to get across.

Image Reference

Rozovsky, Irina. Untitled, (from Mountain Black Heart). 2015-2016. https://www.irinar.com/mountain-black-heart

The innocence of a child sleeping, oblivious to all the mess and turmoil going on around them. Whether this image was staged or not, the message is clear.

Image Reference

Rozovsky, Irina. Untitled, (from a rock that floats). 2014. https://www.irinar.com/a-rock-that-floats

Photographs made in the US, 2014 – present. Chromogenic color prints of various sizes.

I love the way the light reflects on the water and how it leads your eye to the buildings in the distance.

Image References

Rozovsky, Irina. Untitled (from In Plain Air). 2011-2016. https://www.irinar.com/in-plain-air

Capturing everyday life in Prospect park in Brooklyn where all walks of life occupy. Rozovsky liked to capture all people who visited the park which ranged from wealthy to the not so wealthy.

References 

Feinstein, Jon. “PLACELESSNESS.” Daylight. Irina Rozovsky: The Politics of Placelessness | Daylight 

Rozovsky, Irina. “The world in one park: Irina Rozovsky's best photograph.” The Guardian. The world in one park: Irina Rozovsky's best photograph | Photography | The Guardian

Syracuse University. “Irina Rozovsky.” https://calendar.syracuse.edu/events/2020-oct-20/irina-rozovsky/

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Just Leave Pt 3

Up and down a leather strap your straight razor eased making Dwalin swallow, he had chosen to go first before the young Princes and shirtless he waited until you walked and flashed him a kind grin. A gloved hand rising to tap his pectoral muscle where you would start shaving, all around his nipple to cover the skin, “Just breathe buddy, don’t forget to breathe. I won’t shave more than what’s needed.”

He nodded and gentler than he expected the sharp blade eased the hair off then was wiped and closed to be set aside for the application of the stencil. “That’s backwards.”

Grinning at him you said, “This side faces down, so it will be the right way on your skin.” Watching carefully he saw the marker settle just right on the space he wanted it and got a better view with the mirror you lifted for him from the stand, “That’s how you want it, right?”

“Yes,”

He nodded and you said, “Okay, let’s get you laid back on the table.” Slowly he exhaled and shifted to lay back on the cushioned sheet coated table he was seated on and his eyes followed to the tattoo gun you lifted from your case from the stand holding your ink you would be needing. “Now, it’s going to buzz, and I’ll just do a small dot so you can feel what it’s like.” The buzz alone almost had him flinch and his gaze followed your hands settling on his chest to count down to the spot that left him blinking for how much worse he had expected it to feel.

“That’s it?”

Smirking at him you pulled your chair up behind you with a foot and settled back saying, “Yes, though the coloring needle sometimes feels sharper depending on where it is.” Steadily you got through the outline and his eyes lowered to the handkerchief you lifted to wipe the excess away.

“You wipe it? All my others they have to let it soak in.”

“The needle goes in and out of the skin hundreds of times in a matter of seconds pushing ink in as it does. If I don’t wipe the excess away it won’t be done well. I believe our processes for tattoos are just a difference in tools used for the job. Don’t worry, I won’t spoil it. Now, when it’s healing you don’t rub it then, just rinse it off no scrubbing or harsh soaps or salts. Keep it nice and moist with the cream I give you.”

During the detailing of the complex piece of runes and what seemed to be his animal guide for his personality he asked you questions keeping himself calm from disturbing you by moving around to see how things were going until the final wipe of the tattoo when you grinned saying, “Finished.”

He glanced down, “That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it.” You said with a grin and helped him up cleaning your ink cups while he admired the work in the hand mirror you passed him. Back again you came with a tin of your skin cream saying after removing the lid, “A dab is good and you just smooth it across all of it, just like this,” you said spreading it for him making him grin to himself at the cooling effect on his mildly stinging skin. “When it feels dry just put some more on it to keep the skin moist. Can you go shirtless?”

“Shirtless?”

“Well, I ask because I don’t know what material your shirt is from and if it’s too rough it could scratch it up and there’s risk of infection from too course a material.” Parting his lips, “But I have some wrap I can put on it if you can’t let it breathe.”

“I can go shirtless. Infection is common?”

“No, just like a burn or a bad bite, just if you bathe don’t scrub it, rinse it off, no harsh soaps. Think of it like skin scraped raw, just give it the cream and some time to breathe. By morning with the cream it should be mostly healed, the pain will be gone along with any swelling.” He nodded again with brows knitting together in focus, “Tomorrow it may start to peel, but that is good, the top layer of skin heals and peels back and it leaves the tattoo intact. Third day should just be for any lingering peeling or tightness of the skin. Please don’t worry, and I am here to check it if you did accidentally get attacked by a scrub brush or something,” making him smile to himself. The tin was folded in his palm and you said, “There you are, you survived.”

Hopping down he chuckled laying his shirts over his arm and left five gold coins in your palm after having taken a look at your size versus time and event marker charge chart you had made up for the Dwarves to calm them and their kin that because you weren’t a Dwarf the usual prices for various event markers would remain intact. “Thank you,” he said watching you add the gold to your till mounted on top of an enchanted safe from your own stand in the old shop you worked for swapped with currency from the mountain.

Out he went to show off the work to his relatives with Fili puffing up his chest to join you back behind your dividing curtain to strip and be shaved for his barely postage stamp sized marker on his collar bone. “Just breathe Fili,” you said leaving him sitting up on top of the propped up sheet coated lounger while the other table swapped sheets and had wiped itself down to be clean again.

New needle and gun sanitized you neared the shaved and stenciled Prince saying, “Since this is on bone just try to be still but don’t stop breathing. I’ll give you a tap with it to show you how it feels.” He nodded and the relief was instant on how harmless it seemed. “See, not bad.”

He chuckled eyeing the braided trip of hair on the side of your side swept bangs with a bell in it to go with the other tucked back into your messy bun from the longer stretch of your unruly curls. “Uncle doesn’t mean it you know.”

“Which one?” you asked wiping away some of the ink before continuing on after his next exhale.

“Thorin,” your eyes shifted to his a moment, “He can’t control it.”

Grinning to yourself you replied, “All our families have demons Fili. I don’t blame him for that. But thank you.”

“Your family had demons?”

After a moment you replied, “My parents liked to eat hallucinogenic mushrooms and drink, then they would hurt themselves.” Parting his lips, “Never got to hurting us until the next to last time.”

“Next to last?”

“They left us alone and took off to the Grand Canyon and jumped off.”

“Miss Pear-,” he could barely whisper out unable to imagine the pain that had caused you.

You shook your head, “Everyone back home always said to count our blessings, they stopped before hurting us, stopped the cycle of us seeing them drink themselves into stupors. They stopped hurting. I think I’ve done well since then. So no pitying stares, and don’t worry about drinking around me, just if you know any poor drunks let me know so I can steer clear.”

Fili, “No one’s hurting you.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I also tend to be followed by the ones who tend to get sick after drinking too much.” Making him chuckle to himself, “Then I get to spend the night holding hair from their face holding their heads in the toilet to keep the floors clean.”

Fili, “We will ensure you do not get roped into playing nursemaid in our celebratory balls.”

Kili came next, with less hair to shave but just as much nerves and three times the joy in bounding out shirtless to show off his marker leaving Bombur next with a few small markers he had been overdue on taking you to lunch.

Bofur and Bifur also caught up on markers with Oin finishing the day with another large piece on his back to tribute his lost wife just prior to Smaug’s arrival. Soaked and back in bed again you slept once again being joined by the fuzzy footed King angered still by the shirtless males flaunting your artwork. They were trying to steal you away, meant for his portraits, his markers this was near enough to make him want to lock you away from all of them. More Dwarves were coming and against his morning growls the day before you simply picked him up and went off to your first appointment anyways leaving him on one of your couches. Skin painters were a treasure beyond measures of value in gold or silver. No one was taking you anywhere.

.

Two days of sulking and the sulking Dwarf King was left to last while the Elves inspected your portrait collection to see how they wanted their private portraits to look. Inched back to another fur raising rage he paced in his apartment pausing only at your walk inside after his refusal to answer the knock at his door. “Are you wanting to reschedule your appointment?”

“No,” he growled then turned to continue pacing again.

“Are you worried about the shaving, I’ve seen your back it isn’t nearly as hairy as your chest.”

“No,” he rumbled and you rolled your eyes and turned on your heel for him to growl, “Where are you going?!”

“I am going to my shop, when you are ready come down.”

He scoffed then smoothing his hand across his chest feeling his temper rise, “Why did you do this to me?!”

“I am not doing anything to you.”

Facing you fully he shouted alerting his relatives in their apartments luring a few to inch closer to their doors to hear if Thorin would start another fight. “You are the one behind this transformation I keep being forced through!”

“I am not and you know it.”

“I am a KING!”

“SO WHAT?!” His mouth fell open and you said, “See! That’s it right there! You want my apology?! Fine! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry that you’re more than just a name in a book to me! Not just another King that I read about once! That I actually love you enough to give a damn about you possibly killing yourself by racing out of the mountain without so much as a scrap of armor when the orcs arrive because you have something to PROVE, OH GREAT King Under the Mountain! I am so sorry that I inconvenienced you by not letting you fly into rages and dangle Bilbo from the ramparts accusing him of stealing your Arkenstone! And try to kill Dwalin for trying to talk your head out of the dirt!”

By now the color was leaving his face as well as the faces of the Company having crept into the hall to listen along. His chest clenched again seeing tears spilling into your eyes, “I am so sorry that you are going through the Dragon Sickness and feel so alone right now in a place that holds such painful memories for you but trust me it does not feel good, and certainly isn’t amusing to make you feel more helpless to your rages while suffering through this! But I’m not like Gandalf or Saruman, I’m not a good Wizard and I’m not very powerful and all I had to protect you was a birthday wish. I am so sorry but I do not have any control over it at this point, you have to beat it!”

“I CAN’T!” he shouted back.

“Seriously?! You survived a Dragon, in your thirties fought off an orc with a TREE TRUNK!” He scoffed and you shouted back, “And don’t you fucking dare forget everything you did for your people to settle them in the Blue Mountains!”

That had his mouth agape staring wide eyed at you to his kin clasping their hands over their mouths in the hall muffling their pleased squeaks to your point, “You might not have had a hoard of gold but you gave them plenty! Plenty, Thorin! Don’t you dare go lessen yourself as King based on how much gold is under your butt, you think you needed a crown to be their King? You really think you need that hunk of metal? You were hurt, I get that, you lost a grandfather, a father, brother and however many hundreds of your kin to a giant fire spitting lizard that kicked you out of your home sending you pretty much to the other end of the continent. You weren’t happy, for decades you were in pain otherwise you wouldn’t have gone chasing after a fucking Dragon! You got your home, you got your gold! You have family! I don’t have anyone. Don’t lose your family, don’t you dare! And I give you my word I will turn you into as many damn things as I damn well please to keep you from feeling that again from a stupid decision made out of anger. Because it never stops hurting and it’s bleeding out of that book, all your pain and I can’t stop drowning in my own pain so I have to try and help you fix yours.”

He tearily looked you over a few moments as you wet your lips in a glance away and then looked back pointing to the door saying. “Now I’m going downstairs to my shop and you either sprout a tail or you get your ass down there so I can do my job and write King on your butt cheek or wherever else to prove to you and every other Dwarf on the planet that you are one.”

Just two steps away he tearfully whispered, “You love me?”

Turned again right up to him you strode and his hands were taken, fingers extended on both that inched up your shirt making him swallow then his heart plummet with a tear down each cheek tracing the scar from the sword Azog stabbed through you matching the smaller scan on his upper back. Up at you he peered and was the only one to hear you whisper back, “Proof, need more? I can take it if you do.” Another tear rolled down his cheek in his hand trailing down the scars from the sword as they dropped to his sides.

“I’ll be downstairs sharpening my razor, prepare yourself for a shave.” Out you walked and in silence he stood in all but silence past the echoes of your words in his ears. The pain still gripped in his chest but now didn’t seem to bite as hard retracing the things you had reminded him of, those years in the Blue Mountains, hard but steadfast in resettling with every smile on the faces of his kin growing by the day bolstering something in him. Far from courage but something he couldn’t name, a feeling he knew, the feeling nightly urging him to make it to another sunrise to be there for another day to possibly find his lost relatives, a way to rebuild chance to return home again. The feeling of being alive and strong again without fear of losing everything he had suddenly.

“Well said,” Thranduil lowly stated just outside the Royal Wing he had been walking to the library from to distract himself until lunch.

When your hand found the front of his robe his brows arched up through the hunch caused by your tug, and silently he froze to your arms crossing behind his neck with hands clutching at his back. The Elven guards and Prince all watched your eyes close tightening your hold while saying, “I’m so proud of you.” That had his arms melting around your back and his own eyes shutting to keep from crying and relishing the moment as it lasted. “And I always will be, never forget that.”

“I would never dare to be so foolish.”

Eased back his eyes met yours with a grin ghosting onto his face at your hands brushing a few strands of hair from his face you cupped ticking his brows higher again, “Good, and for the record you are way prettier than Galadriel.” Deep throated he chuckled to the peck you left on the tip of his nose with shoulders shaking at the laughter bubbling out of him unable to wait in sharing your sentiment to his good friends.

Still he shook, smiling on your walk to Legolas who awkwardly slumped into your hug that with a tug on his wrist he just accepted was going to happen. “You are more magnificent than you know,” a peck on his cheek and he couldn’t help but grin awkwardly trying not to cry at the familial gesture.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too strange,” you said to Tauriel who was puzzled at the advice, “the world is changed by dreamers who see un-walked paths to take. I may not know you that well but you Ma’am, are a dreamer and welcome to be strange with me.” Making her smile as well while you turned to keep walking down to your shop, “I am off to wait to shave a King.”

Silently and shirtless Thorin sat allowing you to touch up his back tattoo across the back of his shoulders riddled with tiny scars from scrapes and work related injuries between wear marks from armor in the few battles he had faced around the white scar from your saving his life. Beneath the sprawling black and blue ravens around a line of anvils down the back of his neck to between his shoulder blades was surrounded by sacred runes based with a new rune for King and Conqueror for reclaiming his home and throne.

Gravely Thorin rumbled near to the end of his session, “What happens at the end of the book?”

“Everyone is broken, in various ways. Some find their way back to whole again others don’t.”

“I meant for me?”

“You reclaim your home and beat the Dragon Sickness.”

“The way you spoke, it was if you had lost me.”

“I do lose you Thorin,” that had his heart sink and shoulders slump a moment, “Every time those clouds of grief roll in.” That had him glancing at you over his shoulder, “You know what those eyes are?” He shook his head, “It’s the clear blue sunrise in the middle of winter. Clouds blow away and billow up again, so I lose you, but you’re always there. Just decidedly puffy at those moments.”

“Absolute nonsense.”

“Well thousands have said this quest was a death march so I will take absolute nonsense as a compliment from you.” Making him chuckle lowly to himself.

The needle pressed into his skin and for the final touch to his Conqueror marker he asked, “Why the fox? For all the animals,”

At that you giggled saying, “Because they’re adorable, and small, and have large ears.”

“Are you making fun of my ears?”

“I wouldn’t dare, I am quite fond of your ears, King Thorin. Make it hard to be mad at you when you growl my way.”

“Other Kings would arrest you for treason.”

“Other Kings would be turned into grasshoppers and fed to you for supper.” Making him chuckle as you wiped off his upper back. “Time for the cream,” You passed him the mirror and to the mounted mirror on the wall he walked smirking once there to the finished job. “Try to sleep on your belly tonight, and try not to get angry, who knows what would happen to my work.” His brow inched up, “Unless you prefer coming to do it all over again, and again, and again.”

From his pocket he set a small stack of gold on the counter turning so you could coat his back with the cream and instruct him on how to care for it before leaving to head up to his room feeling a strong urge to nap. Thanks had been heavily given and once you were done with your lunch you were free of any appointments on this blustery winter day to grant you ample time to finish your fox painting.

 *

Deep lost to his dream Thorin opened his eyes belly down in his hoard sinking more and more to the sound of coins falling across his back pushing him deeper into the gold. Doubts of his quest, his sanity, his bloodline and right to rule rippled between the clinks of gold blocking all else from the world around him in painful hisses clenching tight in his chest. Images flashed of his lost kin and brother before his eyes settled on a single gold coin etched with a jackalope right in front of his eyes.

“A strain of madness runs deep in that line…”

Reaching forward his fingers folded around that coin and he could hear his own voice responding, “I am not my Grandfather.” Suddenly he was falling and every pound of gold dropped away scattering in the fall with coin after coin turning to jackalopes wiggling their ears and tilting their heads in catching his gaze. The fall lasted hours it seemed through glimpses of smiles and each brightening moment from the Blue Mountains aiding in his carrying on flooding with appreciative smiles his way and respectful bows of the head to the young title free King. Down he glanced only to find the ground just inches away. Timidly his feet planted on the ground and looking around to see the creatures all around him on top of the snow he began to sink past his knees when you appeared cross legged in front of him.

“You look stuck.” Slicing an apple with a knife in your palms.

“Miss Pear?”

Instantly your brows furrowed asking him, “You know me?”

Scoffing at that he replied, “Yes, I know you. You know me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” He replied feeling his legs sinking a bit more in the snow while the Jackalopes came closer at your chewing a slice of the apple, “Stop this, help me out of this hole!”

“I don’t usually help strangers.”

“This is not funny! We spent the better part of a year trudging across country to win back my lost home from a Dragon! You know me! You live in my Kingdom now, you have a shop there.”

After a giggle you asked, “Your Kingdom? You’re a King?”

“Yes!”

“What would a King be doing out here?”

“I don’t know, now will you help me?”

“I thought Kings were supposed to have guards to keep them safe.”

“I don’t need a guard I’m with you.”

“I’m your guard?”

“No.”

“So, we’re friends then?”

“N-no,” The word next to painful to stammer out. “Yes,” he blurted out to correct himself.

“It is no or yes? Are we friends?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Can’t be that complicated you’re waist deep in snow and I have this knife and you say you trust me. Who are you again, Your Majesty?”

“Thorin.”

“Thorin, hmm. I don’t know any Thorins.”

Grumbling to himself he exhaled to the sinking of his body again another inch into the snow, “You know me, you know my Company and Bilbo. We spent nearly a year together,”

“Not ringing any bells.” You said shaking your head luring his eyes to the bells in your hair still.

“Thorin, Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror. King under the Mountain. You know me! You love me!”

“Do I?” Your head tilted and he snarled as your voice echoed with a low hiss to the flicker of a shadowy pair of wings circling the both of you on the snow as you sliced off another piece of the apple. “Why would I love a stranger? Where’s your proof?”

“Proof? You love me!”

“Mr Thorin King of the snow, who are you to tell me who I love?”

“You told me! You did!”

“Did I? I have no clue who you are, the one I love went away, far away,” Again you ate the slice as his hand slammed into the snow in a failed wiggling try to get free himself.

“I am right here! Right here! Look in my eyes! Look! And tell me what you see!” he let out a raspy breath feeling himself sinking more, “Tell me you don’t know me!” Over his back he could feel paws settle reminding him of your fingertips through tattooing him, so gentle but steady as the jackalopes steps. “Tell me-,” he whimpered out to the sudden tug he felt jerking him under the snow.

Just a blink later he found himself panting on his knees, matching the sound of a ragged whimper of pain. Looking up his mouth dropped open finding you curled against a rock back on that day before jolting up he raced to your side slamming hard onto his knees. “You’re in pain,”

“Thorin?” you whimpered out barely able to open your eyes, “I can’t get up,” a tear rolled down your cheek, “I can’t get up, I’m trying, it hurts.”

“I know,” Up into his arms he lifted you cradling you to his chest, “I know where to take you. I know who can help.” Hours he ran through the growing storm muttering soft words of encouragement to hold on and stay awake. Stone arches broke his sprint and a line of Elven Guards stopped him with spears aimed at him over their tall shields. “Please,” he panted out, “Please help her.”

“I know you,” Elrond spoke stoically speaking with shadowy wings flickering behind his back, “Thorin Oakensield. Son of Thrain,” a hissing echo tailing his voice, “Son of Thror.”

“Please help her! She’s dying!”

“I don’t believe you. She is young. You are lying.” He paused and straightened up facing Thorin fully, “You are mad.”

“She is dying! Look! Just look! You know it!”

“I do not know her, nor do I wish to. Take your ally and leave. You bring doom upon us all.”

“Please help her!”

Elrond turned away and everyone seemed to disperse from the courtyard, “You are mad. Just like your father, just like Thror.”

“I AM NOT MY GRANDFATHER!” Turned back his head shifted granting them eye contact again, “And she is not me,” he panted out, “Help her please, she knows where the ring is, she could save us, all of us. Please, save her, kill me, send me away, but save her!”

“You offer your life in return for her safety,”

“She is so kind, so infallibly kind, and loyal and had shown me love in languages I did not bother to understand. I never cared to see, until the day she nearly died saving me, and all of us. I am weak, I can be cruel, I have had hate in my veins for so long. But she sees pain in others while wading in her own, and she drowns in theirs to spare them the waters and blood. Help her. We don’t deserve her. I, I don’t, I-,”

His voice faltered seeing the jackalope on Elrond’s shoulder and he could hear your voice loud and clear through his formerly hazy memory before transforming last inside your shop. “Jackalope, very rare to find, bring patience and kind thoughts to those who befriend them.”

Ori’s voice asked, “Kind thoughts?”

“They tend to stumble upon people who aren’t very kind to themselves, the ones who need it most.” A groan from Thorin came in the culmination of the hissing thoughts in his mind and his clothes dropped with his fox self scurrying over to curl up halfway sitting on your foot after knocking his head uselessly into Dwalin’s ankle. “Mom hoped by naming me after their Queen in an old children’s tale they would show up around the house. Like that old myth you paint leprechauns in the yard and they bury their gold on your land assuming it’s their own territory.” You said bending to pick up the King as his clothes folded themselves and flew back up to his rooms following the enchantment you had set on them. Around the shop now he could see a herd of the creatures peering up at him sniffing the air as if his scent was changing to something more tolerable to their noses. He could feel your hands and arms folded around him gently stroking him to calm him down.

Kili, “Did it work?”

Fili, “Did they come?”

“I thought they did, but my parents couldn’t see them.”

Thranduil, “That does not necessarily mean that they were not real. A great many creatures chose who cannot see them. Some are merely unworthy.”

“Save her,” Thorin muttered feeling his eyes lulled shut by your touch, more and more it became apparent he was waking up to his struggle of unseen weight on him. “Save her.” With a snort awake he was on all fours and groaned feeling the sting on his back signaling him to reach for the cream tin beginning the application of awkward streaks over his tattoo calming the mild irritation of his skin. And once that was done straight to your room he went leaving the tin by his bed.

Awake in your sitting room hours from supper he eyed the painting of himself as a fox you turned from hearing his entrance asking, “What do you think?”

“I love you,” he blurted out and you turned to set your brush in the water glass to soak.

“It is nowhere proclamations of love level good.”

“The painting is infuriatingly adorable, it’s you I love.”

Folding your hands in your lap you asked, “Now who are you and what have you done with Thorin?”

Across the room he walked taking your paint dotted hands, “I’m going to prove it to you.” Curiously your eyes lingered on his though his timid inch closer leaving you a breath from lips touching only to face the door at a distant muffled explosion.

“Now that’s infuriating,” you said standing up and taking your wand holster from the stand clipping it to your waist on the way to the front overlook where you found Gandalf firing off fireworks left and right alerting you all to the growing sea of orcs and goblins turned to colored glass in a swish of your wand.

Over the blustery wind while Gandalf trudged closer through the snow Thorin rumbled out, “I had a dream about you,” glancing at him you smiled as he said, “I saw jackalope, whole herd.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “I will tell you about it later sometime, once we find out what he has been up to.” Just now spotting the sled driving Radagast beside his cousin with a stack of bodies on his rabbit powered sled.

“Abduction again by the looks of it. By this rate I am starting to think there’s a quota for abductions each Wizard has.”

“Do not start abducting people.”

“Aww, not even a few Hobbits? They’re so much fun, and you’ve tons of land to cover, see, you could fit a lovely little Second Shire all across these plains, and the Master of Laketown will have a sassy shakedown if he tried to march on Erebor.”

He chortled then his grin dropped seeing his brother and father in the sled waving up at him, “Frerin, Father,” turning rapidly he grabbed your hair he confirmed was clearly not green showing you had tried to use a locator charm. “Checking,” his hand lowered to clasp around yours leading you to the steps to take you down to the gates. “Come, meet father and brother, best gain allies from them before Amad arrives and official proceedings are begun for my coronation and our marriage. That will require many drafts for our wedding markers we will share and an artist for our portrait will have to be chosen…”

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter Three

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

“Well, if I didn’t think the man was an asshat before...” Mr. Stark growled as he disconnected from the call and sat back on the couch next to a freshly wakened Peter. “Seriously! He told me to call when we were ready and now he’s all ‘call Wong—I’m busy.’ He’s the keeper of the freakin’ Time Stone and he can’t bother to find a few minutes between balancing chakras and making avocado paste to follow through on a promise?!”

Peter could sympathize with Mr. Stark’s frustration, but was definitely less vocal about it. He’d hoped he’d get a chance to see Dr. Strange specifically so he could thank the man for at least getting him back to Earth after the whole ‘thing,’ but he guessed he’d have to wait until they got back to New York.

Mr. Stark, it seemed, was just getting started though. “I mean, he just hung up! I don’t even have Wong’s number! How am I supposed to—?”

 FRIDAY popped in from the device in his hand, “Boss, may I remind you that I can easily—?”

“Not now, FRI!” He gesticulated wildly, “I want to vent and you’re messing with my flow!”

“Tony, be kind.” Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark chastised her husband from the adjoining bedroom where she was packing up her and Mr. Stark’s belongings. “All the wizards have been playing travel agent while everyone gets sorted and you know this.  He can take a break if he wants to. We’ll just call Wong like he asked and be done.”

Mr. Stark scowled at the suggestion. “But Pep, I wanted to talk to him before we left. You know this!” He whined. “An entire universe knows we’re here, and we’ve just kicked some serious ass! We need to coordinate as soon as we get back, make sure that we have a plan in place for the next—”

“You’ll do no such thing, buster! You know that Bruce and Steve will have returned the stones by the time we’ve returned, so stop being difficult. He’s signed on to do the whole ‘Avengers’ thing...” She popped her head out the door and gave him a pointed look. “Whereas you, Anthony Edward Stark, are retired. You have other priorities in your life now.”

They shared a significant look then, and if Peter had been paying attention, he’d have probably noticed it but—well, Peter’s brain was still warring between finding the motivation to get up off the couch versus never getting up again.

He knew what Mr. Stark had said earlier was true, and appreciated the fact that he was fully in Peter’s corner; but now that he was calmer... uh, visibly calmer, he had to start figuring stuff out, asap.

Once Mr. Stark got ahold of Wong, who Peter thought he might have met at some point during his recovery, they’d be on their way. He’d only slept lightly for an hour or so, and Mrs. Stark didn’t need long to finish gathering up the personal items they’d been able to collect thanks to the very wizards Mr. Stark was still muttering about. It looked like it was only a small suitcase for the two of them, and Peter had—yeah. He took a steadying breath as he realized, Peter had nothing to grab. All he possessed were the sweats and t-shirt Mr. Stark had given him to wear after his time in the med bay.

He didn’t even have shoes to wear... home?

Reality wasn’t holding back from soundly smacked Peter in the face.

“Wong! Ol’ buddy! Tony Stark, here!” Mr. Stark boomed from beside him. “Your roommate, Dr. Strange, has volunteered you for Stark family relocation duty.” Mr. Stark looked at his watch, “What are you doing in about an hour?”

Peter could have heard the reply if he’d wanted to, but he was drawn to another phone, Mrs. Stark’s, ringing quietly in the bedroom.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the woman answered with a whisper. “How are you?”

Whoever answered was quiet—just quiet enough that Peter couldn’t hear anything in return over Mr. Stark’s conversation, and he knew he had no business being curious but—

“Perfect!” Mr. Stark grew louder, forcing Peter’s attention back to their plans. “Now, do you serve lunch on this trip or is it just a bag of peanuts and...” Mr. Stark stopped talking. From what Peter could hear, it seemed that Wong didn’t share Mr. Stark’s sense of humour. “Yes, Wong, I’m sorry.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and smirked at the boy. “Yes, I und... no.” Was Mr. Stark getting flustered? “Of course I can be respectful of... yes. I know—I know. Wait, what?—C’mon, you know I was only— But—No, Wong! C’mon—“ A defeated sigh, “Do I have to?—But?—okay! I KNOW!” Mr. Stark pinched his nose, huffed in frustration and then calmed. “Thank you, Wong. We’ll see you in a bit.”

FRIDAY disconnected the call when Mr. Stark turned his attention to Peter. “Kid, I hope you appreciate what I’m about to have to do for you.”

Having no clue what the man was talking about, Peter nodded. “Okay, sir.”

Mr. Stark glared.

“I mean Mr. Stark.” Peter really was trying to keep his struggling from being too obvious, but was apparently failing. “I’m sorry. I’m just...” Peter trailed off as he started fidgeting with his fingers. He couldn’t figure out his place and it left him feeling off kilter. His default setting in those moments had always been hyper-politeness—even if Mr. Stark didn’t like it.

Peter would just have to try harder.

Mr. Stark pulled him close and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, but said nothing. It was kind of nice and maybe would have given him a chance to catch his breath, except that—

“Alright, dear heart, I’ll see you in a few days.” Mrs. Stark blew a kiss over the phone line, and disconnected from her own call.

Peter’s mind drifted to the bedroom for just a second, wondered who Mrs. Stark would be speaking to like that, and then was forced to come back to Mr. Stark.

“—get that this is a weird time for you, kiddo, but we’ll get home and get you settled in at the tower in no time at all. Happy’s already pulling your stuff from storage and we’ll set up the room next to May’s so you’re close by—we can wait on all that ‘other stuff’ while we get things figured out, but you can make that call once you’re ready. Does that work for you?”

Peter nodded.

Mrs. Stark exited the bedroom, her phone still in hand. “Any luck with Wong?” She asked. “I couldn’t hear the drama over my own call.” She wiggled her phone in the air. “But things are set, right?”

Mr. Stark smiled at her, “You’ll be pleased to know that everything is under control. I’ll grab our bag and we’ll be off once he gets here.” He side-hugged Peter, then finally got up off the couch. “I will, however, take a minute to see if I can grab a quick meet-up with T’challa seeing as our departure timeline has moved up.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He was leaving?

Peter didn’t notice as Mr. Stark stared down at Peter, saw something, and then crouched down to meet his eyes. “Unless... are you going to be good here with Pepper?”

He hadn’t meant to convey his hesitance at being left with Mrs. Stark. She’d been nothing but kind to him and he had no reason to be concerned—it was just that he hadn’t been away from Mr. Stark in the last days and hours and everything felt so damned raw—and it was written all over his face. “It’s fine, Mr. Stark, really!” He stared back and cursed the fact that he could feel himself tearing up. “I’m good.”

Mr. Stark crooked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Okay,” he cried out at being called out. “I’m not good, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to go see Mr. King T’challa!”

Mr. Stark snorted at his response. “Kid, how many times am I going to have to remind you? You were literally spit out powerless into the middle of a battle for the universe after being dusted for five years and have only just started to find out how different things are. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m about ready to drop everything to make sure you’re okay, okay?”

Peter cringed and wished he’d stop bringing it up... like REALLY wished he’d stop. The constant reminder made him feel—well, he didn’t know how he felt, but it wasn’t fantastic, so he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off. “I get that, Mr. Stark. Honest. I just—“ he didn’t know how to say that he had to start figuring stuff out and that him being coddled wasn’t gonna help when all was said and done.  Peter looked over to Mrs. Stark, who was watching with interest. “Look, Mrs. Stark is right here and I’m pretty sure she can keep me from setting the room on fire while you’re gone, and...” Beyond that, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Mr. Stark thought for a couple of seconds, then chuckled. “I’m being a bit of a helicopter parent, aren’t I?”

Rubbing the unfallen tears from his eyes, Peter just shrugged. “I guess?” He answered, but quickly qualified the answer, “But I know you’ve gone through stuff, too, so we’ve just gotta-- I don’t know, figure it out as we go?”

Mr. Stark just stared at him, like he was trying to figure something out, but not saying a word. 

“Mr. Stark, you’ll be back soon, right?”

He nodded.

“Then we’ll be fine.” Peter looked over to Mrs. Stark, “Mrs. Stark can finish up with whatever she needs to do and I’ll see if I can find something to occupy myself for a bit. There’s a tonne of windows so I can check out all the scenery I’ve missed while laid up, and this suite has enough artwork to fill a wing at a museum! There’s stuff to do. You have to be back before Mr. Wong gets here anyways, so I know you won’t get distracted, right?”

Mr. Stark continued assessing. “You know that’s really sad, don’t you? Contenting yourself with looking out windows and checking out the pictures in the bathroom…”

Peter smiled back at him. “Just because I like science and building stuff doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate something beautiful, Mr. Stark. I’m a well rounded sorta’ guy.” He brushed his knuckles against an invisible lapel. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t know what it was, but something shifted and Mr. Stark seemed satisfied. “Alright, but if you decide you need me, you get Pepper to call me, okay?”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“Like if you miss me or feel sick or remember a joke you wanted to tell me, got it? No reason is a stupid reason if you need me here.”

Peter blinked back tears again at the obvious affection. “I’ve got it, Mr. Stark, but you should get going. You’ve only got forty-five minutes before Mr. Wong shows up.” He took a deep breath, then held it in.

“Right. Wong. Can’t wait for him to get here.” Mr. Stark replied dryly. “It’ll be great.”

Peter snorted. He almost wished he’d paid more attention to the call. “Yeah, it will be.”

“Well then,” Mr. Stark straightened up, and everyone politely ignored the popping and cracking of his back and knees. “I’m going to dash off really fast and then be right back.” He gave Mrs. Stark a quick peck on the cheek. “Take care of my spider for me, honey. He’s great entertainment when you’re looking for a distraction during a board meeting.” He gave Peter a wink, and then stepped toward the door.

Peter stood up and moved to stand beside Mrs. Potts.

Mr. Stark put a hand on the doorknob, stopped, and looked back over his shoulder at Peter and his wife. “Seriously, call for anything.”

With that declaration, Mr. Stark finally left the room.

The two of them simply stared at the door.

It took less than a minute for the silence to become awkward.   

“So, how’s the shoulder feeling, Peter?” Mrs. Stark questioned politely.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable? “Oh,” Peter scrunched his forehead in thought as he cautiously moved his arm. “Um, wow.” He moved it a little more. “I think it’s better?!” He couldn’t hide his surprise as he stared back at her. “I wonder when that happened?”

Mrs. Stark smiled softly at him, “I don’t know, but I’m glad to know that you’re not in any pain.” She sat beside him on the couch and placed a tender hand on his arm. “It was hard for everyone to see you suffering— especially Tony so…”

“Yeah,” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck in discomfort. He didn’t like thinking about bothering other people when he was hurt, and this had been a situation he couldn’t work around. “Um, thanks, I guess?”

She smiled so kindly at him, but Peter didn’t know what to say, so the silence descended upon the pair once again.  

Then Mrs. Stark clapped her hands together, startling Peter in the process. 

“Art!” She blurted out. “You said that you wanted to look at some of the works in the suite, and it just so happens that Queen Ramonda gave me a little tour of the place before leaving us to settle in.” She was practically beaming. “I can give you some information on the pieces and maybe we can get to know each other a little… if you’d like?” 

Peter wanted to decline. The urge to mindlessly meander as he tried to figure out what his next steps were was almost physical. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to be alone until Mr. Stark had gone.

But Mrs. Stark looked almost hopeful.  

He smiled at her and hoped it didn’t look too fake, “I don’t want to take you away from whatever you have to do, Mrs. Stark.”

Her grin widened even more, if that was possible. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “We just need to grab our bags and we’re done—and I love doing stuff like this!” She stepped towards an incredible sculpture Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Did you know that before I completely flipped my life around and decided to go the Business Admin track at university, I planned to be an Art History major.”

Peter tried really hard to reconcile the Pepper Potts that ran Stark Industries and the Pepper Potts that would have spent her days walking the halls of art museums. 

“You can’t picture it, can you?”

The question brought him up short. “I don’t think I can.” He answered honestly, “But that doesn’t mean anything. I mean really, to know me, would you ever imagine that I run around Queens in a unitard and a mask?”  

She laughed out loud at the description, “Well, when you put it that way…”  

Peter laughed along too, quieter but sincere. 

When they’d both settled again, the quiet felt less tense, but Mrs. Stark still wouldn’t allow it to remain. “Do you really like art?” She asked, feeling less forced than the first time.

Peter didn’t think before he answered. “Yeah, I do. I was really looking forward to the field trip that day—my friend, MJ,” he blushed at the mention of her name. “She was going to show me a new photo exhibit that the museum had just opened up, and I was really excited to see it—plus Uncle Ben used to take me there when I was a kid.” He added, unprompted. “He needed to make sure my brain didn’t jam up with cogs and gears, he’d say.” He chuckled quietly, “But then…” Peter shrugged, the words no longer coming to him.

This time, the quiet served a purpose and so it was left to sit—until Peter was ready. 

“So, tell me about the statue.” Peter piped up as he walked towards it. “And I have to ask, because it’s me—Am I allowed to touch this? ‘Cuz it’s screaming for me to—”

Mrs. Stark took the cue, gladly it seemed. Heavy stuff was over for now and it was time to move on.

“Queen Ramonda didn’t say either way, but this bust dates back to the 1600s so I’d wager a guess that we’ll just be looking with our eyes today. Alright, Peter?” She put a firm hand on Peter’s back, but gave a teasing wink.

Peter slumped in mock defeat. “Fine,” he pretend-grumped and then spent the next twenty minutes really looking at each piece of art with snippets of information being shared by Mrs. Stark. “MJ would definitely love this.” He decided. “She says everything you need to know about a civilization is demonstrated by how it treats its artists.” He smiled. “I wish I had my phone so I could take some pics to show her how—“ He stopped talking. “Oh.” He was growing tired of fading off into new realizations.

Mrs. Stark noticed his shift in mood and moved closer to him, “Peter? Are you alright?”

Peter stopped himself from answering immediately and focussed on the painting in front of him. He was trying to wrap his brain around another ‘something’ that he hadn’t considered and needed to not have another stupid breakdown in front in front of someone he didn’t really know. Seriously, Mr. Stark was bad enough—but to do it in front of his wife? He let out a torturous scream... in his head, which synced up to the actual heavy sigh he released. “Mrs. Stark? How do I find out if someone was snapped?” He tried not to sound so lost and pathetic but it couldn’t be helped. “I mean, the last time I saw Ned and MJ, I was jumping off of a school bus and heading towards that stupid space donut and now it’s been five years so who knows where they could be?”      

She stepped closer still and put an arm around his shoulder. “There’s a registry, Peter. I can check it for you right now or we can check together when we get home, if you’d like... but maybe Tony already knows?” Mrs. Stark gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He was a little...” she seemed to search for a word before she continued, “hyper-focussed when he got back from Titan and anything that impacted the people in his inner circle was at the top of his agenda.” She turned to face him, keeping the contact. “That included you, so...”

Peter couldn’t make the decision. He simply couldn’t, and tried to let Mrs. Potts know, but all he could croak out was, “I... I...”

She enveloped the boy in a hug once she saw the impending panic, and he was remarkably okay with it, even as he tentatively returned the embrace.

“I know you don’t know me as well as the others, Peter, but I’ve gotten to know you through Tony and May—and I want you to know that I’m here for you, too, alright?”

He nodded into her shoulder.

“Doing all of this now, or in hour or even a day—it doesn’t change anything. It can wait until you’re ready. Okay? I know you’re physically all better now, but you’re still allowed to take time.”

He breathed in a calming breath, and exhaled.

“You have so many people in your corner, sweetie. You’ll get through this.”

He nodded again and stepped back from her after a second’s hesitation. “Um, thanks, Mrs. Stark. Sorry about that.” He chuckled nervously and dragged his hand through his hair.  

“That’s not something to apologize for, Peter. Not ever.” She lightly scolded. “Now, did you want to look at another painting? Or did—“

“I’d like to look!” Peter suddenly blurted and then realized how crazy he must have sounded. “I mean, um... would it be alright if I used your phone to take a look? – If it’s not too much trouble. I just... I’d... I really want to know. That’s all... I think.”

“That’s not a problem at all.” She collected her phone from the coffee table where she’d discarded it before their impromptu art tour and tapped at the screen. “I haven’t been on the app since before so I’m not sure if or how it’s been organized, but there is a search function.” She swiped the screen, tapped an icon, and handed the phone over. “It looks like we have another ten or so minutes before Tony gets back, and Wong should be shortly after, so...”

Peter took the phone and stared wide-eyed at the screen.

“Do you want me to look for you?”

Peter shook his head. “I think I’m okay. I think it’s just... I just did the whole ‘tell me now’ thing with May and that didn’t work out so well for me, ya’ know? And here I am doing it again like an idiot. I can’t help but think—” He cut himself off.

“I can understand your hesitancy.” Mrs. Stark offered. “You’re in control here, though, so just say the word...”

The screen darkened in warning of the pending lock screen. He swiped his thumb across the gorilla glass and it lit up again. He thought about it for a second then looked up at Mrs. Stark. “Would it be okay if I did this alone?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I’ll just step out while you—“She moved toward the suite door.

“No!” He called out to her. “Please don’t leave—just, can you maybe just hang out in the other room?” He blushed at his neediness. “I don’t want to be ALONE alone—just a little alone. And this should only take a second, right?” He tried to explain, and failed.

“I completely get it.” She pointed toward the bedroom she’d shared with Mr. Stark. “I’ll sneak in there and wait until you decide you’re ready. Does that work?” She asked.

“Yeah, um, thanks.”

She didn’t say anything else, just stepped into the bedroom and smiled at him in encouragement as she closed the door behind her.

And Peter was left holding the phone, with a search screen glaring back at him.

It wasn’t a big deal, right?

He tried to convince himself as he sat himself down on the couch.

Of course it wasn’t.

Not at all.

Which was why he held his breath as he first typed in “Edward Leeds.”

A couple thousand “Edward Leeds” suddenly filled the screen, primarily out of the UK. Of course it couldn’t be that easy he thought, and Peter was almost overwhelmed—until he caught sight of the ‘refine search’ field at the top of the new screen.

He remembered the day he’d met his best friend, and how insistent the boy was that Edward was a loser name—that Ned was where it was at and he’d be forever known only by that... ‘but don’t tell my mom, okay?’ Peter chuckled as he typed exactly that under “Nicknames” and pressed ‘go.’

Three hundred seven “Edward ‘Ned’ Leeds” popped up that time, which was definitely a more manageable number, even if it still sucked. Peter wasn’t shocked to see that most of them were still scattered through the UK, but with the list not going on forever, he could see all of those other Neds scattered through Australia, Canada, and even parts of Africa and South America. The twenty-eight US Neds were scattered throughout the country—but he only had his eye out for one Edward ‘Ned’ Leeds of New York, specifically Queens—and the one word beside his name in red: BLIPPED.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be alone when he got back home, he frantically typed in “Michelle Jones.” He had to remind himself that she also had a nickname so he wouldn’t freak out completely when the kazillion Michelle Jones filled the screen. He hit ‘refine search’ once more and typed in the two letters—‘m’ and ‘j.’

0 results showing.

Peter entered her name again, hated himself just a little for not knowing her middle name—if she even had a middle name—and hit ‘go.’ He refined the search again. Hit ‘go’ again.’

0 results showing.

“shit.”

“Language, kid. My virgin ears can’t handle that kind of potty talk.”

Peter did NOT jump a couple of feet of the couch and let loose a high pitched scream of terror when the unexpected voice came from behind him.

The door to the bedroom flew open and slammed against the wall as Mrs. Stark rushed into the living room calling out, “Peter! What’s wrong?!”

Mr. Stark’s laughter told her everything she needed to know and before a chest clutching Peter had even turned completely to glare at the man, Mrs. Potts was smacking him on the arm. “Tony, you jerk! Be good!”  

“Hey!” He exclaimed as he tried to get away from his wife’s mock fury, “I didn’t know he hadn’t heard me come in!” He dodged another playful swat. “C’mon, Pep! Give me a break!”

She stopped her attack on Mr. Stark after giving him what Peter could only describe as a death stare and immediately turned her attention to Peter. "Are you okay, honey?" she asked.

Peter shook his head even as he tried to catch his breath. "Geez, Mr. Stark! Give a man some warning next time!"

Still trying to get his giggles under control, Mr. Stark defended himself. "You've got your Peter-tingle, kid. I figured you knew I was there!"

Mr. Stark was not endearing himself to the boy in this moment. "It's my spider-sense, Mr. Stark—Peter-tingle is stupid. I don't care what Aunt May says about it, and anyways, it only works when someone is trying to hurt or kill me. You don't count as that... even though I was about a second away from dying from a heart attack." Peter breathed deep, trying to calm his heart. "Geez. Not cool, man. Not cool at all."

Mr. Stark jumped over the back of the couch and landed with a bounce beside Peter. "Aw, kid. I am sorry, but you were just sitting there and I was so excited to tell you about my visit with T'challa-- but... yeah, I guess you were a million miles away then?

Peter couldn't speak for a few seconds, as his mind re-focussed on the phone in his hand. "Um, no. Not that far-- just in Queens, I guess?"

Mr. Stark looked confused. "Queens?"

"Yeah," he answered back. "I was checking to see who'd been snapped and who hadn't, and, yeah..."

The sadness reflecting in Mr. Stark's face told Peter that he knew. "Peter, you could have asked." He sighed. "We just keep messing up, huh?" He sidled up closer to Peter and slung his arm around him again. "Well, Ned was snapped, but I guess you've seen that, right?"

Peter nodded 'yes.'

"Don't panic about him," Mr. Stark assured him. "He's safe and sound with his family and is waiting for you to call him when you get home."

"How...?"

"Happy does more than empty storage lockers, buddy. I promise you, Ned and his family are fine and your Guy in the Chair is ready and waiting for your return."

"Thank goodness." Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "But did you check up on MJ, too? Where is she? Is she safe, too?"

"Well, your friend MJ, she obviously didn't get snapped," Mr. Stark gestured the phone in Peter's hand, "And by the time we were in communication with people there at the tower, she had already tried to set up camp in the lobby and was going to wait for me to get back... well, for you to get back, but that didn't work out so..."

Peter couldn't hide his confusion.

"Don't worry. She’s good, I promise. We set her up in a suite, too. Her mom had been snapped, but her step-dad was still in the picture so she decided she needed to bail, but fast. I guess he was a real winner so..."

Peter snorted at the understatement. "You could say that."

Mr. Stark did his crooked eyebrow thing and Peter knew he needed to explain. "Let's just say that Spider-Man had to make a visit or two to the apartment when MJ's mom was working overnight shifts.

Mr. Stark almost growled at that information. "Well then I don't feel nearly so bad about hiding her away until she could head off to college."

"Good. You shouldn't-- but college?"

"Of course college. MJ's smart as a whip, and I wasn't gonna let that brain rot at some community college because her low-life step dad was drinking away her college fund."

Peter smiled bigger than he could remember at that, "You sent her to college?"

"You know, you could just call her when you get back, you know. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. Besides, she may seem tough as nails, but that kid gets homesick just like the rest of them."

Peter flushed and fiddled with the phone he kept forgetting he still held. "Um, yeah, I'm pretty sure that twenty-three year old MJ is not waiting for a call from me."

"C'mon, Pete, maybe she's spent the last five years living a different life than you all had planned, but you were still one of her best friends and that doesn't change."

Peter smiled again, a little more tentative. "You don't think she'll think it's weird?"

And Mr. Stark laughed again. "It's MJ, of course she'll think it's weird, but if you think she'll give two craps about that, then you didn't know her nearly as well as you say you did."

Peter knew he was right, and was just about to say so when there was a knock at the door and Mr. Wong was hollering through it. "Let's go, Stark, I left something simmering on the stove back at the Sanctum Sanctorum."

Mrs. Stark was the one to actually open the door to the man, and Peter stood up to introduce himself to the man-- or at least he thought he would. Mr. Wong focussed completely on the man still sitting on the couch, "Stark."

Mr. Stark lifted himself off the couch and turned to face him. "Wong."

The men simply stared at each other, assessing, when Mr. Stark finally spoke. “Look, Wong, I shouldn’t have been so glib about the whole,” Mr. Stark waved his hands in the air, “thing, and I’m sorry. Let’s just call it good and be done, okay?”

Wong stared, but said nothing.

“Really?”

A dead stare.

“Ugh. Fine.”

Peter watched Mr. Stark work himself up to do... something. Whatever it was, it had to be awful for Mr. Stark’s reaction.

"Oh, great and powerful Wong..." and then Mr. Stark stopped. He huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Are you really going to make me say this?"

Mr. Wong stared back, "You know my conditions."

"Fine."

Was Mr. Stark sulking?

He started again, "Oh, great and powerful Wong..." and then he stomped his foot. "Look, I said I was sorry. I won't be so--"

"You'd have been done by now if you stopped delaying, Stark. I'm waiting."

Peter looked to the door where Mrs. Stark was still standing. She was looking just as confused as Peter felt.

Mr. Stark took a deep breath and started once more. "Oh, great and powerful Wong." He paused, but only to clear his throat. "It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have sunlight on your face. You were content to let me shine, that's your way. You always walked a step behind. So I was the one with all the glory, while you were the one with all the strength. A beautiful face without a name...”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing and side-stepped cautiously away from the men and closer to Mrs. Stark, whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief. “Um, Mrs. Stark, is Mr. Stark quoting Bette Midler lyrics?”

She could only nod.

“Okay,” he squeaked back. “Just wanted to make sure we were seeing the same thing.”

It took a minute for him to make his way through all the lyrics, but just as Mr. Stark rattled off the last lines of the song, Mr. Wong folded his arms and smiled in sick satisfaction. “Perfect. I’m sure Mr. Master of the Mystic Arts will appreciate your cooperation while he’s matching socks for the next month.”

Mr. Stark sputtered in disbelief, but before he could say an actual word, Mr. Wong turned to Peter, bowed, and smiled. “Ah, young Mr. Parker. It is a pleasure to finally meet you now that you are awake.”

Peter bowed back shyly, but Mr. Stark had finally found his words. “Wait a minute here. You said that I’d offended you and that you’d only forgive me if I quoted—“ He blustered a little more, “You said it was soothing!”

Mr. Wong laughed stiffly. “I know what I said! But I’d already bet Stephen that I could get you to quote a song from an 80s soundtrack and I really wanted to get out of laundry.”

“And making dinner, maybe? Is he actually watching that pot on the stove, too?” Mr. Stark snarked back.

“Nah. We’re ordering pizza tonight. I just wanted you to hurry, is all.” Wong turned his attention back to Peter. “And I can imagine you want to get home, too.”

Peter, who was quietly chuckling at the interaction, nodded. “Yes, please, Mr. Wong,” he answered back politely. “If it’s not a problem?”

“It’s just Wong, kid, and because you asked so nicely,” he made a point to stare accusingly at Mr. Stark and then looked back to Peter, “I’ll get right to it.” He addressed the room. “Do you have everything you need? Polite or not, I’m not coming back for a toothbrush.”

“I’m all set, Mr. Wong, but, I guess, um...” Peter stood patiently while Mr. And Mrs. Stark took the hint and rushed into the bedroom to do a quick once over and grab the already packed suitcase. It was barely a minute before they were back and ready to go.

Wong nodded in satisfaction. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Peter watched in fascination as Mr. Wong placed a weird ring on his left hand and started making a circular motion with his right. In only seconds, sparks flew and a circle formed, then grew larger, and larger—and then large enough that they’d all be able to step through without even needing to duck their heads. “How does this work? Do you come through with us?” Peter asked.

Mr. Wong smiled again and shook his head. “No, I’ll head back to the Sanctum and replay my memories for Stephen after you’ve all stepped through, so get a move on.” He gave a teasing wink then gestured to the circle, still sparking. “There’s nothing special to it, Peter. Whenever you’re ready.”

Peter’s capacity for boldness had apparently fled and he stared timidly at the circle.

Mrs. Stark stepped up, pulled her phone from Peter’s hand and then grabbed hold of it. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I think I could go for pizza, too. What do you say, Peter?”

He appreciated the anchor, grabbed onto it. “Sure, Mrs. Stark. That sounds great.” He turned to Mr. Wong one last time. “Thank you for doing this, Mr. Wong. I’m grateful—and I guess for all the things you and the other wizards did for everyone.”

Wong snorted. “We’re sorcerers, Peter, and don’t let this guy tell you anything different.” He thumbed over at the waiting Mr. Stark. “And you’re welcome. Now go, kick your feet up, and order that pizza. We’ll see each other again.”

Peter grinned back at the man—sorcerer. “If you say so—take care.” And he and Mrs. Stark stepped through what Peter figured had to be some sort of portal. “Mr. Stark?” Peter called back, “Are you coming?”

“One sec, Pete,” Mr. Stark replied and turned back to Mr. Wong saying something that Peter couldn’t hear for the distortion between the two locations.

But if he could have heard, he’d have heard Mr. Stark give a tentative thank you for the show— that it would be something Peter could laugh about for a while.

And Wong’s reply. “He’ll need the happy memories, Stark. Help him make them.”